Maid for the Single Dad. SUSAN MEIER
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open the second door of the four French doors lining the back wall of the house, she found herself standing between a huge kitchen on the left and a comfy family room on the right. Decorated with an overstuffed brown leather sofa and chairs with shiny cherrywood end tables and a huge flat-screen TV between bookcases that ran along the entire back wall, that part of the open floor plan appeared to be where the family did most of their living.
That she liked.
But only a few steps into the kitchen, she swallowed hard. The stove had eight burners. The refrigerator was actually hidden behind panels of the same cherrywood as the cabinets. Copper pots and pans hung from a rack above the stove. Pale salmon-colored granite countertops accented the rich cabinets. A sink with a tall copper faucet sat in the middle of the center island and another sat in a counter along a far wall. Crystal gleamed behind the glass doors of all the cabinets on the right wall.
She looked around in awe. She’d been in kitchens almost as elaborate as this one. She did, after all, clean for some fairly wealthy people. But men in Mac’s caliber weren’t wealthy. They were beyond wealthy. They didn’t hire weekly cleaning services. They had full-time employees and gourmet kitchens big enough to cook food for parties attended by hundreds of people. As a Happy Maid she only cleaned, didn’t cook for any of her clients.
She glanced around again, her mouth slightly open, fear tightening her chest.
She grabbed the cell phone she had stashed in her jeans pocket and hit a speed dial number.
“Ava, I think I’m gonna need a cook book.”
Chapter Two
A FEW minutes later, Mac and Lacy entered the kitchen. “Lacy, this is Ellie.”
Ellie smiled at the wet-haired little girl wrapped in a bright blue towel. “Nice to meet you.”
Lacy glanced down shyly. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Ellie’s going to be staying with us while we look for a replacement for Mrs. Devlin.”
Lacy nodded.
“So why don’t you go upstairs and change out of your swimsuit?”
“I could help her,” Ellie suggested, eager to do a good job more than to get out of the kitchen. She no longer had a problem being alone with Mac. He was definitely good-looking, and everything female inside of her had absolutely taken notice of his ropey muscles and firm butt in his swim trunks. But being attracted to him was wildly inappropriate. People in his tax bracket didn’t mingle with the help. And people in her tax bracket would be foolish to drool or harbor crushes. She’d be safe with him.
Mac shook his head. “Lacy’s fine on her own. I’d like to show you to your room and talk about the job a bit while Henry’s still napping.”
“Henry is your son?”
“Yes.” Mac winced. “He’s only nine months old. I hope that’s not a problem.”
Spending a few weeks with a baby a problem? Ellie nearly laughed. She didn’t have brothers and sisters. The foster homes she’d lived in only took children, not babies. And after Sam she’d vowed she’d never have another “serious” relationship, which put kids out of reach for her. She’d babysat a time or two for new mothers who lived in A Friend Indeed houses, so she knew how to care for a baby. But she’d never be a mother herself. Having such a lovely block of time with a baby would be pure joy.
“Actually, it’s kind of a thrill for me to take care of a baby.”
Her words appeared to startle Mac. His face bloomed with happy surprise. His eyes gleamed. His lips bowed upward, into a breathtaking smile. It was so appealing, so genuine, so gorgeous, she was sure it could move mountains. The air thinned in her lungs and for a few seconds she struggled for breath, but she’d already recognized this attraction would come to nothing. He was her employer and she was his employee. That was that. Even if she had to pretend to cough to recoup her air supply every time he smiled at her, he’d never have a clue that he took her breath away.
“Is your bag in the trunk?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll get that first then I’ll show you to your quarters.”
“Great.” She headed for the door and he followed her. Confused that he was coming with her, she stopped. “I only have one small suitcase. I can get it.”
Mac shook his head. “My mother would shoot me for making a lady carry her own bag.”
His courtesy caught her off guard. Employers were not supposed to help their employees. Or even be overly nice to them for that matter. And she didn’t want him to. She wanted their relationship to be as professional as possible. Decorum was what would keep her safe. She hadn’t slept alone in a house with a man since Sam and part of her would be shimmying with fear except this wasn’t a personal relationship. It was a professional relationship. And as long as they both abided by that, she’d be fine.
“The bag won’t weigh any more than the laundry baskets I’ll be carrying down the stairs to the washer.”
“Washer and dryer are upstairs.” He headed to the left. “Besides, this will be a good opportunity for me to familiarize you with this part of the house.”
Relieved that the trip to her car had more of a purpose than just a courtesy—which was inappropriate—she nodded and he led her through the butler’s pantry. The cupboards were the same rich cherrywood as the kitchen. The countertops the same salmon-colored granite. When he reached the door at the back, he opened it and motioned for her to precede him.
Stepping into the garage, she took note of the four cars—a Bentley, a Corvette, a black Suburban and a Mercedes—and could have happily swooned. But she knew better. Just as she couldn’t even once let her attraction to her new employer show, it was bad form to admire his possessions.
He stepped in front of her again to quickly open the door. Her beat-up compact car came into view. He said nothing—commenting on her possessions would have been bad form for him—and waited while she hit the button on her key fob and popped the trunk.
Without a word, he pulled out her suitcase. Because he still wore his swimming trunks she could see the muscles of his arm bunch and his chest ripple with the simple movement. She averted her eyes instead of reacting, firmly putting herself in “household employee” mode where she belonged.
Retracing their steps, she reached the garage entry first and pulled open the door for him.
“Your suitcase weighs about two pounds. I could have gotten the door.”
“I know.”
Still, she hustled to get ahead of him to open the door to the butler’s pantry. She knew her place and she fully intended to stay in it.
Seeing her stilted smile, a shiver of something worked its way through Mac. He’d grown up around servants and knew that technically Ellie should have gotten her own bag. He also knew she felt duty-bound to open the door for him. Yet, when she mentioned going out to her car an odd stirring of unease started in his stomach and worked its way to his chest. He couldn’t let her carry her own bag. It felt ungentlemanly.
He chalked it up to their unusual meeting. He hadn’t met her as a household employee, but as a woman who was currently running the company he’d needed to cajole into his employ. So he wasn’t seeing her as an employee first, but a woman. An equal. Though that wasn’t exactly good, he could control that. He could even shift their positions back to employer and employee.
Just as soon as he got her settled.
After all, he had sort of manipulated her into taking a job she hadn’t wanted. And he wasn’t being forthright even now. When he discovered Pamela’s new movie was to be released next month, he’d bought the empty house next to Mrs. Pomeroy and put it in the name of one of his family’s smaller corporations so he and his kids could disappear.
Ellie