Page 8 of One Hot Daddy

Fletcher shifts his weight from one foot to the other.His nervousness is endearing."Come this way, Jennifer.I'd like to show you the sitting area that's through the door over there.It's small, but you could use it as a private living room if you need to escape the madness downstairs."

The thought of having my own sanctuary within this chaotic household seals the deal.I can already imagine myself curled up with a book after the children are in bed, maybe with a cup of tea and the quiet satisfaction of a day well spent.

"Shall we check it out?"Fletcher asks, already heading for the door.

I trail after him, already feeling more at home in the Murgatroyd house than I ever expected I might.The sitting area is just as Fletcher described---small but cozy.A loveseat upholstered in faded blue fabric sits beneath a sloped ceiling, accompanied by a reading lamp and a side table that holds a stack of dog-eared paperbacks.The space has a lived-in ambiance, as though someone once spent many hours here, though a thin layer of dust suggests recent neglect.

Fletcher wipes a finger across the table and frowns at the dust it collects."This little hideaway hasn't been used often.Mum and Dad bought a place nearby, but they still stay over sometimes when they watch the kids.Or they used to.Now this attic hideaway will belong to you---if you take the job."

I mentally file away all of what Fletcher has told me so far.My gaze drifts to the wall, where a collection of framed photographs hangs in a cheerful jumble.I step closer, drawn to these glimpses into the Murgatroyd family life.

"You can sit," Fletcher says, gesturing to the loveseat."We should talk details before you commit."

What strikes me most about the family photos on the wall is how often Fletcher appears in these candid moments.Unlike many family photos where the dad is clearly behind the camera, he's right in the thick of things---covered in mud during what looks like a disastrous camping trip, wearing a tiara at what must be a tea party, laughing with chocolate cake smeared across his face.

"Your kids look very happy, Fletcher."

He sighs, the sound both proud and weary."They are.Most of the time.But they will lead you on a merry chase if you let them.That's only been since my ex-wife left us."

I finally settle onto the seat, and Fletcher settles in beside me, leaving a respectable distance between us.The cushion dips beneath his weight, sliding me fractionally closer to him.I resist the urge to shift away, not wanting to seem uncomfortable with his proximity.I absolutely will not admit to him that I'd love to taste his lips.

He rubs the back of his hand repeatedly."All right, for the big question...After seeing the chaos that is the Murgatroyd household, are you still interested in the position?It would be full-time, live-in, with two days off per week.We can discuss which days work best for you.The salary is..."

He names a figure that's significantly more generous than I expected.I try not to let my surprise show.

As I glance back at the photos, the joy evident in each image is captured in the moment.Behind the mischief and chaos, there's love in this family---the kind that can't be faked for a camera.

"I can see myself fitting in perfectly here," I admit, surprising myself with how true that statement sounds."I like a good challenge.And there's plenty of joy to balance it out."

Fletcher's shoulders relax slightly."You say that now but wait until you've experienced Amelia's mermaid phase in full swing, or one of Joshua's 'improvements' to the household appliances."

I laugh, genuinely delighted by the prospect of these quirky children.

"So, you'll, ah...take the job?"Fletcher asks, hope brightening his voice.

I nod decisively as a sense of rightness settles over me."Yes, I will take the job."

He blows out a gusty breath, his shoulders relaxing, and gives me the sweetest little smile."Thank heavens.The kids will be home from school at three.That gives us---" he checks his watch---"about four hours to go over schedules, house rules, emergency contacts, and all that thrilling administrative bollocks."

I grin."Perfect.And Fletcher?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for trusting me with your family."

He lifts an eyebrow."Don't thank me yet.Talk to me in a month if you're still standing."

Despite his words, I sense warmth in his voice, the kind that suggests he thinks---hopes---I might be different from the others who came before me.And I'm suddenly determined to prove him right.

We both rise from our seats, bumping into each other in the process.His fingers brush against my breast accidentally, and he takes a half step backward, clearing his throat.

My cheeks grow warm, and my imagination takes an abrupt and unprofessional turn.In my mind, I see myself reaching forward, grasping his shirt with both hands, dragging him closer until my chest meets his.I picture my fingers working at his tie, loosening it with urgent tugs before I rip open his shirt, sending buttons flying across the carpet.My hands would slip beneath the waistband of those perfectly fitted slacks, finding heated skin and firm muscle.

I blink hard, trying to banish the wicked fantasy.What is wrong with me?I've been in this house less than an hour.I've barely met the man.And he's my employer, for heaven's sake.

Stop it, I scold myself.This is the best job opportunity I've had in years.Four children who need stability and care.A beautiful home.A generous salary.I can't risk all that because their father happens to fill out a pair of slacks better than any man has a right to.But I force myself to focus, to be professional.These children have suffered a parade of nannies who, quite frankly, should never work as caregivers ever again.These kids need someone dependable, someone who won't abandon them when things get tough.I could be that person.Iwantto be that person.

Iamthat person.