Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 100441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Am I that transparent?”
“Yep, but it’s all good. We all have to grow to trust each other, and that takes time. It’s not like I was sent here by an agency or have references or anything. And now I’m probably talking you out of hiring me. Good one, Lyric.”
Ryder laughs. “No, I stand by my decision. I can’t explain why my gut is telling me this is the right move. I guess I’m a sucker for guys who insult me.”
I swear I hear a flirty tone in there, but then I remind myself it’s probably my dick hearing it, not my ears.
I pause outside the door. “It’ll be fine. It won’t take long to get into a routine. I promise.”
Chapter Five
Ryder
If the bigger mess Kaylee made while we went over the contract didn’t scare Lyric off, I was sure my involuntary innuendo and compliments might’ve done it.
Like it’d be impossible for you to get a date.
I cringe just thinking about it and keep trying to delete it from my mind, but it replays over and over again.
All day while I half-heartedly work on Cash’s new single, I keep an ear out for them. I have my headphones on with one ear still exposed so I can hear.
Every time Kaylee’s little laugh filters down the hallway, I want to run in there and see what she thinks is funny, but I don’t. I don’t want to be that overbearing father who uses any excuse to go check on them. It’s true what they say about parental instinct. I worry all the fucking time, and it’s exhausting.
I should be here, focusing on the sexy rasp of Cash’s voice, but instead, I want to go down that hallway and see what they’re doing.
When I finally cave and take a break around lunchtime, I find Kaylee sitting and waiting patiently at the little table next to the kitchen while Lyric makes her a sandwich.
The sight is wrong on so many levels. Not only because one, my daughter is quiet, and two, the bomb site this place was this morning is gone and replaced with a neat and tidy area where every toy is in its place, but the most important thing is the way Lyric smiles as he makes my daughter food.
I was never attracted to any of Kaylee’s other nannies before. They were pretty women, and they’d flirt with me, which was more annoying than charming, but while I reside on the gayer end of the Kinsey scale, I don’t think that’s why it’s different with Lyric.
I’m starting to regret using his number to hire him instead of asking him out. Not that I would actually go out with him anyway.
This was a mistake.
Lyric’s gaze finds mine. “I asked her if she had any allergies, and she said no. I figured the half-empty peanut butter jar meant she was right.”
“Yeah, no allergies here. At all.”
“Good to know. Landing in the hospital on our first day wasn’t on my list of goals.”
“That’s a good goal to have. If you could stick to that one, I’d be grateful.”
Lyric’s lips curve up at the sides. “Can I make you anything for lunch? I have mad sandwich-making skills.”
“I usually have a frozen meal for lunch and do the home-cooked meal thing for dinner.” I go to the freezer. “There’re heaps in here if you wanted something other than peanut butter.”
“You live on Lean Cuisines?”
“They’re easy and healthy and tasty.”
“If you enjoy the taste of cardboard,” he mutters. “I’m good with PB and J, thanks. I told you I’m basically like a child. My eating habits also reflect that.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I throw my meal in the microwave and lean against the counter as I watch him finish the sandwiches.
Damn it, why does blowing off work to spend the afternoon in here with them sound more appealing than doing the very thing I begged the label to let me do.
I wanted to go back to work because, after two years, not only did I want a break from parenting but I missed music. I missed being in a studio and creating art. Even if Lyric thinks what I do isn’t considered art.
Music is an outlet that’s good for the soul and should be about emotion, and while we didn’t get a lot of that in Eleven, that doesn’t mean I don’t have notebooks full of “real” music I want to record or produce one day.
One day when Kaylee’s old and married.
When the microwave beeps, I move toward them and sit at the table.
Lyric shoves bread in his mouth. “Enjoy your cardboard.”
Kaylee looks confused. “Daddy isn’t eating cardboard.”
“Mmm, vegetables,” I say and take a bite.
“Eww, gross,” Kaylee says.
“High five.” Lyric holds up his hand, and Kaylee doesn’t hesitate.
“Part of your job is to get her to eat her vegetables, you know,” I tell him.