Romance Addict Unisex Garment-Dyed Sweatshirt

Holiday Hoax

Little Miss Sunshine will make the perfect fake bride to take home for the holidays… who cares if I’m her boss?

She’s going to drive me nuts.

Nevertheless, her perky everything, endless legs, and innocent eyes will come in handy.

It’ll stop my family from pushing every country girl turned wanna-be Dallas socialite on me.

The town gossips will be disappointed she’s not another one of my fiancées that’ll never make it down the aisle. And they’ll be jealous when every man falls in love with her.

I’ll ignore everyone and work… except when she’s fueling my warped needs.

Although she did surprise me and negotiated a higher prenup for her silly cupcake bakery.

Too bad for her, I’m not a reckless billionaire—my attorney will find the loophole.

Once January 2nd arrives, I’m divorcing her.

Except the more we’re together, the more she’s infiltrating my heart… in ways that have me second guessing our secret arrangement…

Holiday Hire

Widower Alexander Cartwright has one thing on his mind—his kids. He plans on keeping it that way until his mother hires a sassy, free spirited nanny to watch them during the holidays.

Art teacher Phoebe Love needs a job and to take a secret time out from her long-term, not always nice boyfriend. She plans to focus on the two boys and figure her situation out, but their father isn’t making that easy on her. 

There are three rules I live by: My boys come first, the rest of my family second, and never mix business with pleasure.

I take pride that I’ve never broken these.

Until her.

She’s a wildcard—the type of woman I never chase.

She has no straightforward plan for her life.

Her version of how to be strict with my boys is laughable.

I swear, she selects her outfits based on what tattoo she wants to peek out, just to make me wonder all day what the rest of it looks like against her flesh.

And that blush she somehow has nailed everytime I look at her, wreaks havoc everywhere it shouldn’t.

The most annoying thing about her?

She’s taken by a neanderthal who treats her like crap (based on the phone conversations I’ve secretly overheard).

So I just have to get through the holidays.

Her two month gig can’t be over soon enough.

Or can it?

Holiday Hire is a billionaire single-dad/nanny romance. It’s a slow-burn, steamy, standalone novel with a strict widower father and a fun-loving, carefree nanny. This workplace love story is sure to keep you entertained.

Georgia Peach

"Excuse me," a deep voice states in annoyance. A hard frame pushes past me.

"Whoa!" I cry out. My right heel skids on the slick floor, and the four boxes of cupcakes I'm carrying wobble. I grab his arm to catch my balance, barely saving the treats I baked for my new co-workers from falling to the ground.

He spins, tilts his head down, and pins his blue eyes on me. He clenches his chiseled jaw, further exhibiting his irritation.

Praline and a hint of citrus mixes with sandalwood, stirring something deep in my core. His broad shoulders fill out the designer, probably custom-made suit jacket. Biceps you'd only get with hours in the gym, but not over the top, sculpt the sleeves. Thick, wavy chestnut hair, that's still slightly damp, perfectly frames the features of his face, and matches his short-trimmed goatee and mustache.

"You good now?" he asks.

I gape at him.

What a jerk!

Why does he look like he's having a dying duck fit so early in the morning?

Kill them with kindness, my grammy says in my head.

I force a smile, doing my best to make it not look fake. In my most cheerful voice, I reply, "Got my balance back."

"Great." He narrows his eyes.

Confused why he looks angrier, I ask, "Do you want a cupcake?"

His head jerks back a bit before he catches himself. He squares his shoulders and cocks an eyebrow. "Cupcake?"

I nod toward the boxes. "Yes. I baked them. It's my grammy's secret recipe. It's my first day at my internship. I wanted to do something nice for my new co-workers and boss."

He scoffs. "Well, it can't be a secret if you have it, now can it?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

His eyes drift to my yellow sundress and matching button-down sweater. Heat fills me as he slowly moves his leering gaze up, as if he's imagining what I look like naked. He lingers on my breasts, then gives me a challenging stare, uttering, "Well, aren't you, Little Miss Sunshine?"

