I raise my brow. “You’re still in your underwear.”
“Does that bother you?”
I try not to smile. “Not at all.” Nope, definitely not at all.
“Bene,” he says and he gestures for me to follow him. He goes into his office and I feel a little bit of a thrill. For once I’m actually being invited in here.
He tugs on the pull-chain of the green lamp on his desk and then pulls a chair toward the desk. “Sit, please,” he says, as if this is some formal business meeting in our sleeping attire.
I do so and then look around the room while he takes a bottle of scotch out from underneath his desk and pours some into two glasses. He hands me one with a wink and then sits down in his chair.
“You like this room,” he notes.
I nod, taking it all in now that I can. It’s so dark but even then it’s not spooky. It’s just perfect, all the dark wood and the books and the possibilities. “I’ve always loved libraries,” I admit. I take a sip of my drink. “This one kind of reminds me of Beauty and the Beast. Especially because you have that ladder over there. I’ve always wanted to swing on one like Belle did.”
“You are definitely the beauty,” he says. I can feel his eyes burning on my skin and I feel too shy to meet them. “And I am definitely the beast.”
His voice sounds so despondent over the last word that I can’t help looking at him. He’s staring at me but remorsefully now.
“You aren’t a beast,” I reassure him. “Now, the cat that attacked you, he was a beast.”
He gives me a quick, small smile. “Yes, he certainly was.” He licks his lips and leans in against the desk, his gaze more intense. “How are you, Amber?”
“Right now?”
He nods.
“I’m okay. Worried that I won’t get enough sleep but I’ll manage.”
“And how have you been these past two weeks? As nanny.”
I lean back in the chair and swirl the golden liquid around my glass, watching it as it goes. “It’s not been easy but I think I’m doing okay. I feel bad for the kids for having to put up with me.”
“I think you’re doing wonderful,” he says, voice soft.
I give him a half smile. “That’s because you’re never around, which means you’re never around to see me screw up.”
“I’m around,” he says. “More than you think.”
I exhale and adjust myself in the chair. “Yes, well it will be a lot better once we get the new nanny.” I pause. “You are still looking, right?”
He nods. “Of course. There just haven’t been any applications.”
“Really?”
He takes a long gulp of his drink and I’m amazed he doesn’t choke on it. He seems to absorb the burn. “Yes. No one has applied. I will keep my hopes up.”
I stew on that for moment and make a note to stop by the bar tomorrow and check in with Shay to see if she’s found anyone. We posted an advertisement there similar to the one I had found at the café in Positano.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask after I finish my drink and am feeling more confident.
“Yes,” he says somewhat warily.
“What do you do in here all day long?”
He looks stunned that I asked that point-blank. But since we’re in the office in question and he’s in his underwear and we’re drinking scotch, I figure why not.
“I’d rather not say,” he says.
“Why not?”
His brows furrow in annoyance. “It is personal.”
Damn. It’s really hard to make something your business when someone tells you it’s “personal.”
“I won’t judge you,” I say, trying anyway.
He swallows and looks away. “There is nothing to judge.” A moment passes where I’m sure he’s about to go on, then his eyes slide to me. “You know, you don’t speak very much of your home.”
Now it’s my turn to be stunned. “Oh. Well, I don’t really get a chance to speak to you often. You know. ’Cause you’re in here all the time.”
“We are speaking now,” he says. “Tell me about Amber MacLean’s life in San Jose, California.”
“Oh God,” I say, my eyes widening. “What’s there to even say? It’s like that whole world, that whole life I had, doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Because you were traveling?”
“Yeah. And to be honest, there really isn’t much to remember.”
“You had a job,” he says. “I saw it on your résumé.”
Right. Résumé. He’s my boss.
“I worked as a receptionist for a company that made cases for electronics, like iPads and smartphones and all that.”
He raises his brow. “That doesn’t seem like the place for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking that as a compliment. “And it wasn’t. But I was desperate. I was one of those idiots who majored in English. I thought maybe I could get a job in marketing or communications or something and when I finally got this job they told me I would start off as receptionist and then move on up to something that used my skills. But that never happened. I worked my ass off, was paid like crap, treated like shit, and then they let me go, saying they didn’t have the budget.” I push my glass toward him. “I need more scotch.”