Page 7 of Whisper Sweet Nothings
I was raised in a home where you brushed things off. My father was big on duct tape instead of bandages.
We certainly didn’t keep a medical supply kit at home or at work.
“Yes.” He held my ankle with one hand and inspected the wound before applying a layer of Neosporin and covering it with a large bandage. “You never know when you’re going to interview someone, and they’re going to trip and fall on their way in.”
“I’m terribly sorry about all this and sincerely apologi?—”
He waved me off and quickly asked, “Does this happen often?”
I chuckled, appreciating his teasing tone. This wassonot what I’d expected. At least he wasn’t angry. Regardless, I was sure he wasn’t going to hire me.
“You’re the first to walk through the door soaking wet and bleeding.” He pulled down my pant leg and set my foot back onto the floor. “I think these pants are done, though.”
I shrugged. “Great. I’ve lost my favorite pants, and I apparently lost the job, too.”
He stood and laughed as he pulled off the gloves and dropped them in the trash can. “No, Winnie. I didn’t replace you in the last hour. I thought you’d flaked on the interview, and I told Lucy that if you showed up to say that the position was filled.”
“Why would I set up an interview and flake on it? What if I’d been kidnapped or murdered? You just assumed that I no-showed?” I teased as he settled in the chair on the other side of his desk so he could face me.
“I figured you’re young and you met up with some friends. I wouldn’t blame you. I just wouldn’t hire you.” He smirked.
My God. The man oozed sex appeal. The deep voice, the green eyes that felt like they were looking straight into my soul.
The gentle touch and care.
His jaw was chiseled perfection beneath a light layer of day-old scruff.
Who the hell is this guy?
So, being an author, these were the traits I always included in my heroes.
Because I wrote fiction.
But this guy—he appeared to be what book boyfriend dreams were made of.
“I’m young?” I asked, feigning irritation.
He held his hands up in defense. “Your aunt told me that you graduated from college not that long ago. I just assumed you’d found something more exciting to do than go interview for a part-time nanny position.”
“First off, I graduated from college over two years ago. I’m not some co-ed party girl. My father always jokes that I wasborn a forty-year-old woman,” I said with a laugh. “So I assure you, I’m not going to be off partying. I take my responsibilities seriously. But the car breaking down was unexpected. It got me all the way here from Chicago, and then it decided to die on me when I was only a mile from town.”
He studied me for a long moment and then nodded. “Fair enough. So, tell me what your experience is with children? Your aunt Edith said that you’re great with kids.”
“Ahh… they were both singing my praises, weren’t they?” I asked as I thought over how I could best answer the question.
“They were. And you’re clearly deflecting. Just give it to me straight. Do you have experience with kids?”
Damn. The guy was good at reading people.
“I haven’t been a nanny before, per se.”
“‘Per se’?” He raised a brow, the move so sexy I shifted in my seat, pulling the blanket around myself a bit tighter.
“I like kids.” I shrugged.
He laughed. “All right. Did you grow up in a large family? Do you have a lot of siblings? Nieces and nephews?”
“I’m an only child.” I cleared my throat. “No nieces and nephews.”
