Chapter Two
Ava
I’m buzzing with excitement but my nerves are jittery. Mr. Blakely was being mildly vague. I am probably reading too much into it as I do everything else. Mom says I’m anal. A shudder ripples through me. I am not anal.
“I organized the graded tests by alphabet and hour, Madame Clare. Is there anything else you need before I go?” I chirp as I place the neatly arranged stack on her desk.
Okay, so maybe I am anal.
She slides her glasses up her nose and pushes some flyaway gray hairs from her face. “Oh, thank you, ma choupette.”
After being her TA for a third year in a row, I don’t even wince anymore when she calls me ma choupette. At first, I’d been appalled to discover it literally translated to “my cabbage.” But after learning more French, I chilled once I realized it was a term of endearment.
“Oh, Ava,” she says in her sweet accented voice. “Your pretty brown eyes are shimmering with tears, love. What is the matter?”
I quickly blink them away and smile at her. “Nothing. I just hope this new job works out. I really want to go to Paris this summer.”
Madame Clare reaches forward and pats my hand. “If it doesn’t happen, it wasn’t meant to be. You’re brilliant and tenacious and only eighteen. You’ll find your way there and when you do, even if it is ten years from now, I want you to enjoy it. If I had the money to sponsor you, I would. You know I would.”
“Thank you,” is all I can choke out before giving her a small wave and running out the door.
My backpack is heavy and full of books which is going to make the walk to Mr. Blakely’s house a difficult one. I sweep my light brown hair into a messy bun and secure it with a pencil as I speed walk out of the building.
“Hey, nerd,” Chad Acres, my nemesis, taunts from where he’s leaned up against his loud Mustang.
I stick my tongue out at him and keep walking. Chad has picked on me since the first grade. I’ve tried my best to avoid him but he always shows up wherever I am. And just like every day, he follows me.
“Don’t be a bitch, Aves,” he grumbles as he falls into step beside me.
I stop and glare at him. “I have nothing to say to you.”
He has the sense to look ashamed. In the tenth grade, I let my guard down and believed him when he asked me out. Showed up to the movie theater to meet him as he requested. Chad never arrived but someone had taken photos of me in the theater looking sad and lonely. It wasn’t horrible but it was embarrassing. Everyone laughed about it for a good week after, especially Chad.
I hate him.
“Where are you running off to in such a hurry?” he demands, gripping my elbow.
“I have a job interview,” I say and jerk my arm free. “Now leave me alone.”
His smirk falls away and his features soften. “Do you need a ride?”
I shiver because it’s cool out. “I can walk.”
“Let me take you,” he says, his tone gentler. “No bullshit.” His fingers run through his blond hair. “I was just being a stupid kid back then. Let me make it up to you.”
Everything in me screams to ignore him and keep on walking but I need this job. If I show up late, that will look bad.
“Fine,” I huff.
He goes to take my backpack off my shoulders and I hiss at him. With a wide grin that gets him plenty of girlfriends, he holds his hands up in defense. “I was just trying to be a gentleman but you can keep the bag as long as I keep my fingers.”
I crack a smile at him.
Soon, we’re blasting along the streets. Chad drives like a bat out of hell and his old Mustang doesn’t have seatbelts. He drones on about how he and his dad rebuilt the car but they haven’t gotten to adding some things. Important things like seatbelts. I clutch the sides of my seat until my knuckles turn white. When he pulls up in front of an expensive home with a perfectly manicured lawn, he lets out a low whistle.
“These people have some serious cash.”
I cringe and grab my bag from the floorboard. “Uh, thanks for the ride.”
His palm rests on my jean clad thigh and he gives me a shy smile I haven’t seen on him before. “It was my pleasure, Aves.”
I’m not sure why he’s being so weird but I don’t trust him. He blew that trust away when he led me to believe he liked me. I’ll be damned if I fall for that trick again. Once I’m out of the car and trotting up to the front of the massive home, he peels out. A couple of knocks on the door with no response tells me Mr. Blakely hasn’t made it in yet.
I sit on the front stoop and pull out my AP Pre-Calculus book. Coach Long’s class is tough and I struggle with it the most. I’m still making a high A but it takes a lot of effort to keep that grade.
