Page 32 of Flashback for the Forward

“Bridget, look at me,” he commanded softly.

My lower lip wobbled, and I blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. “I’d really rather not.”

“Please, beautiful?”

Spinning around slowly, I sucked in a sharp breath when he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, a shiver running down my spine as his fingertips grazed the side of my neck.

“I want you to be comfortable,” Cole explained.

I tugged on the hem of the oversized T-shirt. “I am.”

He arched a doubtful eyebrow. “Are you forgetting that I can read you like a book? Why don’t we cut the bullshit and you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “I, uh, haven’t worked in years.”

Forehead creased, Cole cocked his head to the side. “You’ve already told me that.”

God, was he really going to make me spell it out for him?

“I don’t have any money,” I blurted, embarrassed to my core that I was coming to him at the lowest point of my life.

“And I have more than I could possibly spend in a lifetime. If it wasn’t clear when I took you in last night, I’ll spell it out for you: I want to take care of you, Bridget.”

The past few years had rewired my brain to believe that accepting financial support from a man came with strings attached. And I outright refused to go down that path again.

But the simple fact of the matter was that money made the world go round. Without it, I had very few options.

A solution came to mind.

“Would you be willing to give me a job?”

Cole’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “A job? Doing what?”

“Housekeeper? Cook? Personal assistant? Whatever you need.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bridget, we’ve been over this. You’re my guest and—”

“I can’t just take your money. I need to earn it.”

Lips twisted to the side, he considered what I was asking before giving a single dip of his chin. “Okay.”

A relieved rush of air flew past my lips. “Thank you.”

“In the meantime . . .” Mid-thought, he left the room.

Curious, I followed, only to catch him grabbing his wallet from a table near what I could only assume was the door to the garage.

Pulling out a credit card, he extended it toward me. “Buy what you need today, and we can call it an advance on your first ‘paycheck.’” That final word was accompanied by the use of air quotes with his free hand.

Cue the flaming face again.

Toeing the ground, I confessed, “I don’t have a phone.”

Cole blinked at me. “He didn’t let you have one?”

“He did, but I left it behind so he wouldn’t be able to track where I went.”

He hauled in a deep breath. “Okay. First order of business is a new phone, then.”