Page 23 of Never Bargain with the Boss
“Come on, Dad. Get dressed,” Grace whispers. Well, for her, it’s a whisper. For most people, it’d be considered speaking ina normal voice. She also pokes her finger into his ribs, which wakes him up quickly.
“What’s wrong?” he grumbles in a sleep-roughened voice, throwing an arm over his eyes.
I cringe. Not because she’s bothering him, but because the sheets are puddled around his waist, leaving his chest bare, and with his arm over his eyes, his biceps bulge obscenely. I wouldn’t have thought so, but beneath his tailored shirts and suits, Cameron is in immaculate shape. He could be a model for one of those marble statues, with cut abs, V lines that disappear below the gym shorts I usually see him wearing in the mornings, broad shoulders, and muscled arms. He clearly does more than just the treadmill, his forearms are the stuff of porn, and I vaguely wonder if he ever rolls his sleeves up at the office. If so, I’m sure he’s got women all over Blue Lake Assets as hot and bothered as the school secretary is.
It's a good thing I’m not one of those women.
Nope, not me. I haven’t noticed him at all—not this morning, looking like raw sex with mussed hair and a dark blonde scruff on his face, and not at all during the last week-ish I’ve worked for him. I’m totally unaffected by my boss and there’s not a single dirty fantasy running through my mind. And if you believe that, I’ve got some oceanside property to sell you, right in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska.
I would never act on the thoughts—which I still blame on Miller for planting that stupid seed—but I can’t help but notice Cameron. I mean anyone would, so I certainly understand why the previous nannies—and every other woman in the Tri-State area—might be willing to throw themselves at him.
But not me. No siree, not Riley Lynn Stefano, the friendly but transient, loner nanny. I’m just gonna gawk a bit, take a few mental snapshots for later usage, and go on about my business.
I should move. Go back to the kitchen and quit ogling. But my feet don’t seem to be working.
“Get dressed. We’re going to Starbucks and shopping,” Grace says, acting like she’s reminding Cameron of something very obvious.
He cracks one eye open, the blue orb glaring at her. It’s a common expression for the man but he doesn’t usually turn that look on his beloved daughter. “What?”
“Starbucks. Shopping. Me. You. Riley.” She says each word as if they’re a complete sentence and she’s dumbing it down for his sleep-addled brain.
“Riley said you two were shopping, but I’m not going.” He seems to be not only awake now, but firing on all cylinders.
“Yeah, you are. Thirty minutes. Get dressed.” She pokes him in the ribs once more for good measure and then spins, coming toward the door. “See? I told you he was coming with us,” she tells me.
Cameron’s head pops up and his eyes find mine instantly. I watch as he shifts, pulling on the white sheet at his waist, and his eyes darken like he’s accusing me of something.
Shit. I’m totally busted, standing here like a pervert, staring at my boss while he sleeps half-nude. Hell, maybe totally-nude for all I know, given I haven’t seen that many pairs of underwear in the laundry I’ve done. Not that I’m counting, but I might’ve noticed that Cameron wears designer, trunk-style briefs because folding his laundry is the closest to sex I’ve been in a while. And yes, I’m painfully aware of how pitiful that sounds.
From somewhere behind me, Grace shouts, “Twenty-nine!”
I spin, virtually sprinting away from Cameron’s doorway and hoping I don’t get fired for going into Peeping Tom mode when I was only trying to let him have a relaxing morning of sleep.
“I’m coming!” Cameron bellows back, answering Grace. But I think he must realize the possible double-entendre a split-second later because, sounding frustrated, he adds, “Don’t leave without me.”
I press my lips together, fighting off a grin because there’s no way in hell a man like Cameron announces ‘I’m coming’ when he actually orgasms. He’s probably the silent type, barely letting a grunt out. I giggle at that. He really is uptight.
Back in the kitchen, Grace is eating, but even chewing, her mouth is turned up in a self-satisfied smile. “Told you he’d come with us.”
I blink at her complete faith in her ability to get Cameron to do anything she wishes. “You are terrifying, Grace.”
It’s not exactly a compliment, but she takes it as one, smacking her lips before saying, “I know.”
Twenty-four minutes later, Cameron enters the kitchen, proclaiming, “I’m ready.”
I studiously don’t look at him, feigning intense interest in the wrapper of the granola bar I’m near-inhaling. But the tiniest side-eyed glance tells me everything I need to know.
He’s freshly showered, but unshaven, and the scruff looks good on him, roughing up his hard edges. He’s wearing nice jeans, an untucked button-down, and lace-up Oxfords. It’s the most casual I’ve seen him—other than in his workout gear—but he looks ready for a day at the country club, not a thrift store. He’s going to absolutely hate everything about this—the clothes, the digging, the sense of everything being used. Hopefully, by the end of it, he doesn’t hate me.
Because he’s already frowning deeply, his eyes locked on me like I’m a puzzle he’s going to solve. But good luck with that. If I haven’t figured me out, no one else is going to. And why waste a single passing moment on that when they could be spent doing something fun to make the most of them?
Like going shopping.
“Yeah! Let’s go!” Grace shouts. “Starbucks before or after?”
“After,” Cameron answers his daughter’s near-constant request to go for an iced Frappuccino.
“Before,” I say at the same time.