Oh, no. I’m greeted instead by the hottest plumber on Earth, and I suddenly understand the appeal of those awful, poorly scripted and even worse-acted porn movies with a plumber as the main character.
Oh yeah, I totally get it now.
“Oh, hi.” My voice comes out breathy as I tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear, twirling the tip around my finger.Lord, help me. I’m acting as the counterpart in those movies.I try to pull myself together and stand straighter,but that just pushes my tits out.Lord, this time, it really wasn’t intentional.
But I don’t think God would judge me. I mean, look at this plumber. He just won whatever wet T-shirt contest he came from. Tens across the board.
The man is soaked, his white T-shirt clinging to his muscles for dear life—hey, I would too. His hair is just as wet, slicked back by his fingers, droplets trailing down his neck. It’s thick and dark, speckled with gray, and my fingers tingle with the urge to take their turn running through it.
The hot plumber is lean but strong, not bulky. I bet every muscle is toned and honed by hard work and life itself. He’s probably never seen the inside of a gym.
Oops. I stand corrected. He does have some bulk—right in his jeans. His wet denim clamps to his lower body, and that crotch of his holds promises. Big promises.
As my eyes wander up to the guy’s face, I mentally thank Gunn,aka, the best boss ever, for this amazing opportunity. I have a feeling I’ll get along just fine with the other employees of this household.
My lips tug into a grin I can’t control. I’m such a fool. And way too obvious. My smile only widens when I wonder if whatever he’s fixing in there is as big of a job as his?—
“Hi. It’s Mia, isn’t it?” He smooths his hair back, and my eyes follow the movement, my head bobbing as I trace the contour of his biceps. He takes the hypnotic effect of his arm muscles as a yes.
Wait. How does the plumber know who I am?
He can’t be.
Lord? It’s me again. Please don’t let this be?—
“I’m Preston Jett. Welcome.”
CHAPTER TWO
preston
Is April pranking me?Did she really send a child to look after my daughter? I blink rapidly, hoping my eyesight will readjust and show me a nice old lady, someone with at least a generation under her belt of experience raising children. It’s no use. This Mia kid prances in front of me, pulling a suitcase behind her. I don’t think this girl is done being raised herself, for fuck’s sake.
This is a painful reminder that no matter how bright and talented my protégé is, she is just twenty-four years old, and the girl who just entered my house might be even younger.
When April said she had the perfect person to come help me with Lily, the only question I asked was, “Do you trust her?”
That seemed more than enough at the time.
Now, I regret not asking for a full resume, a list of references, and… well, a fucking photograph too. Aren’t nannies supposed to be old and unattractive? Not that I’d be interested in this woman—or in any other woman, for that matter—after my pregnant wife up and left me with what I thought was my second child.
My mistake. It was her lover’s.Silly me.
Left meandour daughter Lily behind. A kid too smart to believe her mom is still on vacation, but way too sensitive to go through this unscathed.
For the first few weeks, I drowned reality in liquor. I couldn’t deal with my failure. People had always defined me as successful, and now? Now I didn’t know who I was anymore. I couldn’t make peace with how blind I must have been to miss all the signs.
Facing my shortcomings hurt too much, so I numbed that pain with alcohol. Dug a hole for myself and stayed there, feeling sorry for my stupid self.
Eventually, I delegated raising my daughter to my neighbor. Called in sick at work. Canceled surgeries.
I only asked for help when said neighbor broke into my house after I didn’t call to check on my daughter for two days straight and found me passed out next to a pool of my own vomit.
Luckily, we’ve known each other long enough for her to know that particular, very low moment in my life didn’t define me. But she still threatened to call Child Protective Services if I didn’t clean up my act fast.
That was the day I called April and begged her to come back home. It should’ve pained me to rob her of an incredible work opportunity in London. But I was past feeling anything. No guilt, remorse, or shame. I was a walking corpse, stripped down to function. Even in that dark hole, I knew I only had two things left in my life that mattered,and I’d lose the most important one if I didn’t reach out for help.
But if I was gonna take time off work and earn being called Dad by my amazing daughter, I was gonna need April back here to take over for me. There’s no one else I’d trust to hold my position as head of orthopedics.
