Page 162 of Trouble from Abroad
So it was only natural I also trusted her when she said she found the right person, someone she knew personally, who would be a great fit for us.
Turns out, no woman can be trusted.
Because Mia doesn’t look right at all. The second I laid eyes on her, I knew it—she’s going to bring trouble into my life. The knock-you-off-axis kind that turns rational thought into wishful thinking.
She’s a walking, talking red flag. If, of course, flags had a pair of thick legs and an ass that’s putting those pants to the test. Jesus Christ, I’m staring, and that’s not right.
Preston, have some decency and stop checking her out.
She commands the room as she steps into my house, or maybe it’s just my brain misfiring in her wake. Her curves fill tailored burned-orange pants, the matching jacket doing nothing to hide the temptation beneath. Her skin glows with that warm flush that makes her look fresh off a beach shoot—not out of a flight from gray and rainy London.
Her wide hips sway in a rhythm that could drive a man to madness if he looks too long. God help me, because I do.
Her hair is a mass of dark curls, wild in that ‘accidental sex hair’ kind of way. And her face—Jesus—those full lips curve, amused, in on a joke I’m too disturbed to get.
Mia’s a head smaller than me, far from dainty. She’sfeminine, but not delicate. Her smile is shy, but her presence is loud. A walking contradiction, I have no business deciphering.
She’s your employee. Forbidden fruit. Eyes up, Jett.
I'm not one to waste time on things I can’t control, but now I’m questioning everything I’ve just signed up for.
She walks past me, only to come to a sudden halt, and pivots, her long curls slapping me right in the face. I flinch, both at the whip and the scent that assaults my nostrils—citrus and honey—something that could burn and heal in the same breath. It feels like a warning.
“My bags,” she yelps. She’s clumsily trying to carry another two up the steps by the time I shake off the paralyzing effects of the smell of her shampoo.
“Here, let me help you,” I offer, remembering my manners, and have her suitcases inside my house before she finds her next footing on the steps.
“Sorry about the mess.” I pull a cloth from my back pocket to dry my hands, but the thing is so damp, it’s not much help. “I thought I could handle fixing my bathroom. Funny thing is, as a plumber, I’m a great surgeon.”
It’s a joke. A bad one, but I’m a dad, so I’m allowed those. I get nothing from her.Nada.When I opened the door, Mia was all sunshine and smiles. The minute I introduced myself, she turned somber and uncomfortable.
Is shethatdisappointed with me? At first sight?Wow, that’s a new low, Jett. You’ve really let yourself go, old man.
I don’t care; I lie to placate my shattered ego. She’s the new nanny, here to take care of the house and my kid. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me.
The silence is so thick I have to sidestep it, like clutter ina cramped room. “Lily is at her grandparents’. She’ll be back on Sunday,” I say after she’s swayed back and forth on the balls of her feet long enough to give me motion sickness. “Let me give you a tour of the house and then you can settle in.”
She just nods.
I may live in a meticulously decorated 4,000-square-foot home, but I have a feeling it’s about to get pretty claustrophobic living under the same roof with this woman.
My career thrived on following my instincts, and my gut is telling me this is a bad idea. Is it too late to send her back to London? Because I already regret this arrangement.
I’m a practical man. She hasn’t unpacked. This would certainly be the best time for it.
But I'm also reasonable and know beggars can’t be choosers. Lily will be back in a couple of days, and I need help. A lot of help. I hate it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. If April trusts Mia, then I’ll have to trust her too.
The clock is ticking, and I need to go back to a very demanding, very time-consuming job, and I need to figure out how to do that and be here for my kid too.
I also need to prove to two very obnoxious friends that I’m not a drunk who needs a babysitter myself.
Oh, fuck.All that alcohol must’ve killed my brain cells because I’m only now realizingwhyApril picked a friend of hers to look after my daughter.Mia’s here to keep an eye on me too.I glance back and glare at the new nanny.
My skin prickles with outrage.How could I be so stupid?Well, to be fair, I’m on a roll. And now I’m welcoming a damn spy into my own house.It takes all I have to keepmoving forward instead of turning around and tossing her bags out on the street.
How the hell did I let things get this far?I used to have everything under control—my marriage, my career, my daughter’s future. Now? I’m outsourcing parenting to someone who looks way too young for the job, and worse, I’m handing her a backstage pass to watch me fall apart if I fail.
I park her bags near the sofa and exhale a gulf of fire through my nose before mustering the bare minimum of politeness to address her. “It’s a three-story house. Four, if you count the basement.”
