Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
It’s hard not to look away. Tuck has this . . . extremely handsome intensity about him. The eyes, his size—guy must be six four, with shoulders like a grizzly bear—and the way he absolutely refuses to smile, all scream go the fuck away.
He gave off the same vibe when we met last week, when we agreed I’d start today so I could have time to pack and complete babysitting jobs I’d already had lined up. His attitude was off-putting to say the least. I don’t know if he’s an asshole, or if he’s just the silent, broody type.
I do know I need this job. Last semester, I worked as an assistant teacher at an elementary school. I’ve always loved kids—so much so that I decided to get my master’s in education—and I thought I’d really enjoy it.
Turns out I don’t love teaching. Or maybe it was just working at an elementary school that I didn’t like. Either way, I gave my notice at the end of the semester, and have been babysitting to make extra money since.
But even living with my parents, I’ve struggled to keep up with expenses. The payments for my student loans from undergrad have been deferred since I’m still in school, but I still try to pay them down as much as I can every month. I’m taking on more debt as a graduate student, and since my plan is—was—to go into education, a field that typically doesn’t pay a ton, I can’t depend on some proverbial ship coming in when I get my degree next year.
Then Tuck shows up a week ago and offers to pay me a mind-boggling amount of money on the spot, and I almost lose my damn mind. I knew the man was rich, thanks to Mom filling me in, but I didn’t know he was that rich. Plus, being his live-in nanny means I still won’t have to pay rent. The more money I can sock away, the better. Especially considering the plans I had for my future are . . . ahem, a little up in the air.
Being on Bald Head also means I get to be close to home in Wilmington, so I can still see Mom and Dad. They’re just a twenty-minute ferry to South Port, and then a half-hour car ride from there, away.
I enjoyed the ferry ride over from South Port this morning. Then I hopped in a tram, which is essentially a golf-cart caravan that picks up people from the ferry and takes them and their luggage to their homes on the island. Cars aren’t allowed on Bald Head, so golf carts and bikes are the only forms of transportation.
Looking at Tuck, I silently repeat all the very good reasons why I’m here right now. So what if my new boss is kind of a dick? I’m never one to shy away from a challenge. I can make lemonade out of those lemons, especially if his daughter is as cute as Mom says she is.
“Morning.” I smile at him. “How’s everyone doing today?”
“Fine. You?”
“Great.”
Tuck steps through his front door onto the porch of his shingled house overlooking the marina. He bends down to grab my suitcases. They’re huge, heavy thanks to the textbooks and toiletries they’re loaded with, but he lifts them like they’re light as a feather. The starched fabric of his light-blue button-up stretches over his back and arms as he moves, revealing Chris Hemsworth-like muscles.
I catch a whiff of yummy, woodsy man smell: smoke, balsam. Hint of cinnamon. Those Altoids he had at lunch last week?
“Katie should be home in half an hour. My sister just left to pick her up from camp.” He straightens, his eyes zipping up my body before he looks away. “I’ll show you the crofter.”
His attention draws my nipples to hard, tight points. I cross my arms. “Your house is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He holds the door open with his foot so I can follow him. The inside of the house is just as gorgeous as the outside. The rooms we pass are beautifully furnished, stylish but also cozy and approachable. It’s not perfect, and I like that. There’s an overturned basket of toys in one of the bedrooms we pass; the cushions on a sofa are misshapen from use; a stack of folded sheets sits on the staircase’s newel post, waiting to be brought up to the second floor.
The house very much feels comfortable and lived in. But that fact is at odds with Tuck’s sharpness. His chilly, impersonal demeanor. If he’s an asshole, how’d he make such a warm home?
It’s not at all what I was expecting. Mom told me Tuck is worth millions, having made a mint working for real estate developer Riley Dixon, a local guy from the wrong side of the tracks who made it big. I thought for sure my new boss would live in one of the gigantic mansions that dot Bald Head’s famously secluded beaches. But I was pleasantly surprised when my tram pulled up to a tasteful, shingled two-story house with lots of windows and big wrap-around porches.