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Brit eyed the collection of domestic and imported beers in the fridge in the four-car garage. What would Damian say if he got home and found her drinking one of them? She’d have to Uber home anyway—after the kids went to sleep, she tried to start her car again without any luck.
What the hell.She opened the fridge and grabbed one, with a golden and dark blue label. It said something in German. Why shouldn’t she live dangerously for once? Noelle, a dear friend who had died tragically in a car accident almost a year prior, always instilled spontaneity in her and her friends. Noelle had been fun, wild, and carefree—even though she had two kids and a husband, who ended up moving from Tulip. She made it all seem possible and attainable.
Brit grabbed the beer and twisted it open, and chugged it down without fear. The taste, too strong and acidy for her palate, almost made her choke. She gulped it if only to get rid of it, but the sour aftertaste didn’t help. “Shitty overpriced crap,” she said, closing the fridge.
“That’s not my favorite either,” said a deep male voice behind her, and she jumped, yelping, her heart in her mouth. The baritone of his voice reverberated through her. The beer sloshed from the bottle, quickly splashing her shirt. “Oh shit. Sorry,” Damian said, his imposing physique too close for comfort.
She placed her hand on her heart, cursing it for beating like it was about to gallop out of her chest. “God.”
“Are you okay? I parked my car outside and came through the front entrance. I saw the door open to the garage, and—”
She nodded quickly. “I’m good. I don’t want you to think I was about to get drunk while watching the kids. They’re all sleeping.” Heat still flushed her cheeks.
A smile she didn’t see often formed on his lips. “Not at all. I know you’re responsible. Which is why I wanted to propose something to you. Do you want to come to the movie room so we can talk?”
“Sure.” Made sense. The state-of-the-art home theater with three rows of stadium seating was soundproof, so if he wanted to chew her ass out, this was the place to do it. Tension trickled down her spine. She missed Violet, and helping out when she could made her feel somewhat close to her friend—even if a small part of her resented Violet for leaving without saying goodbye.
He grabbed a couple of beers, also imported, and handed her one. “These are much better.”
She took it, and when her fingers accidentally brushed his, an electric response shot up her arm, quickly spreading through her system. She retreated a step, to avoid looking at him, and turned to start heading in the direction of the movie room.
She felt his presence walking behind her.
Once inside, she chose an oversize chair at front, facing the blank projection canvas. He picked an ottoman and pushed it so he sat in front of her. Damn it. Staring into his hazel eyes would make everything so much harder.
“I’ve been thinking on the way back home about how wonderful you’ve been with the kids.”
She swallowed. That’s how these conversations always start. “Thanks.”
“I’ve taken you for granted. I guess I was on survival mode, being the main caretaker after Violet left. I can afford help, but the kids love seeing you more than the housekeeper or regular nanny.”
She waved him off, adamant on not telling him how the kids abhorred all the old-fashioned rules the regular nanny Mrs. Smith put in place. She figured she’d talk to the old lady and give her some pointers without getting her in trouble. “Hey. No sweat.”
“So I’d like to make it up to you. I’ll write you a check with a ballpark figure of all the hours you put in.”
She shifted on her seat. Maybe she was broke, but not enough to accept charity after he’d seen her dead car. Embarrassment flowed through her, warming her cheeks and neck. “Absolutely not. Listen, I helped as Lara and Nikki have. Violet was—is—one of us, and we love your children.” Accepting money now would negate all the help she’d done to her friend. Worse, would make her an official charity case.
“Brit, please—”
She swallowed, feeling her pulse drum at the base of her throat. “This is about my car, isn’t it?” she asked him even if the question clawed her heart and then clenched it tighter for good measure.
“I want to help you as you’ve helped me.”
She bit her inner cheek. “I appreciate, but I’m okay. My hours have been cut at the store, and—”
He touched her elbow, forcing her to look at him, and the light brush of his fingers on her bare flesh sent a scorching sensation up her arm then to other places she’d rather forget. At least for right now. When she arrived home and took a bubble bath, she’d certainly remember it.
“Well, then I have another proposition for you. Why don’t you give me those hours you lost and work for me when you’re available?”
She withdrew. “Work for you?”
“Yes, as my personal assistant. I’m behind in a lot of things on my life, and I’d love someone as reliable as you to help me out. It may be with the kids, or involve some filing paperwork at the clinic which my current medical assistant doesn’t seem to ever get done.”
“Oh. But my hours—”
“I’m flexible. And you can drive the Land Rover while you work for me. Used to belong to Violet. I need to make sure you’re safe while running errands.”
