Reckless(9)

Yeah, right. I would’ve told him to do this another day.

Logan runs his hands through his hair. “I mentioned you might be stopping by. He must’ve forgotten.”

“Don’t be an ass. You know you didn’t tell me,” I grumble, more and more pissed by the minute to be blindsided. Turning to the women, I sigh. “I’m gonna go change. Give me five minutes, and ignore everything that comes outta his mouth. Seriously, Logan, I have other shit I need to do right now.” A potential buyer from Dallas is stopping by tonight, and my to-do list is obscene. This isn’t the day I want to interview Ariel the Mermaid. And yes, I know every damn Disney character. “Next time warn a guy.”

Kat’s daughter Izzy peeks out from behind her mom’s flowing dress and waves. “Hi, Mr. Ethan.”

Shit. I shouldn’t be cursing in front of her. “Hey, little darlin’. Didn’t see you there.” She’s a couple of years older than my daughter.

Izzy giggles and waves some more, and I twiddle my fingers at her like a lame ass.

Kat tries to hide her smile, but Tori doesn’t look amused. In fact, she looks as pissed off as I feel. Hopefully this interview will go fast. Because clearly this isn’t gonna work out. And in my experience, there’s never a good reason to jam a square peg in a round hole.





4





Tori





This guy’s rude. My skin prickles with irritation. And Kat could’ve mentioned he looks like a Hemsworth.

I set my palm on my stomach to calm my nerves. It’s bad enough living with a stranger, but a sexy one? Rugged and tatted up, someone who looks like he wrestles bears in his spare time? He’s definitely not on my diet plan.

Ethan tosses a legal pad on the island like it has personally offended him—it lands with a loud smack—and then he motions for me to grab a seat on one of the bar stools.

Damn it, I wish Kat hadn’t gone to play with the kids, because now I’m alone with Mr. I-Have-a-Six-Pack-and-a-Bad-Attitude. If he didn’t want me here, he should’ve simply asked me to leave.

“How old are you?” he asks without preamble.

Nice to meet you too. Why is it that gorgeous men always treat women like shit? Yeah, he’s gorgeous. Probably in his late twenties. Tall with shaggy blond hair and a scruffy face from not shaving. Electric blue eyes that would have me doing a double take if he were a guy in my bar. And those abs he flashed me a few minutes ago? With water dripping over every dip and curve? Totally droolworthy. But if memory serves me, a pretty package means trouble every time.

“I’m twenty-three.”

He makes a face. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he says, leaning one hand on the counter. “Whoever I hire is gonna have to get a background check and fingerprints done, so if there’s anything shady in your past, you should tell me now.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” I glare back at him. My sister is high off her ass if she thinks this will work out. And for a live-in position! He and I would annihilate each other. She knows I don’t play nice with overbearing assholes. Those baby hormones must have deteriorated her brain to make her think this would work. “I’m pretty sure I won’t pass your precious background check since I did get arrested that one time for snorting coke off a hooker’s tits,” I snark.

He rolls his eyes.

My glare intensifies. “I’m not even sure I like kids. I’m doing this so I can be near my sister because she has a high-risk pregnancy. But I’ll be honest—your attitude sucks. If you didn’t want us here, you should’ve said so instead of being a dick about it.” Am I being dramatic? Maybe. Except now I’m worked up, and there’s no stopping the crazy train. “You know what? Just forget it. I can’t imagine having to live here and deal with you twenty-four seven.”

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” He chuckles and then rubs his jaw, but then says, “You sound just like my ex-wife,” under his breath.

We stare at each other, and I lift my eyebrows, feeling the awkwardness of the moment pierce my anger. Any mention of wives, ex-wives, or ex-girlfriends gives me the hives.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “What’s wrong with Kat? Thought everything was going okay.”

“High blood pressure.”

He motions to the other room where Kat and Izzy are hanging out with Logan. “That’s pretty common. She looks good, though. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

I nod, counting the seconds until I can get out of here.

Self-consciously, I survey my outfit, eying the cutoffs and the old boots my sophomore-year roommate gave me. When my sister asked me to come home with her for a few days, I didn’t think she’d drag me to an interview the first chance she had. I brought clothes so I could hang out on her farm and do her laundry, maybe cook for her, not sit in front of a firing squad. In this gorgeous, sprawling house no less.

I hate this, not planning ahead and always being the lowly person in need of something. Not being good enough. Story of my life.

Shit.

My eyes sting, and I blink back the heat. I will not cry in front of this guy.

When I pull in a breath, I sniffle. Damn it.

“Hey. I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. “I don’t mean to be an asshole.”