Page 14 of Accidental Irish Daddy

He glances over at me with a raised eyebrow as my face burns. “Sorry. Nerves.”

“You were speaking your mind,” he says. “That’s nothing to apologize for.”

Looking at him and this huge house reminds me of the rich fellas that come into the club.

I can usually spot them from a mile away.

They’re all the same. Suits and ties, nice haircuts, sweet smelling with charming smiles. Always arseholes. They’re usually the ones who want twenty lap dancesandthe privilege of fucking us after.

Some girls give in to them and some don’t, but woe be the dancer that thinks these fellas think they’re special.

The rich ones all give off this air of being Prince Charming as they shag half the girls in the club while promising the dancers the world.

I don’t know that Mr. Duncan is that type of fella, but it’s just too close of a comparison for my taste. I’ve always wondered what the other half of their lives must look like.

It’s not outrageous to picture something like this. Outward refinement and inward perversion.

We get to the kitchen, and Martha and Bridget are at the table, cups of tea and a plate of Jaffa cakes.

Bridget’s face and fingers are covered in the chocolate remains.

“Hello there,” Martha says as we walk in.

“I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble.” I smile cordially, but inside all I want to do is wipe Bridget’s face.

Martha chuckles. “Oh, she’s a delight. Your sister was telling me about her math class. She’s got a knack for it, apparently.”

Bridget chuckles. “Martha’s not so good at math. But that’s okay! I can teach her if she wants to learn.”

Martha waves her off. “I’m too old for that, poppet.” She looks over at Mr. Duncan and smiles. “So, you’re giving her the tour of the estate, are you?”

“Yes,” he answers. “We were just about to go out to the lanai. I want to show her the rose garden.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” She turns and points behind her at the vase of roses on the counter. “From your front yard. These were on their last legs. I thought they’d look better in a vase.’

He sighs. He looks annoyed by that, but not so much that he doesn’t appreciate Martha’s effort. “Thank you,” is all he says.

We walk out the back door to the lanai, which is lovely.

White rod iron railing around the edges, patio furniture to lay on, a table, and chairs. From here, the view spreads out across several acres of rolling hills. There’s a trail leading down from the lanai steps made from cobblestones that veer off into a wooded area. Also, there’s another rose garden several yards away. Bushes and bushes of red, white, and pink roses all clustered around stone benches and little statues of cherubs. Next to that is a shed and what looks like small servants’ quarters.

“This is some view.” I stare in awe. “Is all this land yours?”

“Every acre. There are paths where you can go on nature walks…maybe on mother’s good days. She also likes to have her tea in the rose garden.”

I smile, envisioning an old woman sitting on one of the benches and having her tea under the warm sunlight.

He turns his head to look at me. “So, are you ready to meet my mother? She should be waking up from her nap about now.”

“That depends. Does this mean I’ve got the job?”

He gives me this look; his eyes seem to be examining me. “Yes, I think you’ll do just fine.”

“Then I’d be delighted to meet her.”

“Come on.” He turns around. “Right this way.”

We go back inside and despite the fact that he’s probably just like all the others, this might be just the refuge I need from the chaos at home.

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