Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Or sleep.
Because the man is a machine. He’s up before the sunrise every morning, hitting the home gym. His footsteps on the treadmill have become the accompanying song of my morning work, and when he comes through to grab his shake, he’s already on his phone, checking the markets. He’s gone all day and comes home surrounded by an aura of exhaustion that he shakes off the longer he’s with Grace. But once he tucks her in, he’s back to work, either on phone calls or clicking on his laptop.
I don’t think he relaxes, ever. He’s all go, go, go, and I think he could use a day to unplug, unclench, and unwind.
Today’s the perfect opportunity for that. Unless Grace wakes him up on the one day he’s slept in past six thirty.
I’m too late to catch her, though, and from the hallway, I see her leaning over Cameron’s bed. His room is a lot like the man—serious and crisp, in deep navy blue and bright white, minimalist and unfussy, with everything having a purpose and a place.
“Come on, Dad. Get dressed,” Grace whispers. Well, for her, it’s a whisper. For most people, it’d be considered speaking in a normal voice. She also pokes her finger into his ribs, which wakes him up quickly.
“What’s wrong?” he grumbles in a sleep-roughened voice, throwing an arm over his eyes.
I cringe. Not because she’s bothering him, but because the sheets are puddled around his waist, leaving his chest bare, and with his arm over his eyes, his biceps bulge obscenely. I wouldn’t have thought so, but beneath his tailored shirts and suits, Cameron is in immaculate shape. He could be a model for one of those marble statues, with cut abs, V lines that disappear below the gym shorts I usually see him wearing in the mornings, broad shoulders, and muscled arms. He clearly does more than just the treadmill, his forearms are the stuff of porn, and I vaguely wonder if he ever rolls his sleeves up at the office. If so, I’m sure he’s got women all over Blue Lake Assets as hot and bothered as the school secretary is.
It's a good thing I’m not one of those women.
Nope, not me. I haven’t noticed him at all—not this morning, looking like raw sex with mussed hair and a dark blonde scruff on his face, and not at all during the last week-ish I’ve worked for him. I’m totally unaffected by my boss and there’s not a single dirty fantasy running through my mind. And if you believe that, I’ve got some oceanside property to sell you, right in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska.
I would never act on the thoughts—which I still blame on Miller for planting that stupid seed—but I can’t help but notice Cameron. I mean anyone would, so I certainly understand why the previous nannies—and every other woman in the Tri-State area—might be willing to throw themselves at him.
But not me. No siree, not Riley Lynn Stefano, the friendly but transient, loner nanny. I’m just gonna gawk a bit, take a few mental snapshots for later usage, and go on about my business.
I should move. Go back to the kitchen and quit ogling. But my feet don’t seem to be working.
“Get dressed. We’re going to Starbucks and shopping,” Grace says, acting like she’s reminding Cameron of something very obvious.
He cracks one eye open, the blue orb glaring at her. It’s a common expression for the man but he doesn’t usually turn that look on his beloved daughter. “What?”
“Starbucks. Shopping. Me. You. Riley.” She says each word as if they’re a complete sentence and she’s dumbing it down for his sleep-addled brain.
“Riley said you two were shopping, but I’m not going.” He seems to be not only awake now, but firing on all cylinders.
“Yeah, you are. Thirty minutes. Get dressed.” She pokes him in the ribs once more for good measure and then spins, coming toward the door. “See? I told you he was coming with us,” she tells me.
Cameron’s head pops up and his eyes find mine instantly. I watch as he shifts, pulling on the white sheet at his waist, and his eyes darken like he’s accusing me of something.
Shit. I’m totally busted, standing here like a pervert, staring at my boss while he sleeps half-nude. Hell, maybe totally-nude for all I know, given I haven’t seen that many pairs of underwear in the laundry I’ve done. Not that I’m counting, but I might’ve noticed that Cameron wears designer, trunk-style briefs because folding his laundry is the closest to sex I’ve been in a while. And yes, I’m painfully aware of how pitiful that sounds.
From somewhere behind me, Grace shouts, “Twenty-nine!”
I spin, virtually sprinting away from Cameron’s doorway and hoping I don’t get fired for going into Peeping Tom mode when I was only trying to let him have a relaxing morning of sleep.