Page 163 of Trouble from Abroad
She nods again, fidgeting with her hands, but she doesn’t reply. Good. I’m not in the mood to chat either. “Here’s the living room. Kitchen’s in the back, dining room to the right.” I point to the rooms like a fucking steward who doesn’t care if the plane is about to crash.
“Your room is on the second floor. So is Lily’s, along with the bathroom we’ll all have to share for the foreseeable future. It’s an old house with only two full bathrooms, and I just fucked up mine.”
I glance down at my soaked clothes, feeling stupider by the minute. “Third floor is my room and said fucked-up bathroom.”
She squints, her mouth curling into a shy grin.Riiiight. She won’t laugh at my jokes but finds my misery amusing. Noted.
“And the basement?” she asks, her voice feminine and curious.
“It used to be my wife's yoga studio.” The mention of her stretches the edges of my mouth down, but I pull themback. I refuse to give that woman any more power over me. “But I turned it into a gym you’re welcome to use. And a library.”
Her eyebrows rise at the word library, and this time, she makes no effort to hide a full-blown smile.
“Thank you,” she adds, her chest expanding with a thrilled inhale—drawing my attention where it has no business going.
It’s my turn to nod before turning away. I grab the heaviest suitcases and signal for her to follow. I lead her to her bedroom, the carpeted stairs muffling my angry steps on the way up.
Opening the door for her, I catch the quiet wow that leaves Mia’s lips. She seems more than pleased with what she sees.
The room has massive windows overlooking the back garden, a super-king bed, fresh flowers and a candle April left as a welcome on the bedside table. There’s also an office desk, a decent-sized closet, and one of my favorite spots in the house—a hammock swing chair.
That’smyreading chair, and I’m going to miss the hell out of it. But moving it made no sense; Mia won’t be here long anyway. Good, I tell myself. Less time to stare. Fewer opportunities to slip.
“I better get back to fixing my bathroom. Do you need anything else?”
“Just sleep. This is…” Her eyes scan the room with awe. “Perfect. Thanks.”
I grunt a goodbye and head upstairs, eager to put space between us.
I keep telling myself it’s fine. She’s just a nanny. A guest. It’s all temporary.
I’m not a man who gets distracted easily, but I can’t shake the way Mia’s smile lit up when I mentioned the library. It’s more than just another room in the house; it’s my new favorite part. There’s something about it… and something about her… I can't quite put my finger on it, and I sure as hell don’t want to.
I grab my hammer, and my knuckles blanch.
Time to focus onfixing things—not on things I can’t afford to break.
Be a dad first. Doctor second. And whatever she is? Off-limits by about a decade and a half.
CHAPTER THREE
mia
My phone’shaving a seizure next to my pillow. It keeps vibrating with the arrival of multiple messages, putting an end to my power nap.
Would you look at that—April started a group chat with Calista and me, and it’s already at over a hundred unread texts. Some other messages from Liam pop up, and I’m conditioned to prioritize those.
Oh, great. We’re all having dinner together tonight.
Why does it feel weird that I’m not the one who booked the restaurant? I really need to shake off the personal assistant persona.
A fresh round of vibrations jolts me—except this time, it’s not my phone. The door rattles hard, about to come off its hinges.
Heart kicking up, I zip my pants back up, scramble out of bed and cross the room in quick strides. Yanking the door open, my voice echoes in my head when I ask, “Yes?” and I realize I have my earplugs in.
Dr. Preston Jett is in my doorway, a forearm bracedagainst the frame, a fist still half-raised. The man doesn’t even have to reach that high—his arm just lands there, effortlessly—the doorframe existing for his personal convenience. His bicep flexes, taunting me, testing the elasticity of his gym shirt and my self-control. Why does he have to look so damn good?
I’ve seen hot men before. I’ve even worked for a few. But nothing—and I mean nothing—prepared me for the man in front of me. Dr. Preston is disturbingly gorgeous. No man should be allowed a chest that broad, green eyes that look that deep, and a scowl that begs for me to tease him, all in the same body.