I don't think I've ever encountered anyone so boldly nasty upon first meeting yet so sinfully seductive at the same time. My insides quiver, and I lift my chin, willing the fire to leave my cheeks. I reply as cheerfully as possible, "Bless your heart for noticing."

He grunts, then glances at my hand still digging into his forearm. "If you can stand on your own two feet, I've got important things to do."

Horrified, I release him. I smirk, "Balance is good now. Have a great day."

He gives me a final disproving look, shoves his security card through the scanner, and pushes through the metal bar. I ogle his toned ass even after he steps into the elevator, then reprimand myself. He spins, catches me, and his smug expression reignites the zings flying through my core. Neither of us breaks our gaze until the doors are completely shut.

What an arrogant, miserable man.

I can't let him ruin my first day.

I take several deep breaths, continue through the gate, and go up to the top floor. The doors open and I step out of the elevator. A woman with curly red hair, emerald eyes, a form-fitting navy dress, and a matching jacket smiles at me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Georgia, the new intern," I answer.

Her face brightens. "Ah, yes! I'm Victoria, Mr. Cartwright's director of operations. You'll be working with me."

"You're so young to be a director," I blurt out in awe. Then I cringe for my outburst. "Sorry."

She laughs. "No apologies necessary. You're right. I'm thirty, but Mr. Cartwright prefers to promote employees within the corporation. I started as an intern like you. So work hard, and the sky's the limit." She winks.

I won't be here that long. Only a few years of saving and I can open my bakery.

Best to keep my thoughts to myself on the first day.

I hold the boxes out to her and say, "That's great to hear. I baked some cupcakes for everyone. Is there somewhere I can put these?"

"Oh, that was sweet of you. What kind?" She eyes the boxes.

"A variety." I take four steps, set the boxes on the receptionist's counter, and open one lid. Motioning to each row, I continue, "These are chocolate raspberry, caramel coffee swirl, vanilla madagascar, and strawberries and cream. Do you want to pick one before the others choose?"

She snatches a chocolate-raspberry one. "They all look delicious, but this one is calling my name."

Joy fills me. It's what my grammy always claimed she felt whenever anyone ate hers. I beam. "Guess it's yours, then. Where should I put them?"

"Let me show you where the break room is, and you can leave them there," she replies and leads me through the office.

I set the cupcakes on the table, then follow her on the tour. My interview was with human resources personnel and on a different floor. And it's night and day different.

Everything about this area screams an exclusive vibe. Almost as if you're lucky just to be permitted to step foot in it. Plus, it's quieter. There are several private offices and way more men in suits, whereas the human resources floor had mostly cubicles and women.

Victoria introduces me to everyone as we make our way around the different work suites. Even though the spaces are enclosed, each is visible through the glass except for one. She stops in front of the closed door and asks, "Ready to meet the big boss?"

Tinted glass covers the entire room, so you can't see inside. A gold-plated sign reads "Mr. Sebastian Cartwright, Vice President."

My stomach flips. I don't know why I'm suddenly intimidated. Everyone I met on the tour has been friendly. Maybe it's because of the stark contrast between his office and the others. Perhaps it's just first-day jitters reappearing. Regardless, I hesitate.

Victoria must sense my nerves. She offers, "He's always really busy, so if he doesn't have a lot of time, don't take any offense, okay?"

I square my shoulders and nod. "Sure."

"And he's really a big teddy bear underneath his persona," she adds.

Her statement only makes my butterflies flutter harder.

Why would she need to say that?

She knocks.

A muffled, "Come in," hits my ears.

She opens the door and announces, "I wanted to introduce you to our new intern who'll be working closely with us." She steps inside.

I follow and freeze. My heart pounds harder. Goose bumps pop out on my skin while I squeeze my thighs closer together.

No, no, no!

Not him!

The Dallas skyline makes a breathtaking backdrop, competing with the exquisite eye candy sitting in front of it. Unfortunately, it's the rude man from the lobby.

