The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “Here,” she says, handing me some paper towels to clean myself up with. “Let me get you something to eat.” Taking a pair of oven mitts from the side of fridge, she opens the oven, bringing forth the scent of freshly baked muffins, I almost lose control and drool again for the second time this morning. God, I’m famished. How did I do this to myself?

  Gabbing away about the house and her husband, she places the muffins on a cooling rack. “You bake?” I ask.

  She laughs quietly beneath her breath. “God did not grace me with that talent.”

  “Oh, so your husband is the baker?” I continue, trying my hardest to make small talk.

  She laughs again, not so quietly this time. “Oh, God, I love that man, but he does not know how to turn on a stove.”

  “Oh,” I say, kind of waiting for her to answer the first two questions with an answer other than no. Those muffins are literally staring at me. My stomach is screaming louder and it may turn into a fire-breathing dragon in a matter of seconds if I don’t eat something.

  “I work so many hours during the day, and Daniel works just as much, if not more, so I’m afraid we don’t have much time to do a lot of the housework. Now that Dylan is old enough for his junior lifeguard training in the mornings, it’s one less thing to worry about, but he still needs supervision there, and then the afternoon hours too, of course. His class begins at—”

  “Nine, Monday through Friday,” I finish her sentence, reminding her of the conversation we had on the phone just two weeks ago. I want her to know I was being attentive.

  “Right,” she says with a grin. “Anyway, since there is so much to do around here it seems, we have a gentleman who works with us, as well. He does the cleaning, cooking, and everything else I seem to slack on some days.”

  “Oh, I see.” I guess finding out that I won’t be working here alone during the day isn’t what I expected. Not that it’s a problem, but I had imagined how this might go, and that wasn’t part of my visions. I wring my fingers around my wrist, twisting nervously as I’m now unsure about other expectations or surprises she didn’t warn me about. I just like to be prepared and not thrown into a situation. “So, the man will be here during the day with me and Dylan?”

  She reaches over to a cabinet and retrieves a small dish, placing a muffin on top. I stop myself from lunging at her like a hungry lion, and wait until she offers me the plate. “Thank you very much.”

  “To answer your question, yes, but honestly, he keeps so busy, you’ll hardly notice him. He’s quiet, but Dylan seems to have a great relationship with him, so we like to keep him around.” I fill my mouth with pieces of the warm muffin as I ponder how this will all play out. “He’s been with us for almost three years now.” Yup, so basically, she will have a set of eyes on me, reporting every little thing I do. What if I screw up or say the wrong thing? Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s a job. I can handle a kid.

  “Can I show you to your room?” she asks, as I swallow the rest of the muffin practically whole.”

  “Yes, please,” I mumble with my mouth full. Nice touch. It’s like I was raised in a barn . . . I mean, I kind of was, but I have manners.

  We hike up a long flight of stairs that takes us into an open breezeway. The windows range from the ceiling to the floors and they’re open like French doors along the hall. I would do just about anything to sit here and write all day. “We built these into the house. Aren’t they great?” She seems modest, but proud at the same time. Clearly, they’re both hard workers, and loaded.

  “I love this. You must have a nice breeze right here all day,” I offer as a compliment.

  “From May through September, yes, ma’am.” Where the breezeway ends, Samantha stops in front of a slightly open door. “Here you go.” She presses the door open and waves me in. The room is taupe colored with floor and ceiling crown molding, and is brightly lit with an abundance of natural light raging in through another set of French doors, serving as windows that overlook the water. Holy crap. “You have your own bathroom right over there too.” I walk in past the bed, then the dresser decorated with a beautiful rustic teal vase settled off to one side, rather than in the center. I consider shifting it, but that would be rude and slightly overbearing for being in this woman’s house for less than twenty minutes. I ignore the off-centered vase and continue over to the bathroom where Samantha is waving me over. Stepping inside of the massive full bath suite, decked out with a double sink vanity, a shower, and— “What the . . . !” I didn’t mean to startle at the sight of a man scrubbing the jacuzzi tub, but I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone—”

  “Liam?” Samantha calls through laughter. “I didn’t even realize you were in here.” She pushes by me and walks into the bathroom. “I’m so sorry.”

