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Duncan exited his gleaming sports car and stood on the curb, staring up at my house, and I felt my breath catch. He knew how to dress, that was for sure. He burned concrete in a pair of Armani slacks and a fitted polka-dot, button-up shirt, with the dots too tiny to be noticeable unless you looked at them up close.
He probably smelled amazing, too, with his hair all messed up as though he’d been running his hands through it.
Hm. What was that all about? Usually, it was perfectly coiffed with that little swirl above his forehead.
My pulse picked up speed. The evening air was already warm, but heat crept up my chest while my body screamed with approval about every inch of him. Why did he still have this impact on me?
With his hand on his hip and sunglasses perched on his nose, he analyzed me as though he could tell just what his presence did to my bloodstream. How could a man be this beautiful? How could someone I didn’t even like trigger my tastebuds?
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
I stepped toward him only to have my heels sink into the grass.
Dang it. Bending, I ripped the shoes from my feet. The lack took me down a few inches.
Duncan peered at me through his designer sunglasses. “I came to offer you a job.”
“Ha.” The laugh burst from my chest of its own accord. I didn’t bother trying to remedy it. “Why would I ever want to work for you again?”
“She couldn’t make my coffee.”
My brows drew together. “Who couldn’t make your coffee?”
He glanced at the street, appearing unperturbed. Except for the little divot between his brows. I knew that expression of disappointment. There was an additional agitation to his movements as though the horse he’d just bid on was coming in last.
“Theresa. Tabitha. Tammy. Something. Whatever her name was, she quit after a single day.”
So much for this being a brief conversation. I considered roasting him for his picky standards or his high levels of neediness. He’d grilled the new girl overcoffee?
“Sounds like a smart girl.”
“Come on, Rosabel.”
I shook my head. “I need to check on my dad. Thanks for stopping by.”
I turned, grateful to walk away from him twice now. This was epic.
“You’re missing out.”
The threat tapped me on the shoulder and tingled down my spine all at once. My defensive side that usually only flared up during an intense discussion of literature spiraled, but I ignored it. I couldn’t give in.
I knew exactly where this conversation would lead. He would barter with me, offering money, offering whatever I wanted in exchange for my return, and I didn’t want to.
The thought alone was exhausting.
I was tired of being such a predictable person. I’d let him sway me too many times. This would NOT be one of them.
“Goodbye, Duncan,” I said, approaching the porch.
My stocking feet were wet from the grass, and I left footprints on the sidewalk.
“I’ll give you a raise.”
There it was.
One foot lifted, I hesitated mid-step. Lowering my foot to the ground, I gripped the porch’s iron railing.
Sure, I hadn’t wanted this conversation, but that was because I’d known he would offer money—and I knew how badly I needed just that.
