Page 9 of Faking It with a Single Dad

Chapter three

Layla

He doesn't look like what I imagined, and he smells familiar.

I stare at the man who stole my land—seeing him for the first time. Tristan Jackson destroyed my life when he came to New Brooks with his big checkbooks and bigger bank accounts two months ago. He bought the land my store stood on, and with the simple signing of a document, he took away my livelihood. He took away the only thing I had left, and the worst part was that he didn't even care enough to know what he did.

Well, I'm going to make him pay.

"Mr. Jackson, I'm Layla Garner," I stretch a hand, hoping it isn't sweaty. "I applied for the babysitter job."

Tristan Jackson takes my hand in his, looking at me with an intense stare. I wonder why he's looking at me like that. For a moment, I wonder if he recognizes me because his gaze borders on familiarity, and his hand lingers in mine for a while. His earthy scent lingers in my nose.

"Mr. Jackson, it's so nice to meet you." I hope I sound confident.

I need to get this job. My plans for revenge depend on me getting this job. I keep my eyes on him. He's decked in jeans and a white shirt with a brown jacket. His dark hair falls across his face, and I wonder where I've seen that hairstyle—probably on some other douchebag.

I have built up hating him so much in my head that he almost looks familiar.

"Mrs. Garner." He clears his throat before he speaks, and his voice comes out in a low, emotionless tone.

"Miss."

"Miss," he repeats; I couldn't read his expression. "Let's talk inside."

He starts to head inside, and I follow behind him. I look at the large mansion and shake my head in unhidden distaste. It's a little too much, I think. I watch his back as we head in. His back is muscular like a weightlifter, and I can make out the defined legs hidden in his baggy jeans.

"Sorry about the mess. You came just as we arrived."

I look around and can't find the mess he's apologizing about. The living room is a vast, magnificent space with elegant décor. The chairs and sofa are a matching shade of brown, and the wooden floor is polished wood that looks expensive. The room has high ceilings that make you feel like you're in the presence of royalty, and the fireplace is dark without traces of a recent fire. The house smells… old.

There is a small bar in the corner, but it is noticeably devoid of alcohol. I also noticed there are no pictures of Deanna in sight. Of course, the asshole can't face what he did to her.

"Have a seat," he points to a chair as he sits.

I sit awkwardly across from him, thankful I didn't wear the skirt I considered wearing. Imagine he sees my underwear the first time he meets me. The thought makes me shudder. My jeans overalls with one of the undone latches and black boots make me feel like a college kid.

"Are you a native?"

"A native of New Brooks?" I ask with a smile plastered on my face. "Born and bred, yes."

His eyes are narrow as he watches me. Shouldn't I have said that? Shit! "Are you familiar with Pixels?"

More than you know.

"Like… Pictures?"

"No, like the company."

"Oh, the tech company?" I feign discovery.

"Exactly, so you know it?"

"Uh, just bits and pieces about it from the news."

"Ever been to New York?"

The question catches me off-guard. His eyes remain primed on me—those dark eyes that pierce my innermost thoughts. I know he doesn't know who I am. If he knew, he'd have turned me away the second he laid his eyes on me.