Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He doesn’t wink or make any other cheesy move at catching me staring at him. He simply watches me, waiting for me to make my move.
My phone rings then, and I quickly move to answer it, because doing what I’m doing will only lead to trouble, and I have enough to handle on my plate as it is.
“Hello?” I say when the call connects.
“Kendall Stewart?” the woman on the other line asks. “This is Edith McCammon. We were supposed to meet five minutes ago in the lobby?”
“Oh gosh!” I snap, hitting the stop button on the machine. “I’m so sorry! I’m on my way.”
She ends the call without a word, and that makes my stomach tighten with worry as I dart out of the gym without cleaning my machine. It’s in bad taste, but the woman I’m meeting is the only person I found with adequate qualifications to watch the kids while I work.
I choose to take the stairs because the elevators are slow this time of the morning. I’m out of breath with beads of perspiration on my face when I see her standing in the lobby. She’s clutching her purse and looking around with a distasteful look on her face when I approach. I imagine Evie looking the same way if she were a human.
“Ms. McCammon,” I say as I approach, wiping away sweat from my brow with the back of one forearm.
She holds her hand out, and I immediately offer mine to her, but before our palms meet, she pulls her hand back, wiping it on her prim and proper skirt as if I’ve already soiled it.
“Would you like to sit over there?” I ask, pointing to a seating area off to the left.
She told me she only has fifteen minutes for an interview today because she has other appointments. I didn’t have the right to ask about her personal schedule before hiring her, so I have no idea what the woman does during the day, but it makes me wonder if she’s even going to be a good fit. I’ve already wasted nine minutes of her time, and she seems annoyed, making me wonder about her experience with kids. I don’t know any parents capable of making it on time with any regularity, but being late today was my fault, not hers.
“I require seeing your home first,” she says, her face drawn up as if she’s already made her mind up about me.
“Right this way,” I say before turning and calling the elevator. She doesn’t seem the type to be interested in any form of physical activity, so the stairs are out.
It hits me hard that Finnegan was the one who carried the keys to the gym this morning, leaving me without a way to get back into the condo, but my luck must be turning because just as we reach the door, he’s exiting the elevator and walking toward us.
“Ms. McCammon, this is Finnegan.”
“Good morning,” he says as he unlocks the door.
“Your husband?” she asks, still standing in the hallway, looking him up and down.
The woman must have cataracts because she doesn’t look impressed, and if there’s one thing I know about Finnegan Jenkins is that the man is very impressive.
“Not my husband,” I answer quickly. If she doesn’t like him then this fact will only help me, right?
“Not married with three kids?” the elderly lady asks. She huffs as if this, too, annoys her. “I don’t work with two-parent households.”
I shake my head. “He’s not—”
“I stated this in my online ad.” She clutches her purse tighter as if Finnegan is going to divest her of it. “This is what’s wrong with the world today. Parents don’t want to raise their own children. Good day.”
My mouth is hanging open as I watch her walk away.
“He’s not even the father!” I yell after her.
“And that’s another problem with your generation,” she snips back, her stride not even faltering.
She jabs a crooked finger at the elevator button, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.
“Who the hell was that?” Finnegan asks after the elevator door opens, closes, and carries the only option I had for watching my kids away.
Tears of frustration burn the backs of my eyes as I walk past him into the condo.
“She was going to watch the kids while I worked,” I mutter, plopping gracelessly on the sofa.
I want to scream and ask why everything I do has to be so damned hard, but it’s not his fault that woman had standards so high that even the royal family would have difficulty meeting them.
Finnegan shrugs as if it’s no big deal, as he takes a seat in the recliner I’ve come to realize is his favorite spot in the room.
“Use someone else. Your kids would hate that woman.”
“She was my only option. There aren’t many people willing to work nights. They have their own families to care for and finding someone to watch three kids is more difficult than you think.”