Page 24 of Pucking Daddy

I am elbow-deep in recipe research when the front door opens.

My whole body goes rigid.

Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Confident. The kind of walk that belongs to someone who owns every room he enters.

Jaxon appears in the kitchen doorway.

He looks different from last night—sharper somehow.

A team polo stretches across his shoulders, his light brown hair still damp from what I assume is a post-practice shower. That jaw could cut glass. Those shoulders could block a doorway—both of which I know from personal experience.

Stop it, I tell myself firmly. Professional. Be professional.

"Hey," he says.

“Hi.” I set down my phone. “Lily got to school fine. I packed her lunch and made sure she has her permission slip for the field trip next week.”

We stand there. Two people who were practically naked together two days ago, now navigating the world’s most awkward employer-employee dynamic.

“Good.” Jaxon runs a hand through his hair. “Did you speak to her tutor about the adjustment plan?”

I can tell he expects a yes. Something quick so he can move on.

But I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I pause. “…No?”

The word hangs there a second too long.

He looks at me sharply. “No?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I say carefully, setting the papers down. “I haven’t even been given the tutor’s contact yet.”

A beat. Something shifts in his expression, his brows pulling together.

“That should’ve been handled,” he says, clipped. Like I’ve personally let him down.

My spine straightens slightly. “By me?”

“Yes.” His tone is even more annoyed now. “I need you to stay ahead of things like this.”

I blink at him. “Jaxon, I’ve been here for less than forty-eight hours.”

“That doesn’t change the timeline,” he replies.

Okay. What an ass. Who does he think he is?

I inhale slowly, keeping my voice even. You need this job, I remind myself. “Then maybe I need the timeline. Because right now, I don’t even know what the adjustment plan is.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s the updated academic schedule her tutor is coordinating with the school. We discussed this with the agency.”

“No,” I say, firmer now. “You discussed that with the agency. I got a general placement brief and a start date.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“I don’t have access to your emails,” I add. “Or your conversations. Or whatever you assume I already know.”

Silence stretches.