“Of course you’d go there.”
“Do you blame me? You know I’m a sucker for the boss-nanny trope. Forced proximity. Age gap. I can read that all day, every day.”
“You’re horrible,” I respond nonchalantly.
But I can’t ignore the warmth filling my stomach over the idea of a little boss-nanny action with Hayden. Of his unshaven jawline scraping between my thighs. Of his hands roaming my frame.
Which is the last thing I need to be thinking about right now, but I can’t help it.
It’s been so long since I’ve been with a man.
I make a mental note to find my vibrator and put itto use… Especially if I’m to see Hayden in a suit every day. Or in gray sweatpants. Or even in jeans. I don’t think the man has a single bad look.
“So…is he?” Emily cuts through my thoughts.
“Is he what?”
“Single.”
I square my shoulders. “We didn’t discuss relationship status.”
“Well, is there a Mrs. Doctor?”
“No. It’s only him and the kids.”
“Divorced?”
I part my lips, considering her question.
“I don’t think so. There’s a sort of…sadness in this house.” I lower my voice. “I think his wife may have passed away.”
Emily’s face softens. “That’s heartbreaking.”
“It is. And his daughter… She doesn’t talk.”
“Is she deaf?”
“No. Just doesn’t speak. I’m pretty sure she can, but she just…doesn’t.”
Emily studies me with the same analytical gaze I’ve grown used to over the years. “You see yourself in her.”
I exhale a long breath, leaning back against the headboard. “I know what it’s like to have people look at you like you’re different. After my surgery… Hell, even before when I was wondering if I’d ever step foot out of that hospital again… I hated it. Everyone tiptoeing around me. Treating me like I might keel over and die any second. The way people looked when they came to visit me. Like I was already dead.”
“Most people don’t know what to say,” she offers sympathetically.
“I’m still the same person I was before.”
She shakes her head gently, her painted red lips curving into a smile. “No. You’re better. You finally stopped running yourself into the ground.”
“Don’t remind me,” I mutter, my stomach tightening from the reminder of my old life.
How I used to work seventy or eighty hours a week trying to prove myself.
How I’d chosen success over relationships.
How I’d forgotten what’s important in life.
Until I got the wake-up call I needed.
