Page 11 of His Vivacious Angel
Her lashes flutter momentarily, and she darts her eyes away, hunching her shoulders slightly.
“Fuck.” Leaning on a hip, I pull my wallet from the back pocket of my slacks. With a sigh, I pluck two of the crisp dollar bills I figured I’d need for just this occasion, and I stuff them into the jar. “I’m sorry, Ms. Fischer. I shouldn’t have said that.” Not only was it unprofessional, but I clearly struck a nerve. Why I should feel sorry after the hell she’s put me through, I don’t know, but I do.
“Sorry enough to let me off the hook for babysitting?” she asks, bending back to her task at her computer.
“I’m not that sorry.”
“You will be,” she mutters.
That, I have no doubt.
Whew, was I right. Swinging open the front door an hour after getting home on Friday night, I have the overwhelming urge to slam it right in Autumn’s face. If it weren’t for my boss and his wife standing on either side of Autumn, I probably would. True to Mr. Fischer’s words, his wife, Miranda, had knocked on my door and introduced herself a few days ago. I have a feeling that, if the kids hadn’t pulled me away, she could have kept the conversation going for hours, much friendlier and warmer than her daughter.
“Forest,” says Sherman, as I’ve been given leave to call him outside of work, his expression stony.
Autumn squints when she presents me with a ceramicdish. “I brought pie. Made it from scratch, just for you. I hope you like blueberry.”
“Oh wow,” I say, taking the warm dish from her hands, careful not to let our fingers brush as her dad looks on murderously and her mother sucks in her cheeks. I really hadn’t expected Autumn to show up with anything other than a glare and an insult. I take a sniff and tell her, delighted and surprised, “Blueberry is my favorite.”
“Goddammit,” Sherman grumbles in a low voice, pressing his hand to his chest. He turns his accusatory gaze on his wife. “She got this from you.”
Miranda skips to her husband’s side and clutches his arm. “Deep breaths. Did you remember to take your pill today?”
“Yes. It’s not working,” Sherman says, cutting his narrowed eyes to me. “I’ll be back to pick Autumn up at ten-thirty sharp.”
I swallow and nod before letting the little vixen inside my house. With Autumn wearing a sundress the likes of which she had on at the grocery store, but with a much shorter hem and a neckline that shows off quite a bit of her large breasts, it’s no mystery why Sherman looks like he wants to wring my neck. Miranda has to physically pull him away.
“You got what from your mom?” I ask Autumn when she swerves past me and the empty formal dining room into the disorganized living room on the right. With her mother’s eyes being gray and her darker hair braided into a single twist, Autumn more closely resembles Sherman. Fortunately for Autumn, and unfortunately for me, I mean that in the best way.
“My…baking skills.” Autumn tips her head when she hears commotion from deeper in the house, and drops her purse on the brown leather sectional. Hopefully, she left the bear spray at home.
“And that’s a problem, why?”
“Has my dad told you how he met my mom?”
“No.” My boss and I aren’t exactly friends, especially with how icy he has become toward me with each passing day. Lord only knows how much Autumn has complained about me on their drive home from work.
“You should ask him sometime,” she says, swinging around when we hear Josephine exit her bedroom, only to hide herself behind me.
“Josephine,” I say, balancing the dish on one hand so I can twist to put my arm around her shoulders and draw her out to greet our guest. “You remember Autumn.”
“Hi,” Josephine says quietly.
“She’s here to help watch the boys while we get a few more things unpacked.” I infuse my voice with more enthusiasm. “How about we finish your room first? I’ll order pizza, and we can have pie for dessert.”
That has Josephine perking up, and she takes the pie dish, carrying it into the large U-shaped kitchen past the living room.
Autumn, however, wears a face of dread, her gaze cast down, and that makesmeperk up. “Come on, shrimp. I’ll show you to the boys’ room.”
Her shoulders slump as she sullenly follows me down the hallway.
“This is Josephine’s room,” I say, pointing to the first door on the right, then to the second and third. “The hall bathroom, and that’s the boys’ nursery.” I tip my head to the left. “Across is my room.” My face heats when Autumn’s thin brow ticks up, and our eyes meet briefly. I don’t know why I told her that.
“Oh boy,” she says, blowing out an audible breath when I lead her into the nursery, where Sebastian is jumping on his bed like a trampoline while Benjamin screeches happily, watching his older brother from his crib.
I lift Benjamin up high and give him a sniff. “He just woke up from a late nap, and it smells like he needs his diaper changed.” I pass the baby to her, hoping it’s just her luck that Benjamin blew out his diaper. “Have fun.”
Autumn holds her breath like she’s going to be sick. If Megan hadn’t given Autumn a glowing recommendation as a babysitter, I’d never in a million years actually leave her with my kids. But I know this show she’s putting on is only to guilt-trip me into feeling bad or letting her go home early. Which I don’t and won’t.
