Most of the time she doesn’t even pretend to notice them.
Then I spot someone walking our way and sigh. “What about Merc?”
“What about him?”
“Is he coming with you?”
Our brother, Mercury Tyson, aka Merc, reaches us and takes off his supersonic mega earphones that make him look like the male incarnation of Leia from Star Wars. He gives us a toothy grin.
“What are you doing here?” Gigi demands.
“Hitching a ride with you.”
“You’re so not.”
“I so am. Not letting you ride with that creepy guy alone again. He may stick his tongue in your ear or grab your boob.”
“You’re an idiot,” Gigi grumbles, and turns her back to him and her attention back to me. “Hansen.”
“Huh?” I’m checking in my bag for the address and phone number of my client, afraid I left them at home.
“Matthew Hansen? The guy you’re about to meet? That one. Do you know what you’re up against?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s just a man. He needs a babysitter. I can do this in my sleep. What else is there to know?”
“Oh, Sis, you have no clue.” Gigi leans in to whisper in my ear. “He’s hotter than a nuclear explosion, girl. Panty-melting material. Italian ancestry, lumberjack muscles, huge—”
“What are you two gossiping about?” Merc gives us the evil eye.
“He’s also a jerk,” Gigi goes on, ignoring him.
For real?
Merc huffs. “Hansen is a decent guy. Guy’s a mechanic, works down at Jasper’s Garage. Stop repeating whatever you hear.”
“Oh, shut up, Merc.” Gigi sticks her tongue out at him. “The man had two nannies leave already, in the space of a week, and nobody knows why. You know nothing about him.”
I gape at her. “Two? What happened?”
“They just walked out, said he was rude. The whole town is buzzing about it.”
But I never heard anything.
Then again, I’d been so busy between my graduation from school, sending out college applications and looking for a job that I haven’t done much else these past two months.
“I can handle rude,” I tell her, and look, my bus is arriving. “Wish me luck. And be careful with Quasimodo.”
“His name’s Quinn!” she yells at me as I board the bus. “You’ll love him.”
Merc makes a face of disgust, and I snicker as I get my ticket and find a seat in the back.
Siblings. Always exaggerating, always teasing.
Can’t live without them, can’t put them up for sale on eBay.
The house looks exactly the same as all the houses on the street, so I doublecheck the number, just in case. The garden is overgrown, the fence needs painting, and there’s no sign of life.
Frowning, I take a moment to pat my hair, making sure no stray strands are curling at my temples, and smooth down my dress.
I’m as formal-looking as I’d ever hope to be in my mom’s old dress and shoes. I think they’re vintage. The shoes seem to be from the seventies, suede with a thick heel, and the dress has pearly buttons down the front. It’s cinched tight at the waist and has small plaits fanning out. I’ve thrown a light black coat on top.
I may not be a beauty like Gigi, but I think I look okay.
And Gigi is making a big deal out of everything, I think, as I press the doorbell. She always does. Matthew Hansen can’t be that rude, or that hot.
One thing is clear in my mind: I’m not leaving from this spot until I land this job. I need that money.
Moments pass, and I shift from foot to foot, tugging on my dress sleeves. I feel as if the whole neighborhood is watching me. Was that a curtain twitching behind the window of the house next door?
Sweat trickles down my back despite the cold.
Should I ring the bell again? When I called, asking about the position, he said to come over at eight.
I decide to wait, give him five more minutes. Maybe he’s upstairs, or in the bathroom. I wait and wait, shifting on my heels, rubbing my hands over my thin coat, before ringing again.
It’s ten past eight. Surely, that’s enough time—
The lock turns, and the door swings open with a screech of rusted hinges, the sound making my teeth ache, and I get a glimpse of something dark and… hairy?
A grizzly this far south?
I make out a pair of bright, dark eyes just as a growly voice says, “Hell no.”
And the door slams shut in my face.
Shit.
After a few stunned moments spent questioning first my sanity and then the address, I raise my hand and ring again. It is the right house. And I have an appointment. He can’t leave me outside in the cold.
Right?
I ring the doorbell again.
He didn’t even talk to me. And I want this job. I need it. We have debts Mom can’t ever hope to pay back, and I will be leaving town soon… My admission papers and a partial scholarship letter sit at home in the bedroom I share with Gigi, in an envelope under my mattress.
Not that it’s a secret. But I feel like I need to keep them close to me, this promise of a new life, as soon as those debts are paid off, and I can be sure to leave my family set up okay.
There aren’t many jobs in a small place like this, and the salary offered by Matthew Hansen for a nanny to babysit his brats could make all the difference between taking some of the financial stress off Mom or leeching off her for one more summer.
Not an option.
“Hey!” I bang on his door when leaning on the doorbell brings no results. “I’m not leaving! You’d better open up.”
Curtains are definitely twitching behind the windows of nearby houses, but by now I’m flushed and warm with righteous anger and desperation.
He does need a nanny, after all. He’s the one who posted the offer on the sheet of paper outside the post office. He can’t send me away without even talking to me.
“Open up!” I yell. “Please, Mr. Hansen, just give me a chance—”
The door swings wide open, and I stumble back with a yelp.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he hisses. “What the hell do you want?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out as I take my first good look at him in broad daylight.
Wow.
Okay, Gigi wasn’t exaggerating. He sure is hot. His white tank top and low-slung sweats mold to a powerful body. Tousled dark hair falls in his bright eyes. He scratches at his short, scruffy beard, and licks soft-looking lips.
He grunts. “Who the fuck are you?”
Oh yeah, Gigi was right on both accounts. He’s hot—and an asshole.
“Octavia Watson. I’m here for the interview?” Of course you’re here for the interview, don’t make it into a question. “You told me on the phone that I should be here at eight.”
There.
I lift my chin and wait, my gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark, and I don’t mean just dark brown. They’re deep and stormy like rainclouds about to burst. Dark like night wells that don’t reflect the moonlight.
“Interview?” he mutters, sounding confused.
“For the job. To babysit your children.”
He squints at me.