  Liam. Last night’s Liam, in faded jeans that are slightly gaping at the back of his waist where the hem of his Calvin Klein's start. It’s enough of a sight to force my eyes up high enough to notice his tight-fitting gray t-shirt—okay, bottom line is, this is very different from the button-down shirt he had on when I saw him last.

  Liam is staring pointedly at me, kind of the way he was last night when I evidently intruded into his space on the rocks while I was offending him with my looks. How is this my luck? I find a great family to nanny for in an enormous house overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, and I’m stuck with this asshole.

  “It’s not a problem, Sam,” he responds to her with a smile. Okay, so it is just me he snarls at?

  “Liam, this is our new nanny, Julia. Julia, this is Liam, our housekeeper.” A man housekeeper. This is my punishment. That’s what this is. I lied to Dad, told him I got some big corporate internship with a newspaper . . . near the beach, which he believed, and here I am, nannying because I thought it would be a breeze this summer . . . one last hurrah before I have to become a full-fledged adult and get a corporate job. I get it. The joke is on me.

  In response to Samantha, Liam snickers and stands up, holding his hand out to me, glancing directly down at the nice coffee/pee stain. “Nice to meet you, Julia. I can leave if you need to use the bathroom, again,” he whispers the last part. Unbelievable. I don’t want to shake his hand. There’s a snide look to his fake grin, and I want to hand back to him what he’s handed to me. We interacted for less than a minute last night, and you’d think I killed his grandmother by the way he’s looking at me. He’s obviously a total dick.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I try to say, kindly, but I’m sure it sounded the way I feel; pissed.

  I reluctantly give him my hand, and my jaw clenches as our skin touches—my dry, warm hand against his soapy, wet one. What the hell? His hand engulfs mine, his grip holding me hostage. As he squeezes, the soap from his hand seeps between my fingers, and his smile widens with pride. “If you’re not in a rush for the bathroom, I’ll be out of your hair in just a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, Liam,” Samantha says. “Come on, Julia, I’ll show you the rest of the house while Liam finishes up in your bathroom. She glances at her watch as she speeds up her step. “Crap, I have to leave for the studio in twenty minutes.”

  I can’t stop myself from looking over my shoulder to Liam as I follow Samantha out of the bathroom. His fake smile he was putting on as a show of kindness has deflated into the same grimace he was sporting last night. In addition to his irritated scowl, he raises a brow, and I don’t even want to know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

  I’ve been left with a list. Samantha thought it would be best if I got settled in today, learned my way around the house, and found ways to avoid Liam before having a child thrown into the mix. Well, she didn’t exactly mention the avoiding Liam part, but that is part of my plan.

  Evidently, Dylan is ten years old. He has an allergy to penicillin, asthma, and has a knack for making nannies cry. Why would she include that in her note? Well, this kid is in for it then. I haven’t cried in more than ten years, and that was
only when Grannie died. Some kid isn’t going to get the best of me when I’m in charge. For a brief moment, I forget the reason I decided this was going to be a good idea, but as if the universe wanted to remind me, a breeze blows in through the cracked kitchen window, dragging my focus out to the horizon of the choppy water. This is why I’m here.

  “Ten days, six hours, five minutes, and thirty-two seconds.” I turn away from the window, exchanging one beautiful view for . . . Liam.

  “Am I supposed to know what that means?” I fire back at him. “Or is this the part where you pretend to sound superior, knowledgeable, and like some stupid wise owl?” Liam grins, showing his vibrantly white teeth as he hoists himself up onto the kitchen table. “Do you have a loose screw or something?”

  His lips pucker into the form of an “o” as his dark brows cast a shadow over his sharp emerald eyes. “Is that all you got?”

