Page 7 of One Hot Daddy

"Before you agree to anything, I should warn you about our schedule.It's...unpredictable.I work at the Millbrook Grand, which is a boutique hotel.I'm the general manager and sometimes need to rush back to the hotel after hours due to minor emergencies---or a not-so-minor ones."

"I can handle all of it, Fletcher, believe me.But you'll need to trust me one hundred percent if this arrangement is going to work."She lifts her brows, staring directly into my eyes again."The question is, should I walk out the door?Or do you intend to hire me?"

It's do-or-die time.So, I rise and bend over slightly to offer my hand."We have a deal, Jennifer.Welcome to the Murgatroyd household."

And I pray I've made the right decision.

Chapter Four

Jennifer

I follow Fletcher up the narrow staircase, my hand trailing along the banister as we climb up to the attic.The steps creak slightly beneath our weight, announcing our presence to the empty house.I count seventeen steps before we reach a small landing with a white door.Fletcher pauses, fumbling with a set of keys, and I hold my breath without really knowing why.Something about being here alone with a man who has four kids feels almost immoral.

"It's a bit small," he warns, jingling the key in the lock."My ex-wife decorated it years ago for her mother's visits.But after Claudia left, my mother-in-law, Patricia Sullivan, redecorated with the help of my mother, Florence Murgatroyd.They've been friends ever since."

The door swings open, and Fletcher graciously steps aside to let me enter first.I cross the threshold into what looks like a different house entirely.Sunlight streams through a large dormer window, bathing the room in warm golden light.The space isn't huge, but it's been thoughtfully arranged to maximize comfort.

"This is charming," I tell him, genuinely surprised by the feminine atmosphere.

A twin bed with a white iron frame sits against one wall, topped with a soft lavender-and-mint quilt.Beside it, a small nightstand holds a faux stained-glass lamp.The furniture is dainty---feminine in a way that doesn't match the chaos I've glimpsed downstairs.A writing desk faces the window, its surface clean despite the signs of age.

"Claudia---my ex---went through a shabby-chic phase," Fletcher explains, sounding slightly embarrassed."I've meant to update it, but..."

"No, it's perfect," I assure him, running my fingers over the smooth surface of the dresser."I love it."

A rectangular rug in pastel colors covers the hardwood floor.I tiptoe across it to peer into a tiny en-suite bathroom.

"Full bath," Fletcher says from behind me."Shower only, I'm afraid.The plumbing up here is a bit temperamental."

The bathroom is clean and simple---white tiles, pedestal sink, and a shower stall just large enough that it's not cramped.A small shell-shaped dish holds a fresh bar of soap.Someone has prepared for my arrival, and the thought makes me smile."I won't be taking two-hour mermaid baths like Amelia.This is more than adequate for my needs."

Fletcher's chuckle is short but genuine."Thank God for that.Our water heater can't handle another sea creature in the house."

I move to the window and gaze out at the backyard.It's larger than I expected, with a swing set that's clearly seen better days but is still safe to use.A basketball hoop is mounted on a patch of concrete, and there's an above-ground pool that's currently covered.

"The pool's not huge," Fletcher confirms, coming to stand beside me."But it fits all of us, and the kids love to splash around in it.We uncover the pool when the weather gets warm enough."

I can picture it already---four children splashing and shrieking with joy, Fletcher joining them on weekends.Maybe I'll even sit on the edge with my feet dangling in the cool water.

"Do you swim?"Fletcher asks.

"Like a flopping fish," I admit."But I'm excellent at lounging poolside with a book."

His shoulder brushes mine as he leans closer to the window."See the garden plot over there?Nobody's touched it in years.You're welcome to give it a go if you've got a green thumb."

I don't, but with Fletcher so close, I suddenly want to learn the breaststroke."Never know, I might give it a try."

The proximity makes me acutely aware of him---the clean scent of his cologne, the way his breath fogs up on the window pane, and his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.I step back, needing space to think clearly.I've never before reacted to a man this strongly.

I pull away from him, gesturing around the room."So, this would be all mine?"

"Completely private, yes.There's even a lock on the door, though I can't promise the children won't try to pick it.Joshua went through a locksmith phase last summer."He shakes his head."The bloody internet is a menace to all parents."

I laugh, picturing a determined thirteen-year-old with lock picks and a YouTube tutorial."I'll take my chances."

Moving backward into the center of the room, I inspect the attic to make sure I want to live in this room.But I keep getting distracted.Stop staring at Fletcher's lips, you moron.Right, yes, I should do that.This attic is nothing like the sterile guest rooms I've occupied in other people's homes.This space, despite its modest size, has a feminine aura that I sense could become mine like no place in Arkansas ever had.Not even my childhood bedroom felt this right.

"It's perfect," I declare again."Thank you for showing me this room."