The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair #1)(36)

“Baby, what happened?”

“Boo-boo.” She whimpers with a big frown, her eyes welling up.

I pull her into me, kissing the top of her head. Lacey tangles her fingers in her sister’s hair.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, wiping away the tears that spill from Emilia’s bright eyes.

“Don’t cry.” Lacey hiccups, a sure sign she’ll soon be falling to pieces after her sister.

“All right, girls.” Fran hobbles around the corner and down the hall. She stops in her tracks when she sees us, tilting her head with an obvious question as she stares at me. Who is this beautiful young woman you’ve brought home with you?

It sure as hell doesn’t happen often. I don’t think Fran’s ever seen me with a woman, come to think of it.

Presley is frozen, her hands grasped in front of her. I almost chuckle when I see her expression—with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open.

“Hello, young lady,” Fran says, her voice warm.

“Hello.” Presley gives her a cautious smile.

“I’m the nanny, Francine.”

“Oh, I’m the—I’m . . .” Presley looks to me as if to say, What the hell am I to you?

“She’s a coworker.” I push to my feet, and the girls wrap themselves around my legs.

“Oh, a coworker.” Fran raises her eyebrows to me.

“So nice to meet you,” Presley says, one hand outstretched. It’s so fucking adorable how polite she is when she’s confused.

Fran gives Presley’s hand a brisk shake. “Nice to meet you.” To me, she says with a wink, “I’ll be off, then. Too many cooks in the kitchen.” And just like that, Fran has her coat and her mammoth purse in her hands, and she leaves us.

I imagine what the scene must look like from Presley’s perspective, her twenty-six-year-old boss with a tiny human clinging to each leg.

“Presley, meet the two women in my life.”

“Hi,” she says softly, wiggling her fingers at the girls.

Lacey waves back, while Emilia buries her face deeper into my pant leg.

“These are my daughters, Lacey and Emilia.”

A small, incredulous smile creeps onto Presley’s face. “You’re a father?”

? ? ?

Ten minutes later, I’m at the kitchen counter, slicing grapes in half. The only way I could peel the girls from my legs was to suggest snack time. Of course it had to be their favorite—animal crackers and grapes.

Presley sits across from Lacey and Emilia. She clearly has a mouthful of questions. But instead of asking them, she talks to the girls in hushed tones, telling the story of each animal cracker as it’s pulled from the bag.

“Monkey is very good at climbing. He won all the competitions on the playground. Giraffe is a little annoyed about that, since he’s as tall as the highest ladder already.”

Lacey and Emilia are completely enamored with her, hanging on her every word.

“Ladder?” Emilia asks in a small voice.

“You know like a slide?” Presley asks, and Emilia nods. Presley pantomimes gripping the rungs of a ladder, climbing up. “Ladders help you get up to the slide.”

Lacey follows suit, as she always does.

“See, you’re a monkey!” Presley says, and Lacey giggles.

I bring two bowls of grapes to the table, handing them each one. My girls reach for them with greedy fingers, and soon juice dribbles down their chins. I use the corner of my sleeve to wipe Lacey’s mouth. When I glance over, Presley is staring at me with a look of . . . fascination? Admiration? I’m not sure.

This is way too weird.

“I’m sure you have to get back,” I say, trying to regain control of the situation.

“Not really,” Presley says with a small shrug.

“It’s no trouble. I’ll get you a car.” I pull out my phone to make the call, but both of my girls erupt into sheer outrage.

“No! Presley, stay!” they cry, their eyes wide and pleading.

Fuck. Now I’m going to have to deal with this all night.

“Presley has work to do,” I say, unsure if that is even true.

Presley frowns, but takes the cue and stands from the table. Good girl.

“I’ll see you again, monkeys,” she says, tucking a stray hair behind Emilia’s ear and winking at Lacey. “Okay?”

“Okay,” they mumble, scowling.

After I’ve arranged the pickup, I escort Presley to the front door. When we reach the door, she turns to me. I can see the anxious and sensitive questions on the tip of her tongue.

You’re a father?

Why do you keep it a secret?

Where is their mother?

Anything she says will make my heart wrench uncomfortably, and I don’t want to feel that shit right now. So before the words escape her lips, I kiss her. Hard.

Backing her against the wall, I let my mouth steal away anything she might have said that would make me feel anything. I lick her tongue and feel her shudder against me, her fingers grasping my shirt. Her hand slides up my chest to rest against my cheek in a gesture so tender, my heart clenches painfully.

I release her, and when I pull back, her eyes are glazed with emotion. With expectation.

I never should have brought her here.

Fighting for control, I straighten my shoulders. I open the door and avert my gaze. Presley is an open book that I don’t want to read at this moment. “Thanks for your work this weekend. Extra points for giving good head.”