Page 14 of Faking it with the Damaged Protector

Then again, I should have skipped that one altogether.

I drain my cappuccino as another customer rattles through the door — and then choke on the froth when I see who it is.

Roman.

It’s just my luck that he’d come in right when my next potential employer is due to arrive. Now I’m going to be distracted by thoughts of the officially titled ‘Make-out of Regret’ last weekend.

Of course, my coughing alerts him of my presence, and he snaps his cool gaze in my direction. His eyes fill with shadows as he recognizes me, his jaw clenching.

Dabbing my mouth with a napkin, I look away, hopeful that my interviewer will arrive before Roman can come over.

He at least orders his coffee before he decides to torture me with his presence.

“You can’t sit there,” I warn when he places his cup and saucer on my table.

He raises his eyebrow, looking arrogantly amused. “No?”

“I’m waiting on someone.”

He hums as though I’ve just given him the most interesting information in the world and taps the back of the seat. “Who might that be?”

I glare and bat my hands at him. “None of your business. Now shoo!”

“Shoo…?” he repeats the word as though he’s never heard it before. He probably hasn’t. Attractive, wealthy men tend not to be ushered away where young women are involved, least of all him.

I hope to be the first.

“Yes, shoo. Go away. Scram. I have a job interview and I don’t need you hovering around me like a bad smell!”

The corner of his mouth twitches again, and my insides clench. They haven’t forgotten how it felt to be kissed by him, touched by him, and neither have I.

Ugh, stupid insides.

“This job interview… did Brandon have anything to do with it?” His ice-blue eyes glint as though he knows something I don’t.

I shift in my chair, becoming restless with impatience as though I wasn’t nervous enough already.

God, I really didn’t need this today. Now I’m going to be all fidgety and chatty when my interviewer comes in. “Yes. Why?”

Roman clears his throat and sits down opposite me. I open my mouth to yell him away, but he doesn’t give me the chance.

“Because I’m here to interview someone.” He pulls out a diary from his inside pocket and flicks through the ink-smeared pages. “Twelve-thirty,” he reads. “Nanny interview. My assistant added it to my calendar this morning. She also happens to have quite a fondness for Brandon.”

The blood drains from my face as I begin to understand. My asshole brother set me up… to do a job interview with Roman?

The scheming is not much of a surprise after all that has happened recently, but why on earth is Roman interviewing for a nanny? He doesn’t have kids! He probably goes home to cuddle bags and bags of money every night.

I shove my empty cappuccino mug aside and massage my temples. “I don’t get it. Why are you doing somebody else’s admin?”

“I beg your pardon?”

I slow my words in an attempt to be particularly patronizing. He brings out the worst in me, and I have no intention of hiding it. “Why are you — you, Roman — running interviews for someone else’s nanny opening? Is someone blackmailing you, or are you stooping into millionaire territory and trying to earn some extra cash to get back on the Forbes billionaire list?”

His mouth twists as though he’s sucking on a lemon. He shoves the diary back into his pocket and stands up, the chair legs squeaking against the hardwood floors. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t be interviewing you. I’m sorry your brother dragged you all the way here, but I’m afraid it was a waste of time.”

“Wait a minute!” I hop up so quickly that I feel dizzy, anger blazing through me. I don’t want to admit how much I need this interview, but there’s no way I’m making the two-hour ride home without at least being considered for the position — or any position, for that matter. “You can’t just dismiss me out of personal dislike. Just have the guy who’s hiring talk to me instead!”

He takes a breath, his spine pin-straight and his nostrils flaring. Slowly, he turns around to face me. “I’m the guy who’s hiring.” He makes his distaste for my phrasing clear.

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