A sleek silver Lexus pulls into the driveway and then parks inside one of the three garage bays attached to the house. I stuff the book into my bag before slinging it over my shoulder. This house is too fancy. I feel out of place here. It’s nothing like the mobile home we live in across town. But the money he’s offering is good. I can suck it up and be uncomfortable for twenty dollars an hour.
The front door creaks open and a deep voice booms behind me. “You must be Ava Prince. I’m Quinn Blakely.”
When I turn to greet him, I’m stunned right out of words.
Tall, dark, and handsome always seemed like a cliché way to describe a good-looking man. But now I get it. Mr. Blakely is tall, well over six foot and certainly towers over my five-foot-six frame. His stylish jet-black hair with some gray peppered in at his temples is long on top and cropped short on the side. It’s been gelled into a style you’d see the models on those fancy GQ magazines wear. The kind of hair that’s been made to look as though it’s just had a woman running her fingers through it. My own fingers twitch with the need to touch it but I fist them instead. And finally, he’s handsome. Scratch that, he’s hot. Like super hot.
His intense steely gray eyes bore into me as he quickly sizes me up. I feel childish and boring in comparison to such a man. I’m wearing a thin flannel shirt over a white Radiohead T-shirt coupled with a terribly worn pair of jeans and my knock-off red Chucks. I hardly even resemble a girl, much less a woman. I swallow down my unease and offer my hand.
He steps down the stairs to accept it. As soon as his warm hand envelops my chilled one, I shiver. Not because of the cool spring air but because I’m touching him. Because I can smell him—a sinful mix of cologne I don’t recognize and spice. His wife is a lucky woman.
“Let’s get you inside, Miss Prince. You’re practically freezing,” he complains. His hand squeezes mine but he releases it before stalking back in the house.
Once I collect myself, I hurry in after him. I close the door behind me and admire the fancy house. The foyer is all marbled floors and high ceilings. It’s decorated well but there aren’t any personal touches. In our trailer, the front door opens up into our living room. Mom may be cold at times but our house is warm with memories. Photos of our family litter the space.
“This way,” Mr. Blakely calls out.
I follow the sound of his voice into a masculine office. The walls are dark paneled wood and I smell a hint of lingering cigar. He motions to a leather sofa on the wall opposite his desk. Once I sit and abandon my heavy backpack at my feet, he sits beside me. His gray eyes are narrowed and severe. I feel as though he has the capability to cut his way right into my brain with his sharp gaze. I’m momentarily panic-stricken wondering if he knows I find him attractive.
“You’re eighteen, correct?”
I nod, my nerves getting the best of me. “Yes, sir.”
My words seem to relax him slightly. “What I need from you,” he rumbles, his voice low and throaty, “is your time. Lots of it.”
“It sounds like I already have the job. You don’t want to see my résumé or anything?” I ask in confusion as I start to unzip my bag to retrieve it.
He waves me off. “That won’t be necessary. If my friends vouch for you, then you’re more than qualified. The job is yours if you want it.” His eyes narrow. “But I need your time. This is important.”
When Mom used the money for my trip to pay for the repairs on her car, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to get a full-time job. That instead of spending hours after school studying, I would work.
“Of course,” I breathe. My fingers knot together as I nervously twist at them. “What other duties besides tutoring? You mentioned there was more.”
His control slips for a moment and he seems overwhelmed. I can tell a man like Mr. Blakely doesn’t let much get to him. “I need you to be my babysitter. More of a nanny, if you will.”
My blood runs cold and I scrunch my nose at him. “W-What? I thought you said you needed me to tutor one of your kids?” I pull my résumé from my bag. “If you’ll notice, my work experience is with clerical type jobs with my French teacher and tutoring kids at my school. I’m not sure I’ll make a good babysitter.” I knew this job was too good to be true. He’ll surely send me packing now.
He scratches at the stubble of his dark five o’clock shadow—which that too has a little gray in it—before pinning me with a harsh stare. “I have no doubts of your abilities. My children aren’t unruly, I just need some extra help with them.” When I chew on my bottom lip and stare at him with wide eyes, he continues. “My wife left us a few months ago and I’ve had trouble being both parents. The company I own stays busy. I find myself trapped at the office at all hours and when I’m not doing that, I’m entertaining clients. My boys are suffering. They need stability. Until now, I’ve relied on the help of neighbors and friends. It’s high time I’ve found a permanent solution.”
