Page 7 of The Single Dad Dilemma

But from what I can tell, she’s pretty young, and this would be her first nanny job. What drew me to her resume was that she’s currently in school for early childhood education.

A knock at my door draws my attention from reading. I look up to find a woman standing there. She tucks a strand of rich brown hair behind her ear and adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose. A silent moment scratches longer as I take in her milky skin and the smattering of freckles over her cheeks. Long lashes frame deep blue eyes that flicker with something I don’t have a word for.

It’s only when she presses her plump pink lips into a line and clears her throat that I realize my assessing gaze has made it all the way to her full hips. I snap out of it, pulling my eyes from her body and focusing them back on her face.

“Hello,” she says, her voice happy and soft. “My name is Darcy Anderson. I’m here to interview for the nanny position.”

Shit. Fuck. This is so not what I need right now.

FOUR

DARCY

Ten minutes ago, when I pulled into the parking lot of a tattoo studio, I looked down at the address given for the nanny interview to make sure I was right. I looked back up at the sign and back down again. I did it once more before shrugging my shoulders, putting my car into park, and smoothing down my hair. My interest was already piqued.

When the doorbell rang overhead, a man popped his head out of a tattoo booth, sort of startling me. But that faded as soon as he smiled. It had to be the nicest, most genuine-looking smile I’ve ever seen on a man covered in so many tattoos. You sort of expect something different. Is it surly? Do you expect surly? Menacing? I don’t quite know what the word is, but he’s the opposite.

He asked me if I was here for the interview, and when I nodded, he pitched his gloved thumb over his shoulder toward a door, stating he’d take me back himself but was tied up. And by tied up, he meant actively tattooing someone. Again, so nice.

So now I’m here, standing in the doorway of a midsize office and peering inside as I wait patiently for the man behind the desk to say something. I’ve introduced myself and he’s beenstaring at me for forty-five seconds while saying nothing. He looks confused or something? It’s giving very deer in headlights. And forty-five seconds doesn’t sound like a long time, but stretched between two strangers in silence? It might as well be a millennium.

He clears his throat rather violently, his hand pressing against the hollow of his neck as he manages his first words.

“Please come in,” he says, standing to welcome me. “I apologize. It seems you’ve caught me off guard.”

“I’m Ridge Jessup,” he says. “The dad.”

“Hello, Mr. Jessup. Pleased to meet you.”

Jesus Christ, why did you just call him Mr. Jessup?Actually, I’ll tell you why. Because he’s a grown-up. Like a really hot grown-up. Based on the age of his daughter listed on the site, and the tiny bit of silver that’s blossomed in his facial hair, he’s got several years on me. The point is, between school, having a roommate, and Tyler still occasionally texting me, I don’t feel grown up enough or ready to date again.

He takes my hand in his for a cordial shake, but I’m very aware of how big and warm and nice it feels, and I remind myself that I’m not answering a dating profile; I’m answering a fucking nanny position. Which means he would technically be my boss. And someone this good-looking is bound to be attached. So no, I will not bethat kind of nannytoday. Or any other day.

“Call me Ridge, please. Mr. Jessup was my father,” he says, and a small laugh escapes his lips.

And they are damn fine lips.Oh my god, you just did it again.You know what, maybe I should just get it over with. As we sit down, it makes the most sense to me to take thirty seconds and just peruse him all over. Then it will be out of my system for the rest of this meeting.

Ridge has got that sort of shaggy hair that always looks freshly tousled and perfect for running fingers through as yougrip the back of his head. His eyes are a deep brown, like pools of chocolate I wouldn’t mind swimming in. And his teeth are so white and straight, he looks like he belongs in an ad for toothpaste or floss or something. All that and I haven’t even mentioned the beautiful artwork running up his arms and disappearing into a T-shirt. Or blossoming up from his collar and spreading over his throat. There’s just something so damn irresistible about a tattooed throat.

I’m willing to bet he’s covered. It’s all black and gray work that makes me think if he was shirtless, he would be the sexiest walking, talking coloring book that ever existed. It makes me want a pack of washable markers real bad, if you know what I mean.

Okay, I have to be done now, because who says stuff like that? Me. I do. I’m deplorable and weird, and if I concentrate real hard, I can envision his head disappearing beneath my skirt.

“So I see on your resume you’re currently in school?” Ridge’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“Yes, I’m actually only a few credits short of my master’s degree in education,” I say. “I thought a real-world opportunity to work with children made the most sense for me at this point.”

“Seems like a smart idea,” he says. “Do you go back in the fall?”

“Fingers crossed,” I say, holding up my hand to mimic the gesture.

“You might not?” His head tilts slightly to the left with his question.

I decide that laying out all my cards on the table can’t be a bad thing, right? “May I be completely honest with you?”

Ridge flinches slightly, a look of apprehension marring his features.Shit, why does he look like that?

“That hasn’t exactly panned out well today, Darcy,” he says, then he laughs at some inside joke only he seems to know. “But sure, go ahead.”

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