I can already tell he’s that type of man. Exacting. Specific. Knows what he wants and expects you to deliver.
“Yes,” he bites out, eyes perusing my body critically.
I give him a cheery thumbs up, not sure what to make of him. Not sure it matters since I’ll spend most of my time with his son anyway. “See you tomorrow, then. I’ll get your number from Summer and let you know where I’m at.” I turn to leave, mentally running through all the things I need to do to get ready. For some people, uprooting their life at the drop of a hat would be stressful. They’d need lists and plans.
But not me. I’ve always flown by the seat of my pants. No idea where I’m going, just kind of . . . along for the ride. Life is more exciting this way anyhow. Jobs, men, material shit, none of it seems permanent for me yet.
My dad says I’m unsettled. My mom says I just haven’t found a place I want to settle down yet. And I think she’s right. Plus, the pressure of succeeding the way everyone else in my family has is downright crippling.
Undecided seems easier than failing.
Right when I get to the back door I hear, “Willa.” Cade says my name like it’s a demand. “You need to wear proper undergarments while you’re at work. You can’t be dropping them out of your purse around a child.”
I swear my feet grow roots and my jaw drops. The fucking nerve.
If I didn’t actually kind of want this gig, I’d march over there and lay into him for being an overstepping, presumptuous prick.
Undergarments. What year even is this? And why would they traumatize a kid?
He might technically be my employer for the next couple months, but I’m the one doing him a favor. I don’t need the income; I just need a purpose. So I opt to do what will piss him off even him even more.
I rise above.
Well, sort of.
I plaster on the sweetest smile I can muster and turn to look back over my shoulder. “I’ll be ready for your inspection tomorrow, boss.”
Then I wink and saunter away, feeling the weight of his gaze on my body and knowing he’s probably wondering if I’m wearing any undergarments right now.
5
Cade
Summer: She’s going to be great. You’re going to love her.
Cade: No. I’m not. I’m going to tolerate her.
Summer: Po-tay-to, po-tah-to! Just be nice.
Cade: I am nice.
Summer: No. You’re kind of an asshole.
Cade: With family like you telling me things like this, I just can’t imagine why.
Summer: Don’t worry though. It’s part of your charm.
Cade: I’m a charming asshole?
Summer: Exactly!
I wish I could pretend I’m not standing on the front porch waiting for her. But I am.
She grates on my nerves, sure. But my kid seems to like her and I’m still a gentleman at my core.
I pull my cell phone out of my back pocket and check the time. My countdown is on. She seems like the type of person who would be late. Scattered. Disorganized.
Or maybe I just want her to be so I can be justified in not liking her. If she’s late the first time we make an agreement, I’ll be able to show everyone that I was right. That she isn’t responsible enough to take care of Luke.
Truthfully, I don’t know who is. I don’t trust easily. Especially not women.
She has six minutes.
I smile to myself, prop a hip against the banister, feeling like there’s a good chance I’ll be right.
And it’s at that moment the crunching of gravel draws my gaze up.
It’s at that moment I’m proven wrong.
Because Willa’s red Jeep is rolling down my driveway five minutes early.
She pulls right up beside my black truck and hops out. I stare at her feet, starting at her Converse sneakers, letting my eyes trail up long, slender legs to simple denim cutoffs topped with an oversized, distressed Led Zeppelin shirt. There’s a hole in it near her stomach, and I can see a little peek of milky skin through it.
Big Ray-Ban aviators sit on her nose, and her coppery hair is wild and wavy around her shoulders. It frames her delicate face like dancing flames. A wisp of it blows across her lips.
The lips that are all glossy and tipped up in a smirk.
“You’re early,” I growl, because I don’t know what else to say. I can’t peel my eyes off of her, even though I want to. Even though she’s not at all my type at this point in my life.
She has city girl written all over her. She has wild child written all over her. She’s not some sweet, small-town girl.
She’s the girl who told me she’d be ready for me to inspect her undergarments and didn’t think twice about it.