Page 43 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“I’ll be upfront with you from here on out,” he continued, his words tumbling from his lips. “No surprises. I hope I can ask the same of you. I don’t do well when things catch me off guard. That’s probably pretty apparent,” he finished.
The raw vulnerability of the man drew her in. And that was dangerous. If she said yes, she’d have to keep it professional. She couldn’t give in to the tingle monster this man ignited inside of her. And speaking of beingupfront—this was the point where she should mention the possibility of going to London for the photography workshop. Reflexively, she reached for the key, and Madelyn’s words came back to her.
You’ve got the key. It’s up to you to figure out if it opens the right door.
Was this the right door, or was this opportunity her only door, her last resort? There was only one way to find out.
“Charlotte?” Mitch said, his voice barely a whisper.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m in. You’ve got yourself a nanny.”
Seven
Charlotte
“I don’t careif you’re my dad! I’m not living in your house!”
“Oscar, we talked about this a few days ago. You’re coming to Denver with me, and that’s the end of it.”
“You’re the worst dad in the whole world!”
Charlotte lifted the mug of coffee to her lips and took a sip as the father versus son battle waged on down the hall.
“I can make another pot if you’d like more, Charlotte.”
She swallowed the last sip of her fourth, okay, fifth, steaming cup of coffee, then set the mug on the table as Oscar called his father asuper-duper jerk,or maybe it wassuper-duper-pooper-scooper-jerk. Either way, in the hothead department, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Charlotte pasted a grin to her lips. “No, thank you, Amy. I’m good.”
A lie.
She wasn’t good. She was in over her head—big-time!
After Oscar’s roadside, rock-fueled ambush, she’d barely had time to dash into the RV and change her clothes before Mitch pulled up in front of a picturesque cabin perched between a sea of majestic evergreens that bordered an equally picturesque creek. When she’d emerged from the fancy camper, the view had taken her breath away. Had she not landed ass over elbow into Mitch’s family drama, she would have taken out her camera and started snapping away. This place, this rustic escape, was her definition of Shangri-la.
Unfortunately, the circumstances of their visit dashed any hopes of making this a light and breezy photo op.
She was twisting her wild mane of red hair into a ponytail as Mitch knocked on the door. In those brief seconds, he’d given her the world’s fastest recap of why they were there.
Here was the takeaway. Oscar’s mother had passed away suddenly a few weeks ago from an intracerebral hemorrhage. It was similar to a stroke, he’d explained, barking out the information as if he were reading off an order ticket at the Crystal Cricket. Her death was a freak occurrence. She was thirty-two years old. The only saving grace was that her younger sister, Amy, had been visiting at the time. And it was Amy who’d been watching Oscar since Oscar’s mother’s death. But her work as a flight attendant precluded her from caring for the boy full time. Charlotte didn’t even have a second to ask what Oscar’s mother’s name was before Amy opened the door and ushered them inside.
Mitch had barely said hello to the woman before heading down a hallway, presumably to the room where a child called out, over and over, that there was no way he was leaving. Describing the situation as awkward was an understatement. Amy had wrung her hands and led her to the kitchen. And for the better part of the last twenty minutes, the women had made small talk, the way people did when something monumental had occurred, and all one could do was lean on social graces and put on a brave face.
Charlotte glanced around the cozy, rustic space, then took in a row of framed photographs lining the windowsill. The vast majority were of Oscar and a smiling woman with chestnut-colored hair—most likely, Oscar’s mother. But there was one photo without Oscar that had caught her eye. A photo of Oscar’s mother, another man, and Mitch, crowded together, leaning through an open window. She could barely believe her eyes. Mitch looked like a different person—and then she realized why. He was smiling. She’d never seen the man don a wide grin. She’d seen him smirk and sneer and frown. He had those down pat. But she’d never seen him like this. It transformed his entire demeanor.
“That’s a shot of Holly, Mitch, and Seth from the old days,” Amy said, picking up the framed photo as sadness clouded her gaze. “You should take it. Mitch won’t want it, but Oscar loved it when his mom used to tell him stories about this time in her life,” the woman finished, handing it over.
Charlotte stole another glance at the image, then slipped the framed photo into the side pocket of her tote.
“Holly? That was Oscar’s mom’s name?” she asked. She didn’t want to pry, but this might be the only time to get some information about Oscar’s life from someone other than the tight-lipped hothead.
Amy took the seat across from her, and the sadness in her eyes changed to confusion. “Yeah, her name was Holly Abrams. Mitch didn’t tell you?”
The man didn’t even tell me I was his nanny until half an hour ago.
No, she couldn’t say that.
Charlotte shifted in her seat. “He hasn’t shared much information with me yet. But I was recently hired. I’m sure Mitch, I mean, Mr. Elliott,” she fumbled, not sure how to navigate the conversation or what she was supposed to even call Mitch now that he was her boss…again!
At the Crystal Cricket, it was Chef, and she wasn’t about to call him that now. She twisted a lock of hair that had broken free from her ponytail. She’d been in awkward situations before, but this one took the cake! Still, she had to remember that Amy had lost a sister, and Oscar had lost his mother. And Mitch? While the man clearly had a past she knew nothing about, it didn’t take a genius to see that he was in a world of pain as well.
