10. Zane

10

ZANE

" You ," she breathes.

My first thought is whether or not I have a stalker on my hands. The look on her face is answer enough: she had no idea who would be on the other side of this door. The last person she expected was me.

That makes two of us.

"I'm Zane," I repeat. "I didn't catch your name."

I know what the dimples just above her ass look like, but I don't know her name. Funny how that works.

"I'm here to interview. You know my name." Her green eyes go wide. "Did you know it was me?"

When Pat Hall, the team owner, told me he had a nanny for me, I stopped looking. I forwarded his email with the recommendation to Hanna and didn't think about it again.

Until now.

"My assistant handled the arrangements. I didn't know a thing." As I say that, she visibly relaxes. "But if you don't tell me what else to call you, I'm going to stick with ‘Wednesday.'"

She stares at me with wide, green eyes. "Wednesday?"

I circle a finger at her pale face, hair that's so black it's almost blue. "You've got a real Addams family thing going for you. With the hair and all. Mostly the radiant personality, though."

Her full lips curl into a scowl.

I snap my fingers and nod. "Yeah. Exactly. Just like that."

"Just because I'm not like the desperate, sex-starved women you're used to fawning all over you doesn't mean I'm unpleasant," she snaps.

"You're not completely unpleasant." The image of her bare, tapered waist and the soft flare of her hips fills my head. "I enjoyed certain aspects of meeting you."

She crosses her arms over her chest like she might be able to erase her body from my memory. Good luck with that, darling. It's seared in there for good. "If your awareness of the world extended beyond the end of your dick, then maybe you'd realize that my attitude is caused by your personality. You're not exactly a treat to be around, Pretty Boy."

"Is this how you typically thank people for saving you from sexual predators? If so, your gratitude needs some work."

"I didn't need saving," she grits out. "I can defend myself."

"If defending yourself is anything like how you knock on doors, you might be right." I can still feel her hands on my biceps, her warm breath through the cotton of my shirt. I shake off the thought. "To what do I owe that assault, anyway? What are you doing here?"

"You know what I'm doing here." The perma-frown on her face melts slightly. She stands tall, lifts her pointed chin, and adjusts the hem of her dress over long legs. "I'm here to interview for the nanny job."

A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop myself. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"W-why not?"

"Given the timing of everything, I'm guessing I witnessed the exit interview for your last job. It was…" I search for the right word to describe the way she bolted out of that bathroom. "… revealing."

This time, she doesn't take the bait. "You were also there to witness why I needed to leave."

Wednesday here puts on a good front, but just under the prickly exterior, I see the woman who was wilting into the corner of that dingy coffee shop bathroom. She may say she had it under control, but she was paralyzed with fear. If I hadn't stopped that motherfucker…

My hand tightens into a fist at my side. "Fine. But there's no way you actually want this job now that you know who you'd be working for."

"You don't know a thing about what I want, Mr. Whitaker," she purrs.

Well, maybe she doesn't purr , exactly, but I hear it as one. Which is why I don't want her to have this job.

I've added enough distractions to my life in the last week in the form of the four-year-old son I'm still trying to get to know. I don't need to add another one in the form of a green-eyed she-devil with an attitude problem.

I wave her on. "Don't be shy then. I still don't know your name."

"Mira," she says, jutting out her hand for another shake. "Mira McNeil. And I want a job."

I want to test her name on my tongue. Roll it around and see what it tastes like. But I resist.

"You want this job?"

"Point me in the direction of another interview and I'll take it," she retorts. "Until then, this job is my only option."

"Interview tip: don't tell the employer that they are your last resort and you'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Without missing a beat, she fires back, "Interview tip: don't be such an asshole that even people who are down to their last dollar consider walking out of the interview on principle."

She's down to her last dollar? Interesting.

I shouldn't care. I don't.

If I was smart, her "principles" wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. I'd send her teetering away on her heels because the last thing I need is some dark-haired damsel in distress living in my house while I'm trying to get my feet back on the fucking ground. Aiden needs to be my only priority.

Which is the only reason I'm still standing here.

I don't want Mira living in my house any more than she wants to be here—which makes her a good option.

Sure, nothing about this woman is calm or stable, and she quite literally just fell on top of me—but she wasn't completely off-base when she said she isn't like the women I'm used to. It's not hard for me to find a woman willing to toss her dignity out the nearest window to be next to me.

But someone who is willing to call me an asshole to my face? That's rare.

And considering I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to taking care of Aiden, it could be useful.

Mira's eyes haven't left mine once. She patiently watches me process. Finally, I nod. "We'll do the interview. No promises. Come inside."