"Can you cook?"
I sense his eyes on me. "Yes. I learned a few tricks from my mom and one of my brother's in-laws, who's a chef."
"Then you can cook and help me get the kids settled. I don't know how to change a diaper, and the youngest is still learning to potty train. I’m completely lost. The job comes with room and board, and the salary is a thousand a week." Panic seeps into his voice as he looks at me imploringly.
My eyes widen. That’s more than I made in a month at my old job. I was planning to head to my brother's place and figure out what comes next in my life, but maybe I can delay a little. It would be nice to rebuild my savings account, which was drained dry by my ex. I’ve learned the hard way about getting involved with guys who are in between jobs.
"I need to decide my next steps. My brother has offered for me to move in with him, but my parents also want me to come home. I don't know what I want yet."
"Then use this time to figure it out," he says, taking another step toward me. His voice is soft and comforting.
This man is sin on a silver platter, and I'm more afraid of losing my heart than figuring out my next step. I should turn around and walk away, but I already know I won’t.
"Okay, so long as you know this is a temporary position, and you’ll need to look for someone to replace me."
"Deal. I'll ride with you and give you directions, and my driver will follow." He nods at the man behind the wheel of his car.
Mom told me never to take a ride from a stranger, but she never said anything aboutgivinga ride to a stranger. I tell myself this to justify allowing this man into the car as I pull out of the overlook parking lot.
Chapter 3
Dalton
Iinsistonridingwith her so she can't change her mind and disappear on me. I can almost see the battle in her head, and I assume it’s about letting a stranger in the car with her. I'm glad she's a bit cautious but decided to trust me.
I give her directions as we drive through town. I watch her face as we pull up to my mansion. Her eyes widen as she types the code I give her into the key panel to open the gate.
We step into the house from the mud room, and she stops and stares at the enormous open foyer. Various hallways lead to each wing of the house.
"You should do a background check on me before you allow me around the kids," she says, frozen in place.
"I plan to." I’m a sharp judge of character, and I know there's nothing in her background report that will change my mind about having her here. She may have accepted my offer as a temporary measure, but it buys me time to convince her to stay and get to know her. I have plans to make her stay—one way or another.
"The bedrooms are down here. Let me show you to your room." I head to the family wing, where I plan to put the girls.
I should put her up in the guest wing or the cottage out back where the chef lived so she'll have more privacy, but I want her close to the girls and me.
I show her to her room, and she sets her stuff down and looks around. "The girls’ room is down this hallway. Let me show you what I had planned. Maybe you have some ideas."
"Okay."
She turns to grab her phone from her bag, and I get a delicious view of her ass in her tight jeans. Those rounded globes cupped in denim make my mouth water.
I take her down the hall to the rooms I have set aside for the girls. "They shared a room at my sister's house, and I don't think they'll want to be separated. I figured they could have this room for their bedroom. It connects to the room next door, which would make a great playroom."
The room is huge, easily fitting three queen beds and still leaving a ton of space. Their playroom has a small stage, a window seat, and lots of closet storage for toys and clothes.
"I think they'll like that the rooms connect. You run the risk of them sneaking in and playing when they should be sleeping. Or if they're like me, sneaking in to sit on the window seat to read at night and staying up till all hours."
"I prefer they stay up and read." I chuckle, imagining her as a little girl reading under the blankets at night.
After a tour of the girls' rooms, I show her the kitchen, and once again, her eyes go wide. This kitchen was designed with top-of-the-line appliances and everything a chef could want. Not that I've had any reason to use it myself other than sneaking in and grabbing some leftovers out of the refrigerator.
She gazes at the kitchen before turning to look at me. "I should have asked you this before, but I don't know your name."
The realization floors me. I’m never this distracted. She allowed a stranger into her car and came to my house without knowing my name. She needs to be taught some safety rules, especially in my care. "My name is Dalton Cartwright."
"Marigold Carter, but all my friends call me Mari."