Project: Daddy. Patricia Knoll
never forgotten, and truly, I can do anything I set my mind to. Like I said, I’m a quick learner.”
And a fast talker, he thought, trying to suppress the admiration he felt for her determination. “Have you ever run a house?”
“Of course,” she answered firmly, but her eyes couldn’t quite meet his. “Well, I supervised.”
With a last disparaging glance at her resume, Mac refolded it and shoved it back into the envelope. He didn’t know what kind of game she was playing, but he wanted no part of it. “Why would a society girl like you want this job?”
“I’m not a society girl. At least, not any longer. I need to provide for myself. This is a job that I can do. You won’t be taking any risk by hiring me,” she went on fervently. “There are character references on my resume who will vouch for my honesty. I’m a good cook, anybody can clean house, and what I don’t know about taking care of children, I can learn.”
“No,” he began, shaking his head, but she cut him off.
“A two-week trial, then,” she pleaded, her eyes going deep green in her distress. “That’s all I ask.”
Mac felt an uncomfortable stillness within him as he looked at the need in her eyes. He wanted to back away like a crab scrambling across the sand. Wasn’t it enough that he had these two kids to look out for? He didn’t want anyone else around who had needs of any kind that he would have to deal with. Before he could react, she reached across the table and cupped her hand over his, squeezing firmly as she tried to convince him.
Mac reacted as if a live wire had wrapped itself around his wrist. He recoiled and she snatched her hand away. She flushed, obviously embarrassed by what she’d done and stunned by his reaction. Shifting in his chair, he sat back and tried to cover his retreat with a sip of coffee.
What the heck had that been about? he wondered. No mystery, he decided after a moment. He’d gone too long without having a woman around and it just proved he didn’t need this one around, either.
Mac cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but you won’t do, Mrs. Barbour. I need someone with more experience.”
“But I’m reliable,” she said, desperately. Pointing toward the room where the children were watching cartoons, she said, “You could see for yourself that Elly liked me. That’s something I can build on. Besides,” she went on in a breathless tone, as if she’d used up all her ammunition and was prepared to go down fighting anyway, “The economy is good right now, there are all kinds of jobs available for anyone who wants one—”
“Then why don’t you try for one of those?” Mac broke in.
Her mouth opened and closed. He had her there and it took her a moment to regroup and come charging back.
“I would prefer to work in a home. I was trying to say that it’s possible you might have trouble finding someone who’d like to work out here. It’s somewhat…isolated.”
The words desolate and godforsaken, spoken in the voice of his ex-fiancée, Judith, echoed in his mind. She’d wanted to live near the ocean but only if there were plenty of socializing opportunities, preferably a yacht club nearby. She hadn’t been too thrilled with his plan to build the house near his hometown of Cliffside on this rocky section of coast. He’d partially redeemed himself in her eyes by letting her take over the interior design of the place—which was how he’d ended up living in something that looked like the guts of an iceberg.
He couldn’t imagine that Miss Country Club Ball would turn out to be any different than Judith. On the other hand, he was afraid this girl had a point. No one from Cliffside would want to work for him and he had only today and tomorrow to find someone to care for Elly and Simon. He had to be at work on Monday or risk losing his own job. He had a bad feeling about this, though. A really bad feeling. This girl was too attractive, too alive to be around him, around this place that was full of raw emotions and bad memories. No doubt it was unhealthy for Elly and Simon, too, but they were stuck with it.
But Elly and Simon were the ones he had to consider, not himself. He might resent Sheila for dumping them on him, but he had to do his best by them. Despite what the locals might think, he always fulfilled his responsibilities.
He couldn’t have her here, though. He stared at Paris’s hopeful, earnest face for several seconds and was opening his mouth to say once more that she wouldn’t do when Simon came into the room. He was dragging his blanket and carrying a book under his arm.
“Wead,” Simon grunted, holding up the book.
Relieved because he could use the little boy as an excuse to end this interview and send Paris on her way, Mac reached for his nephew. Simon ignored Mac’s outstretched hand, skirted around him, and headed straight for Paris who looked startled, but pulled the baby into her lap and examined the book.
“Animals,” she said. “My favorite subject.”
Satisfied, Simon leaned back against her, popped his thumb into his mouth, and reached up to begin twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. Once again, Paris looked surprised, but she didn’t pull away, earning herself points with both Simon and Mac.
As she opened the book and began reading about Simon’s favorite animals, Mac felt himself soften toward her. Maybe it was true that kids and dogs were good judges of who to trust. If so, Simon obviously trusted Paris.
Still, she had little experience or training. A woman from the country club set had no business here, and why would she want the job, anyway? He wasn’t satisfied with her explanation, what there was of it, and wanted more answers, but getting more answers would mean keeping her around and it was best if he hustled her out the door as quickly as possible. And he would, too, as soon as she finished reading to Simon.
As he watched, Paris snuggled Simon close and turned so the sunlight that had sneaked in the window could fall on the book. It fell on her hair, as well, burnishing it gold, and giving her skin a luminous clarity. To his horror, Mac felt as if that light was reaching toward him. Mentally, he backed away, fabricating imaginary barriers as he went, but when Simon looked up unexpectedly and gave his uncle a grin for the first time since his arrival, Mac felt something inside himself crumple and give way. Although it was the last thing he would have expected to come out of his mouth, he abruptly said, “Two weeks.”
Paris placed her finger on the page and glanced up curiously. “Excuse me?”
Feeling like five kinds of a fool, Mac said, “You can have a two-week trial. Then we’ll see. And I should warn you that I don’t know how long the job will last. Sheila could return next week or next year, but I suspect she’ll be gone for a while. We’ll start with two weeks.”
Relief and joy flooded her face, brightening her eyes. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Weston.”
He already did. Then to make sure she knew he was boss, he repeated it. “Two-week trial. That’s all. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll end it right there, no hard feelings on either side.”
She smiled as if he’d handed her a gift. All her other smiles had been designed to charm him and get what she wanted. He was used to that kind. This one was pure pleasure and gratitude as if he’d done a great thing and was a heck of a nice guy.
Mac couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that, if anyone ever had. Again, he felt that odd softening going on in his gut and he scowled to fight it off.
“Two weeks,” Paris said, obviously trying to hide her glee and appear professional. “That sounds perfectly fair.” She gave Simon a hug. “Why don’t I get started as soon as I finish this book?”
CHAPTER TWO
AND get started she had. She had taken the money he’d given her and started out to stock up the pantry. He’d headed her off before she left.
“Go into Alban. It’s fifteen miles down the highway.”