Liam. Last night’s Liam, in faded jeans that are slightly gaping at the back of his waist where the hem of his Calvin Klein's start. It’s enough of a sight to force my eyes up high enough to notice his tight-fitting gray t-shirt—okay, bottom line is, this is very different from the button-down shirt he had on when I sawhimlast.
Liam is staring pointedly at me, kind of the way he was last night when I evidently intruded into his space on the rocks while I was offending him with my looks. How is this my luck? I find a great family to nanny for in an enormous house overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, and I’m stuck with thisasshole.
“It’s not a problem, Sam,” he responds to her with a smile. Okay, so it is just me hesnarlsat?
“Liam, this is our new nanny, Julia. Julia, this is Liam, our housekeeper.” A man housekeeper. This is my punishment. That’s what this is. I lied to Dad, told him I got some big corporate internship with a newspaper . . . near the beach, which he believed, and here I am, nannying because I thought it would be a breeze this summer ... one last hurrah before I have to become a full-fledged adult and get a corporate job. I get it. The joke isonme.
In response to Samantha, Liam snickers and stands up, holding his hand out to me, glancing directly down at the nice coffee/pee stain. “Nice to meet you, Julia. I can leave if you need to use the bathroom, again,” he whispers the last part.Unbelievable. I don’t want to shake his hand. There’s a snide look to his fake grin, and I want to hand back to him what he’s handed to me. We interacted for less than a minute last night, and you’d think I killed his grandmother by the way he’s looking at me. He’s obviously atotaldick.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I try to say kindly, but I’m sure it sounded the way I feel—pissed.
I reluctantly give him my hand, and my jaw clenches as our skin touches—my dry, warm hand against his soapy, wet one. What the hell? His hand engulfs mine, his grip holding me hostage. As he squeezes, the soap from his hand seeps between my fingers, and his smile widens with pride. “If you’re not in a rush for the bathroom, I’ll be out of your hair in just a fewminutes.”
“Thank you, Liam,” Samantha says. “Come on, Julia, I’ll show you the rest of the house while Liam finishes up in your bathroom. She glances at her watch as she speeds up her step. “Crap, I have to leave for the studio in twentyminutes.”
I can’t stop myself from looking over my shoulder to Liam as I follow Samantha out of the bathroom. His fake smile he was putting on as a show of kindness has deflated into the same grimace he was sporting last night. In addition to his irritated scowl, he raises a brow, and I don’t even want to know what the hell that’s supposedtomean.
I’ve been leftwith a list. Samantha thought it would be best if I got settled in today, learned my way around the house, and found ways to avoid Liam before having a child thrown into the mix. Well, she didn’t exactly mention the avoiding Liam part, but that is part ofmyplan.
Evidently, Dylan is ten years old. He has asthma, an allergy to penicillin, and a knack for making nannies cry. Why would she include that in her note? Well, this kid is in for it then. I haven’t cried in more than ten years, and that was only when Grannie died. Some kid isn’t going to get the best of me when I’m in charge. For a moment, I forget the reason I decided this was going to be a good idea, but as if the universe wanted to remind me, a breeze blows in through the cracked kitchen window, dragging my focus out to the horizon of the choppy water.This is whyI’mhere.
“Ten days, six hours, five minutes, and thirty-two seconds.” I turn away from the window, exchanging one beautiful viewfor...Liam.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” I fire back at him. “Or is this the part where you pretend to sound superior, knowledgeable, and like some stupid wise owl?” Liam grins, showing his vibrantly white teeth as he hoists himself up onto the kitchen table. “Do you have a loose screw orsomething?”
His lips pucker into the form of an “o” as his dark brows cast a shadow over his sharp emerald eyes. “Is that allyougot?”
“What’s your problem?” I snap, throwing my hands down by my side. The paper I’ve been holding crinkles in my grip, and I realize how enraged I am when I loosen my fingers and the balled-up note drops to theground.
“The last nanny made it ten days. The one before, six, and the one before that, eight,”hesays.
“Well,” I say, flapping my hand at him. “I’m sure I can understand why, seeing as you were most likely a complete asshole to them too.” My head falls to the side, and I cross my arms over my chest, giving Liam a long, hard look. What could hesaynow?
“You don’t understand anything,” he snickers and hops down from thetable.
“So you hang around all day, clean the house, fold laundry, and cook meals,right?”
He nudges me out of the way as he takes over the counter space I was leaning against and grabs the muffin tin. “That’s all I do. I prance around this house in a maid’s uniform with a feather duster,” he scoffs. “God, you’re allthesame.”
I create some space between us, moving over to the kitchen table. “Ohhh, okay, I get it. You were in love with one of the nannies and she left you high and dry, breaking your poor weak heart. Is that it?” The first half of my question came out cynically, but as I came to the end of my assumption, I assured myself I hit a nerve. I’m totallyright.
Except, who am I to judge a weak heart? I’ve written off men for the past year because of what Andy did to me. Lousy son of abitch.
Liam didn’t take another jab at me like I assumed he would, which is worse because now I just feel likeajerk.
“I’m sorry,” I offer,painfully.
“For what?” he rebutsquickly.
“What I just said?” I’m looking at his back as if he has two heads. I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m apologizing for, so I can assume he just wants me to grovelnow.Nope.
“Whatever,” he says, turning the sinkonhigh.
“And for your information, I plan to last longer than ten days, so you better get used to mebeinghere.”
“Great, well then, there’s one thing I should make real clearrightnow.”
He turns the sink off, twists around, and leans back against the counter. “You clean up after yourself. I don’t do your dishes, your laundry, or make your bed. Got it?” It’s not like I asked for this or insinuated it. Why would he assume I’d expect something like that? Unless the previous nannies did. Maybe that’s what has his feathers so ruffled. I almost laugh at my own joke, but he still looks pretty ticked off, so I keep it tomyself.