  “What’s your problem?” I snap, throwing my hands down by my side. The paper I’ve been holding crinkles in my grip, and I realize how enraged I am when I loosen my fingers, and the balled-up note drops to the ground.

  “The last nanny made it ten days. The one before, six, and the one before that, eight,” he says.

  “Well,” I say, flapping my hand at him. “I’m sure I can understand why, seeing as you were most likely a complete asshole to them too.” My head falls to the side, and I cross my arms over my chest, giving Liam a long, hard look. What could he say now?

  “You don’t understand anything,” he snickers and hops down from the table.

  “So you hang around all day; clean the house, fold laundry, and cook meals, right?”

  He nudges me out of the way as he takes over the counter space I was leaning against and grabs the muffin tin. “That’s all I do. I prance around this house in a maid’s uniform with a feather duster,” he scoffs. “God, you’re all the same.”

  I create some space between us, moving over to the kitchen table. “Ohhh, okay, I get it. You were in love with one of the nannies and she left you high and dry, breaking your poor weak heart. Is that it?” The first half of my question came out cynically, but as I came to the end of my assumption, I assured myself I hit a nerve. I’m totally right.

  Except, who am I to judge a weak heart? I’ve written off men for the past year because of what Andy did to me. Lousy son of a bitch.

  Liam didn’t take another jab at me like I assumed he would, which is worse because now I just feel like a jerk.

  “I’m sorry,” I offer, painfully.

  “For what?” he rebuts quickly.

  “What I just said?” I’m looking at his back as if he has two heads. I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m apologizing for, so I can assume he just wants me to grovel now. Nope.

  “Whatever,” he says, turning the sink on high.

  “And for your information, I plan to last longer than ten days, so you better get used to me being here.”

  “Great, well then, there’s one thing I should make real clear right now.”

  He turns the sink off, twists around, and leans back against the counter. “You clean up after yourself. I don’t do your dishes, your laundry, or make your bed. Got it?” It’s not like I asked for this or insinuated it. Why would he assume I’d expect something like that? Unless the previous nannies did. Maybe that’s what has his feathers so ruffled. I almost laugh at my own joke, but he still looks pretty ticked off, so I keep it to myself.

  “Fine, got it. So, you’re not my manservant, you’re only Samantha’s. Point made.”

  Liam’s eyes widen. Actually, they look like they might pop out of his head. “Excuse me?” I shrug and prance out of the kitchen. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” I don’t plan to stop as I head back up the stairs toward my room. “Did you just call me a manservant?”

  He’s standing at the bottom of the stairwell, yelling up to me. As much as I’d like to encourage his anger, I continue walking until I reach my room. “Yes, that is what I called you,” I say as I close my door. Ha! I had the final word. That’s what you get for being a jerk. He is kind of a manservant. I believe it’s the male terminology for maid, and well, men still call women cleaners maids. So, there you go.

  As I sit down on the edge of the perfectly made bed, I realize my bags are all in my car, and I’m going to have to lug them up here one by one, past the manservant who is probably trying to find a way to get me fired as I sit here. I’m going to ignore him. I’m a grown woman, and I know how to ignore annoying men, no matter how awful looking they are with their stupid, messy, light caramel hair and piercing eyes. Not to mention that gross tan and those big, ugly muscles that are about to tear through his tight t-shirt the next time he gets mad. God, he’s a mess.

  Yup, I’m the only mess here.

  I’m not sure how long I can tap my foot against the side of the bed before I pull up my big girl pants and head back out there. Maybe he’s gone.

  I open the door slowly, hoping to avoid any noise. I don’t hear anything downstairs, so maybe I’ve lucked out and he left.

  Jogging down the steps, I keep my focus pinned on the front door. Why do I care what he could say to me? It’s not like I know him. He’s the one being an asshole, so where’s my self-confidence? I’m not a fifteen-year-old girl.

  I’m four steps from the bottom when his voice booms from the open living room that looks up at the stairwell. “Forget something?” he asks.