He looks up from his desk. Shock fills his expression, mirroring my own. He quickly catches himself, hardening his features and grinding his molars. A beam of sunlight streams through the window. It hits his chestnut hair and outlines his chiseled body as if he's somehow an angel.

Disguised as the devil.

"Sebastian Cartwright, meet Georgia Peach," Victoria declares.

He rises, furrows his eyebrows, and questions, "Georgia Peach? Is that a joke?"

Embarrassment mixes with pride. I've heard every joke under the sun growing up about my name. But it's mine, and I've come to accept it. Now that I'm an adult, I thought others would be more mature about it, but apparently, Mr. Grumpy Pants only looks like he has class and maturity. I pull it together and proudly state, "No, it's not."

"Georgia Peach, the cupcake lady," he mutters.

"Do you want one? I can go to the break room and get it before they're all gone," I retort in a chipper voice.

He stares at me as if I'm crazy, replying, "No." He turns quiet, assessing me, and tension grows thicker with every breath we take.

Victoria clears her throat. Unable to hide her uncomfortable tone, she asks, "So you two have met?"

He snaps his sneer at her. "Yes. In the lobby. Ms. Peach didn't introduce herself."

I blurt out, "I was supposed to know it was you?"

"Yeah. Everyone knows me. You're no different, so don't pretend to be."

"I had no idea who you were. Why would I know you anyway? I doubt we hang out in the same circles," I argue.

He scoffs. "Of course we don't. But I'm sure you did your homework researching our company?"

My pulse races. I retort, "Yes, I did. But only the CEO's photo is on the website. It only mentions your name, along with other heads of the corporation."

"I'm all over the internet. Let's not act like you didn't do a search on me," he accuses.

Appalled at his audacity, I insist, "I did no such thing."

He grunts. "Sure you didn't."

"I didn't," I claim again, glaring at him.

Tense silence fills the air.

Victoria glances between us, then clears her throat. She interjects, "Not everyone cares to know you, Sebastian."

He acts like he doesn't hear her, keeping his scowl pinned on me.

She continues, "While we have your attention, are there any additional documents you'll need this morning for your meetings?"

He crosses his arms, and his biceps strain against the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. I curse myself when my eyes drift to them. He catches me and fixates his sexy yet lewd gaze on me. If anyone else looked at me like that, I'd slap them. But something about the way he studies me is irresistible. It creates an uncomfortable ache in my body. He finally shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of. As of now, everything is adequate, Victoria." He glances at her, then pins his intimidating stare on me once again.

Why does he have to be so hot?

He's not.

I'm a liar.

I do everything in my power not to appear scared of him and announce, "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Cartwright."

His lips purse in an expression I'm unsure how to take. My pulse quickens as he replies in a dry voice, "Welcome to Cartwright Enterprises."

"Thank you," I cheerfully state, then spin and leave, exhaling deeply the moment I step out of the room. I go to the desk Victoria assigned to me and turn.

"Like I said, he's a teddy bear once you get to know him," she states.

"Sure he is," I reply.

She offers a smile, then points to a pile on my desk. "If you can start with those files, I'd appreciate it."

I nod. "Of course."

She starts to leave, then stops and adds, "He really is great once he drops his guard. He's just a bit aloof when he first meets people."

"Aloof?" I challenge. It's not exactly the word I would have chosen, but I guess it's more politically correct.

She nods, claiming, "Underneath the hard exterior is a brilliant, very generous man."

"Sure," I reply, then sit in my chair. "Should I tell you when I'm finished with each file or the entire pile?"

"If you can send me the individual files, that would be great."

I give her a little salute. "On it!"

She grins and leaves.

I turn on the computer and punch in the passcode written on a sticky note. It prompts me to create a new one, and I stare at Sebastian's closed door, thinking for a minute, then type in, KillHimWithKindness4Ever.

There. That will remind me to stay calm.

A message in the portal pops up.

