Page 8 of The Au Pair Affair

“And yet he wasn’t even going to tell me.”

“Sig must have failed to mention to Burgess that I’m a big mouth.”

“You’re not a big mouth. You’re just... guileless.”

Chloe laid a hand on her chest. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Listen, Chloe. If you do try again to rent the room, call me, so I can help. But I’m not taking advantage of you like this. Or Burgess, for that matter. I can’t.” She crossed the room and put out her hand for a shake, remembering her vow to make bigger efforts to be social. “Matter of fact, call me even if you don’t need help renting the room. We should get a drink, right?”

“Really?” Chloe jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around Tallulah’s neck, knocking her back a step. “Yes! I would love that.”

“Me too.” Amused, Tallulah patted her back. “I’m glad you’re not an oligarch.”

Chloe stepped back, beaming. “I still don’t know what that is.”

“They’re even more overbearing than hockey players.” Tallulah backed toward the door, waving on her way. “But only slightly.”

Tallulah didn’t remember walking down the stairs, she was so deep in thought. This near stranger had attempted to orchestrate her living situation. Had been willing to shell out just under two grand a month on her behalf. Because he felt responsible for her situation?

Unreal.

She was pissed. Or trying to be, anyway. Mainly, however, she was confused.

And also . . . what?Intrigued?

He’d gone out of his way to help her at a cost to himself. After all, if she hadn’t been able to find an affordable room to rent, there was a possibility she would have had no choice but to crawl back to Burgess and take his offer of a locked bedroom door, thus landing him an au pairandfreeing him from the tedious job of interviewing new ones.

But could his motive really be her safety? Coupled with his own guilt?

If so, were his actions controlling or... a misguided attempt to be helpful?

Tallulah didn’t know, but she was going to find out.

Meaning, she’d be seeing the Goliath single father again.

And her stomach wasn’t elevating with excitement over that fact.

Definitely not.

Chapter Four

Burgess watched the French braid tutorial on the screen in front of him, wondering how in the hell it could grow more confusing each time he restarted the video. Simply put, his fingers didn’t move like that. Thumb cradling the bulk of the hair; pinkie hooking here, there, everywhere; middle and index weaving in and out as if they were totally independent from the disembodied hand. What thefuck.

“Dad,” Lissa wailed from her position face down on the couch. “If we don’t start soon, I’m going to miss my bus.”

“I need to watch it one more time.” He dragged the dot back to the beginning. “The method has to click eventually.”

“It won’t!” She sat up and glared at him, the shoulders of her school uniform wet from the dripping ends of her dark hair. “The look on your face is the same one you had when I tried to explain bra sizes.”

“Someone needs to burn that system and start over.”

“It makes sense to us!”

“Oh yeah? Then why are eighty percent of women wearing the wrong bra size?” He stabbed the pause button. “Read that interesting tidbit in the pamphlet they sent with your bra order. Eighty percent.No onegets it.”

She slapped a pillow over her face and screamed into it.

Burgess wished he could do the same. He was exhausted from a late practice, after which he’d driven to Westford to pick upLissa from her mother’s house. By the time he got home with his daughter in tow, he’d been too tired to talk to her about anything important. To try and connect, like he always promised himself he would try to do. Mental and physical exhaustion always seemed to get in the way now. He didn’t recover from practice the way he used to in his twenties. Recovery now required ice and ibuprofen, neither of which he’d had time for last night. The throb in his lower back was a constant reminder that he’d lost a step.

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