  Being that I was so focused on the door and retrieving my belongings, he scared the shit out of me, and I’ve now stumbled down three steps, landing directly on my butt. Shit. I hit the last step so hard; the wind in my lungs feels like it’s been sucked out of my body.

  I’m just going to pretend my ankle isn’t throbbing and my ass bone doesn’t feel broken. I grip the railing to pull myself up, but shockingly, Liam grabs my arm and helps me up. He’s laughing, which is a real jackass move considering he doesn’t know if I’m okay, but it’s not like I should have expected much else from him. I’m surprised he’s even helping me up. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to get back to whatever dishes he was washing.

  “Crap.” A dull pain shoots through my ankle, forcing me to drop back down to the step I was sitting on.

  “You okay?”

  “Like you care?”

  “Fine.” He releases his grip from my arm and leaves the room without another word.

  I wait a few seconds before trying to put weight on my foot again. I’ll have to grin and bear it. Hobbling down the last step, I limp over to the door as Liam makes his way back over to me. “You should put ice on it,” he says, handing me a bag of peas.

  Again, his hand makes contact with my arm, but this time he lifts it up and places it behind his back as he helps me over to the couch. I fall into the feathery couch and Liam pushes the coffee table toward me, so I take the hint and lift my foot, placing it down on top of the dark, oak table. Liam places the ice pack gently down on my ankle, and with one swift movement, he grabs the stack of magazines on the other side of my foot and straightens them out.

  “Thank you.” My voice comes out in a whisper compared to the way I’ve been responding to him for the past hour. It sounds meager now that I’m in this position.

  “Sure,” he says while stalking back into the kitchen.

  Forced to sit here on this family’s living room couch, I scan the area, looking at the various pictures of their son, different vacations they were on, and shots from their wedding. Looks like the perfect family. Hopefully, Dylan knows how lucky he is that his mother wants to be around him and apparently give him everything in the world.

  I feel ridiculous right now. I need to walk this off. Removing the peas from my ankle, I roll my foot around a few times and lower it down from the table. Oh no, is that my—yup.

  “Isn’t that the theme song from Fifty Shades of Grey?” Liam shouts out from the kitchen in laughter. So, I guess he is capable of laughing? “Of course that would be your ring tone.”

  M
y phone is blaring upstairs on the bed where I left it, stupidly thinking I would be right back up. “Yes, yes, it is. I like the song, and I’m sure you have a problem with that too.”

  “I’m not the one who likes to be tied up and whipped, so I don’t have any issues with it.”

  I limp over to the stairs, groaning along the way. “Just because I like a song doesn’t mean I’m into BDSM.”

  He’s quiet for a long second as I trudge up the stairs, and then I hear the faintest hint of, “That’s too bad.” My eyes widen as I consider what might be going through his head. Maybe being an asshole is his “game” with women. Well, you’ve got another thing coming to you, buddy. It isn’t going to work with me.

  What kind of girl would be into that? Maybe someone who doesn’t know any better, but I’ve grown up with the model dad. I watched him struggle to support his family, working from six in the morning until eight at night, all while never spending a dime on himself. It’s the one reason I’ll never forgive Mom for throwing that all away for Declan, the thirty-eight-year-old gym buff who cares more about his appearance than her. Come to think of it; my parents have been perfect role models of what to avoid and what to desire for my future.

  I grab my phone from the bed and hold it up to see who the call was from. One missed call from Jade Winston. Shouldn’t she be at work right now?

  I click the missed call and wait for it to dial her number. She answers after two rings with a loud huff. “Oh my God. I’m so freaking late this morning,” she groans into the phone.

  I glance down at my watch. “Jade, it’s ten. That’s a little more than late.”

  “I told them I got sick this morning, but I’d still be able to make it, so I think I’m off the hook at least.”

  I sit down on the edge of the bed, feeling the pain fester in my ankle. “Do you do this a lot?” I ask her. This isn’t Jade. Jade has always been a little aloof, but she’s usually fairly responsible. I don’t remember a time she’s been late to a job. Between last night and hearing this conversation, I’m more than a little concerned about her.