Mr. Cartwright: I need the spreadsheet for Gulf Oil updated for the ten o'clock meeting.

Victoria: Georgia, it's in your pile. Can you focus on that first?

Me: Absolutely.

I pull the correct folder and study the notes on the spreadsheet. I find the corresponding file on the computer and update the formulas. When I finish, I email it to Victoria and Sebastian, then click on the message box.

Me: I finished the spreadsheet for Gulf Oil. Would you like paper copies?

Mr. Cartwright: Yes, that is how we do things around here.

My stomach clenches. I shake my head, press print, then type another message.

Me: How many copies would you like?

Mr. Cartwright: Victoria, please inform Georgia where she can find pertinent information.

Victoria: Will do.

I breathe through my anger, and my grammy's words fill my head. "No one is responsible for your feelings except you."

Hard to say when Mr. Grumpy Pants is your boss.

Her voice claims, "He can only affect you if you let him."

I shake it off as Victoria approaches my desk.

"Sorry," I quickly state.

"No worries. It won't take long before you know these things," she claims, then takes control of my mouse. She clicks a dropdown box on the schedule. "This is where you'll find Mr. Cartwright's upcoming appointment notes. If you select the description, it'll state who is attending the meeting. You'll always make copies for each person in attendance, plus two extras in case there are any surprises."

"Great. Thanks for showing me," I say.

"No problem. You'll need to add them to the presentation folders," she adds, then returns to her office.

The meeting with Gulf Oil has five people listed. I make eight to include Sebastian and the two extras. I take them off the printer, then knock on his door.

"Yeah?" he calls out.

I open the door and approach him at the desk. He doesn't look up, and I wonder if it's just to be a bigger jerk and add to his intimidation factor.

In a condescending tone, he finally states, "Is there something you need, Ms. Peach?"

I try to ignore his obvious jab at my name and reply, "I'm here to add the spreadsheets to the presentation folders."

"Do you want a reward for doing your job?" he questions.

I gape, then catch myself. "No, of course not."

"Then why are you bothering me with this?"

Unsure how to respond, I don't answer him.

He sits back in his chair and arches his eyebrows. "Well?"

"Don't you have the folders?" I quiz.

He sighs. "No, Ms. Peach. I do not have the folders. Those are in the conference room, which is where I meet people."

I point to the huge table in his office. "You don't meet with people there?"

He snorts. "Of course not. How would I ever exit the room when I'm ready if they're in my office?"

Stupidity washes over me, but then I catch myself again. I force another smile and chirp, "It's my first day, Mr. Cartwright. Excuse my ignorance. I'll make sure these are updated. I won't concern you over this issue ever again."

He refocuses on his computer screen, muttering, "Good."

I hightail it out of his office, go to the conference room, and find the folders in a stack. I position the spreadsheets in the same spot as the sample folder and glance around the room.

A buffet cabinet has a pitcher of water, glasses, coffee, mugs, cream, and sugar on it. It seems cold to me. Surely if this is the room where clients meet, there should be a bit more life to it, right?

I go to Victoria's office and knock.

She looks up from her desk. "Hey, Georgia. What can I help you with?"

"I added the spreadsheets to the folders."

"Great."

I hesitate.

"Is something wrong?" she asks.

"Gulf Oil is an important client, correct?" I quiz.

"Yes. They're one of our largest," she admits.

I step closer, confessing, "I don't want to be disrespectful, but the meeting room looks a bit...um...cold."

Surprise fills her expression.

I quickly add, "I was wondering if I could take one of the vases of fresh flowers from the break room and put it in there? Also, maybe add a plate of my cupcakes?"

She shrugs. "Sure. That would be nice."

"Great. Thanks. I won't take a long time to do it," I state. Then I go into the break room. I look for a platter and find it and several empty vases.

It gives me another idea.

I take one set of flowers and cut the stems. I position them in a glass globe so they're the perfect size for the conference room table. Then I pick up the other vase and take both to the conference room. The big one I put on the buffet cabinet.