Babysitting.
Ugh.
I cringe because I don’t know what to do with babies or toddlers or kids. “Is this job as needed?”
His features darken. “No. Every day, I need you to pick the boys up from school and bring them home. Some days, Anthony has football practice. Other days, both boys have piano lessons. Aiden does eagle scouts as well. When they’re not at their extracurricular activities, I need you to make sure they’re doing their homework. Ever since...” he trails off and his scowl becomes murderous. “Ever since Samantha, their mother, left, both boys’ grades have slipped. I’d like to see them focusing on school again. Their grades are important.”
That part, at least, is something I do know how to do. I can handle a couple of elementary school kids. Surely. Picking them up may be a problem but I’ll figure something out. Maybe borrow Mom’s car some if I can.
“So this is a permanent job?” I ask, trying not to let hope seep into my words. If I can get a high paying job for the rest of the school year, I will certainly save up enough for my French trip. Even if it is babysitting mostly.
“Every day after school until I relieve you in the evenings. I’ll also need you to stay over some nights. If I have clients, I might require you to take the boys to games and rehearsals on Saturdays or Sundays. Will your parents allow this?”
I stiffen at the mention of parents. Dad died when I was fourteen of a massive heart attack. Mom hasn’t quite been herself since. “I’m an adult now. Plus, Mom works a lot of graveyard shifts at the hospital. Those hours are fine.” Staying overnight at a house like this wouldn’t be the worst. Kind of like staying in a hotel.
He relaxes and smiles at me for the first time since meeting him. That smile is warm—no, it’s hot—and heats me to my core.
“What do you say we meet the boys?” he suggests, his eyes lighting up at the mention of them.
I grin back and rise along with him from the sofa. Once again, I follow him but this time to a den where a television blares some rap music. He curses before storming over to the television to turn it off.
“Anthony. Aiden,” he says, his voice authoritative. “Meet your babysitter, Ava Prince.”
When a boy nearly as tall as his father and with the same striking gray eyes stands to greet me, I nearly shriek in shock. A second boy, an exact replica of the first, waves at me from the couch.
“We don’t need a babysitter,” the standing boy complains upon seeing me. “We’re almost fifteen.”
Humiliation ripples through me and my flesh heats. These boys I’m supposed to be watching go to my school! They’re only four years younger than I am. And they’re both taller than me.
“I, uh,” I stammer, my eyes darting to Mr. Blakely.
He simply clenches his jaw before gritting out. “It’s done, Anthony. There will be no argument.”
The boy storms off and soon a door slams elsewhere in the house. I jump at the sound.
“Why don’t you run home and pack a bag? I don’t have to meet Dane for another hour,” he mumbles and stalks off toward the front door.
Tonight?
He wants me to start tonight and stay over too?
Mr. Blakely doesn’t mess around.
But the sooner I can start earning twenty dollars an hour, the better.
I give the boy on the sofa a small wave before hurrying after his father. He’s already made it out the front door before I even enter the foyer. When I make it outside, he stands with his hands on his hips as he looks up and down the street.
“Where’s your car?”
Shame washes over me. “I—I don’t have one.”
He turns to scowl at me and it has me cowering under his gaze. “How in the hell were you planning on running around my children?”
Hot tears well in my eyes at his harsh tone and I cross my arms over my chest in an effort to seem tougher than I am. “I need this job. I thought I’d figure it out. Sometimes I can use my mom’s car.”
His nostrils flare. “Is that why you need the job? You’re saving up for a car?”
“No,” I squeak out. “I’d been saving for a trip to Paris with my French class this summer.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Leave your backpack in my office. I’ll run you by your house. We’ll figure out the transportation issue later.”
I’m stunned that he hasn’t fired me before I even started.
“Let’s go, mon trésor,” he barks.
It isn’t until I’m settled into his expensive Lexus that smells like him that I realize he called me his treasure.
The thrill that shoots through me has nothing to do with the AC blasting me in the face and everything to do with my new cold boss who let something warm slip out in the middle of a yelled order.
I don’t like boys.
It’s one of the things I’ve prided myself on.
While other girls got distracted by boys at our school, I ignored them all.
But Mr. Blakely is no boy.
He’s all man.
And I’m not sure I can ignore him even a little bit.