by Aria Ford
“Looks like the little squealers sprouted wings,” I muttered to myself, drumming my fingers manically on my home office desk. I may have never hit a situation that made me feel panicked to the point of being dramatic, but the pickle I was in now had me very, very close. My need to find a babysitter for Anna had not diminished by any means, but my options certainly seemed to be.
My first problem was I’d received fewer replies to my help wanted ads than I’d hoped. I had somehow expected that when I advertised my need for someone to take care of my sweet little cherub of a daughter, potential applicants would line up outside my front door the very next day. The line would be so long it would rival the one at the beginning of Mary Poppins. Instead, I’d received exactly four responses, all of which I had immediately set up interviews for. I made sure to schedule them all for the same day, a choice I’d landed on for several reasons. For starters, taking a day off and being out of the office was almost painful for me. Taking more than one day off from work, even another Sunday like the one I’d chosen to conduct my interviews, was totally unheard of and completely unacceptable. Besides, I hadn’t anticipated needing much time at all. In my mind, it couldn’t be all that hard to find a suitable person to look after my daughter. Not that I wasn’t cognizant of her safety and concerned with finding somebody that would be a suitable fit for Anna. It just didn’t strike me as the most difficult task a man could engage in. I was a doctor, for Christ’s sake. If I was able to do that, finding a nanny for a six-year-old little girl should be a breeze.
Except that, as it turned out, it wasn’t a breeze at all. The first three of my four candidates had come and gone without the slightest possibility of me hiring them. It wasn’t because I didn’t think they were good enough, either. From everything I could see, all three of the women were perfectly qualified. If it had been up to me, I would have hired any one of them on the spot and been done with it. The problem was Anna herself. After each of the women’s interviews with me, I introduced them to my daughter to see how they got along. Each time, Anna dissolved into a total meltdown.
When she’d met the first one, Anna had outright told her, told her right to her middle-aged and extremely surprised face, that she didn’t like her and didn’t want her in our house anymore. I had done my best to smooth it over, but there hadn’t been much of a point. After something like that, both the applicant and I knew that it wasn’t going to happen. The next two meetings with Anna had been slightly altered versions of the same thing. So by the time my fourth interview drew near, I was sure it was going to be a shitshow. I was a pretty logical guy, and it stood to reason that if a pattern had been established, future endeavors would follow that same pattern. I was so sure of this, in fact, that when I heard my doorbell ring, I actually cringed.
“No more!” Anna shouted from her bedroom, her voice cracking with the force of her heartfelt words. “Tell that person to go away, Daddy! I don’t want more. No!”
“Quiet, Anna, that’s enough. Let’s try not to be mean to this one, shall we?”
“No!” she shouted again, sounding even more zealous than she had before. “Tell that person to go!”
Hoping that she would stop her shouting by the time I got to the front door, I approached with caution. After making it through three essentially useless interviews with three women who wouldn’t stick in my memory for longer than the short amount of time they spent in my house, I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of doing it all over again. Perhaps it was this mind-set that made what I encountered once I got the door open such a shock. For a minute, I just stood there, saying nothing and looking like a total asshole.
“Hello,” the fourth potential employee stammered, shifting from one foot to the other while she looked at me anxiously. “I’m sorry, maybe I have the wrong address?”
“That depends,” I answered smoothly, silently grateful for my ability to roll with the punches and recover quickly. “What is it that you’re looking for?”
“Oh,” she answered with a nervous little laugh, a laugh I couldn’t help but notice made her whole face light up prettily. “That might help, right? I’m looking for the McCormack residence?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“It’s a statement. I’m looking for the McCormack residence. Could you tell me where I might find it?”
“You’re here. I’m assuming you’re my appointment? You’re here for the nanny position?”
For a minute, she just looked at me, a slight frown on her face. I had a pretty good idea what she was thinking, seeing as she didn’t exactly have a great poker face. She was thinking that I was a prick, and she was right. While she did that, I took her silence as an opportunity to look her up and down, and I definitely liked what I saw. This girl was in an entirely different league than the other three women I’d interviewed, all of whom had been rocking the Mrs. Doubtfire vibe. This girl, whose name I wasn’t even close to being able to remember, had to be in her early twenties, and she was one of the hottest girls I’d seen in a long, long time. She was possibly the hottest girl I’d ever seen, outside of a movie screen. From the way she dressed and held herself, she had no idea she was that good looking. She was tall, around five foot eight if I had to guess, with deep auburn curls cascading halfway down her back. Her eyes were bright green and full of questions, and her skin a perfect milky white, unblemished by the San Diego sun. The real kicker, though, was her body. Jesus, the body on this girl! Legs for days and a rack that could have sent a lesser man straight into cardiac arrest. She had actual hips, too, hips and an ass which was something a lot of chicks seemed to be trying not to have these days. In short, she was exactly the kind of woman I would want to take to bed, only ten times better. The problem was, she wasn’t there for me. She was there as a potential nanny for my daughter, and I was too busy checking out her tits to invite her in.
“Yes,” she answered slowly, trying to recover from the surprise of my less than conventional greeting. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Fine. Good, then come in. Please follow me back to my office. That’s where the interview will be conducted.”
She did as she was told, another quality I appreciated in a woman, and she did so without saying another word. I could feel her behind me, though, checking out the house and trying to figure out if this was the kind of place she could see herself working. I wanted to laugh at that and tell her that impressing my daughter was the only thing she needed to concern herself with, but I kept my mouth shut too. My daughter’s denial of this woman was inevitable, as inevitable as death and taxes, but that didn’t mean I wanted her out almost as soon as she stepped inside. If nothing else, I wanted to get another good look at her, maybe see if there was a way I could get her number before I had to show her the door. I waited to talk to her until I was back behind my desk and she’d taken one of the smaller chairs across from me.
