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I’m hoping he can pick up on the snarky tone of my text. I’m very much a functioning adult who doesn’t need to be told what to do. I roll my eyes and reach my thumb up to turn my screen off when I see his response that sends a tingle straight through my body.
Mr. Vaughn:Good girl.
I can imagine him saying it in that deep, syrupy voice of his while he stares me down with those piercing eyes.
“All done,” Daisy says.
“Why don’t we put on a show while it dries? Does that sound like a good idea?” I ask her as I start to pick up the paints and put them away.
She nods as I usher her to the bathroom to wash the paint off her hands.
“Can we watchScooby-Doo?” she asks, stretching her arms overhead.
“Of course we can. You know, that was my favorite cartoon when I was younger too and my mom’s. That’s where she got my name.”
She looks at me, confused. “Your name is Scooby Doo?”
“No.” I laugh. “My name is Daphne, but you call me Miss Flowers because that’s my last name. My mom loved her name when she watched the show and decided to name me Daphne as well.”
“I like that your name is Miss Flowers ’cause my name is Daisy and that’s a flower.” She climbs onto the couch as I grab a pillow and blanket for her.
“I like your name very much too.”
We barely make it fifteen minutes into one episode before she’s fast asleep on the couch beside me. I glance at the clock. It’s just after nine which I’m sure is way past her bedtime. A few moments later there’s a soft knock at my door.
“She’s sleeping,” I half whisper as I open the door and motion toward where she’s lying on the couch.
“Here,” he says, handing me a bank envelope.
“It’s okay, really. I don’t need to be paid,” I say, waving away the envelope. “It was just a few hours."
“Don’t be foolish, Miss Flowers. Take the money,” he commands, a bit exasperated. “Don’t ever work for free.”
“Oookay.” I take the envelope and open it, seeing several hundred dollar bills. “This seems very excessive. I can’t accept this much.”
“It’s not. You can and you will.”
“Bossy much,” I mutter, flipping through the bills. My gaze darts upward to his. “Since when did the going rate for babysitting jump up to two hundred and fifty an hour? Pretty sure I made like ten bucks an hour when I was sixteen.”
“Ask my nanny.”
My mouth falls open. “Your nanny makes two fifty an hour?”
“No, not exactly, but I pay her probably three times what most people pay their nanny.”
“Damn, are you hiring for a second nanny?” I laugh, placing the envelope on the table by my front door.
He tilts his head, half leaning against the doorframe. “I think we both know that would not be a good idea.” He stares at me, his eyes dark and heavy. He drops them down to my breasts, then back up to my mouth. I feel like I’m standing stark naked right now, completely vulnerable. My mouth goes dry again and my knees feel like they could buckle at any second.
Why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Because he sees you as a pissy annoyance, remember?
“Are you ever going to let me in to get my daughter?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I step aside, wrapping my arms around myself in a nervous attempt to play off that little scenario.
He walks over to the couch, pulling the blanket from her and scooping her up into his arms. She barely stirs, still fast asleep in his arms, then he grabs her bag and heads to the door.
“Thanks again. I owe you one.”