“So, why don’t we start by you telling me your name?”
“Jessica. My name is Jessica Larson.”
“Right,” I answered, only half listening as I looked over her resume. “And tell me, Ms. Larson—”
“Oh please, just Jessica. I’m not used to being addressed so formally.”
“And I’m not used to being interrupted, but I guess we all have to get used to change. That’s fine though; it’s your right to be called whatever you like. So, Jessica, why don’t you tell me what someone with a double major in French and art history is doing applying for a job as a nanny.”
“Honestly? I need the money. It turns out that none of the galleries are hiring at the moment, and when I graduated from school, my university job was no longer an option. I can assure you, though, I’m very good with children. I spent a good deal of time babysitting when I was in high school, not to mention taking care of my siblings. And I’ve taken care of children from divorced homes plenty of times, so I understand the delicacies that come along with that.”
“Anna’s mother and I are not divorced.”
>
“Oh! I’m so sorry; I don’t know why, but I just assumed her mother was no longer in the picture.”
“She isn’t. My wife passed away a couple of years back. She died of a heart attack due to a previously undiagnosed congenital heart defect.”
“Oh my God! I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. Really, I’m appalled at myself. And I’m so very sorry for your loss too.”
“Please,” I held up a hand, trying to stop her flow of words and maybe also put her out of her misery, “you don’t need to apologize. It was a reasonable assumption, based on the position you’re interviewing for. And there’s no need for your condolences, either, although it’s a kind gesture. I still miss my wife, I do, but I’ve already done my grieving for her. That may sound insensitive, but it was necessary in order for me to keep caring for Anna the way she deserves.”
“Of course,” she answered quickly, her beautiful green eyes still wide with shock and perhaps a little bit of shame to go on top of it. “I mean, that makes sense. I don’t want to say that I understand because I’ve never been in that position, but I hope you know what I mean.”
“I believe so.”
This girl, this Jessica, seemed nice enough, and Lord knew I ached to get her into bed, but I had my misgivings about hiring her. The fact that she hadn’t worked with kids since high school didn’t exactly inspire worlds of confidence, nor did the idea that she would only jump ship the moment she found a job that was actually in her field. I got ready to vocalize these doubts when Anna wandered into my office. I was sure she would put an end to our interview in her own painfully unique way.
“Who are you?” Anna asked around the thumb that still found its way to her mouth more often than it should in a girl her age. I watched her closely, waiting for the ax to fall, and although she hadn’t started screaming yet, I was completely confident that she would do so at any minute.
“Jessica. But you can call me Jess if you want. That’s what my friends call me.”
“I don’t know you.”
“That’s right; you don’t. So maybe it’s better if you call me Jessica, at least for a while.”
As stupid as it would seem to me later, I held my breath as I watched this exchange take place. My eyes darted from my daughter to Jessica and then back to my daughter again. With the other three women I had interviewed, Anna had already been flipping her shit by this point. She hadn’t even let any of the other three get that many words out before she’d started screaming and crying and telling anyone who would listen how much she hated them. With Jessica, it was different. Instead of starting to shout, she actually took another step into the room, another step, and then another, and then another after that. Pretty soon, she stood so close to Jessica that she could have climbed into her lap easily, something I half expected her to do. Although she didn’t do anything quite that presumptuous, she did reach out with one chubby little hand and touch Jessica’s hair, stroking it gently with wide eyes.
“This is pretty.”
“My hair?” Jessica asked gently, her voice full of the smile that slowly spread across her face. “Thank you, Anna. That’s very nice of you to say. You know what?”
“What?” Anna asked her, sounding as if she was about to learn the greatest secret of the universe.
“I think your hair is pretty too.”
“You smell nice too,” Anna went on, still stroking Jessica’s hair lightly. “You smell pretty.”
“Thanks!” Jessica laughed, never moving or disrupting Anna’s exploration once as the two of them had this oddest of all first meetings, “You’re very sweet, Anna. Very, very sweet.”
“I’m gonna call her Jess, Daddy, okay? And I’m gonna get some milk.” She announced these two things as if they were somehow related. As soon as Anna delivered her message, she gave Jessica’s hair one last longing stroke and then retreated from my office as if what I had just witnessed hadn’t been some small miracle. When I looked at Jessica, she still smiled, her face a little bit flushed. To me, it looked like a particularly juicy steak I would love to sink my teeth into. I had no idea if she could tell what I was thinking, but I very much hoped not. It wouldn’t do to start things off that way with her, not with my daughter’s new nanny.
“She’s adorable,” Jessica started, looking as if she had plenty of other positive things to say, things the three applicants who came before her would never have associated with my little daughter.
“You’re hired,” I said in reply, ignoring the frank surprise all over her face. “Can you start on Monday morning? I leave early, which means you’ll have to be here earlier. Does that work for you?”
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My daughter’s babysitter just asked me to take her virginity - and it’s screwing with my head.
The reasons I can’t f*ck Jessica:
She’s my employee.
She’s a virgin.
She’s twenty one.
I will only want more and more.
Saving lives for a living is what I do.
But running a medical practice and being a single dad means my life is chaotic.
I needed a babysitter – and I got so much more than I bargained for.
I want her so f***ing bad, but I’ll have to keep my d*ck in my pants.
Maybe there’s a reason we met.
I’m seeking funding to research a cure that will change lives.
And the head of the philanthropic organization will only support married couples.
Taking Jessica’s virginity is a bad idea – but faking a marriage isn’t. I just hope I’ve got the self-restraint to pull this off.
Touch Me Doctor
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ABOUT AUTHOR
Aria Ford is a romance writer who writes hot and steamy contemporary romances.
She loves writing about bad boys of all kinds and enjoys every second of it.
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