I return to the break room and place a dozen cupcakes on the platter. Then I take them to my desk. I find a package of colored sharpies in my desk drawer and make four signs with the flavors of the cupcakes on each. I go back into the conference room and place the platter and signs on the buffet cabinet.

Satisfaction fills me when I assess the room. The Dallas skyline is just as impressive here as Sebastian's office. But now, the flowers and cupcakes add a touch of warmness that wasn't present before.

I return to my desk and get lost in the pile of folders. Sebastian steps out of his office and states, "Follow me."

I glance up. "Where are we going?"

He huffs. "To the meeting with Gulf Oil."

"Oh. You want me in the meeting?" I ask, surprised.

His eyes turn to slits. "Are you not Victoria's intern?"

"Yes, of course."

"Tell me, Ms. Peach. Why did you choose to apply at Cartwright Enterprises?" he interrogates.

The hairs on my neck rise. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

His arrogance grows. "Let me guess. You heard how we have more young professionals in the C-suite than any other company in Dallas, and you want to climb up the career ladder as fast as you can?"

No, I wanted to earn money for my cupcake bakery.

"I-I..." I swallow the lump in my throat, suddenly needing a glass of water to quench my dry mouth.

"I didn't promote more young professionals than any other corporation by letting them sit at their desks. Hands-on experience—that's what Cartwright Enterprises is about and why people excel here. You have an MBA, but that isn't going to get you where you want to be without learning," he lectures.

He knows I have my MBA?

He undresses me with his eyes again and lowers his voice, adding, "Isn't that what you want? Hands-on experience?"

Every inch of my skin flushes. My gape only grows.

A level of arrogance so powerful it radiates around him appears. He keeps me in his heated stare another moment, then orders, "Let's go." He motions for me to go ahead of him.

I rise and stroll down the hall, knowing he's checking out my booty the entire time. No matter how much I tell myself not to strut, I can't help it. I sway my hips to torment him, not for more attention, I tell myself.

I'm lying once again.

I glance behind me and catch his gaze right where I felt it. I stop walking, shift on my feet, and arch my eyebrows.

His eyes dart to mine. "Is there a problem, Ms. Peach?" he challenges.

"You can call me Georgia," I blurt out, tired of hearing him say my last name like it's a joke.

He takes my words the wrong way, and I curse myself. His smug expression tells me he's clueless about why I don't want him to call me Ms. Peach.

There's no doubt. Sebastian Cartwright, my new boss, thinks I'm into his attention on my backside and any other part of my body.

I am.

No, I'm not.

Liar!

He steps closer, eliminating the gap between us. His intoxicating scent annihilates me for the second time this morning. His lips twitch as he says, "Well, then, Georgia, is there a reason you're making our clients wait?"

My words jumble in my head. I stutter, "N-no." I spin and walk into the conference room.

There are four men and Victoria in the room. They all have coffee and a cupcake in front of them, except Victoria, who states, "I already had one for breakfast."

"Where did you buy them? My daughter would love these for her birthday party," one man asks.

Victoria rises, motioning toward me. "Georgia made them."

The men stand too, and the one who stated he wanted them for his daughter's party steps in front of me. He gives me a once-over, lingering a bit longer than I'd prefer, then holds out his hand. "Ben Eiler. Nice to meet you. Any chance I can get a few dozen of these by Saturday? My ex-wife thinks I can't plan my daughter's party without her help, and I'm on a mission to show her she doesn't know who she's messing with."

"Umm...I...ummm..."

"Georgia's our new intern," Sebastian interjects, stepping so close to me his body heat mingles with mine.

Ben glances at Sebastian, then back at me. "Tell me you aren't too busy to help me out, Georgia? It'll go a long way during our contract negotiations today." He winks in a flirtatious way.

"Are we dealing with cupcakes instead of oil prices?" Sebastian asks in a disapproving tone.

Ben's eyes light up further as he continues to study me. "Well, yes. We sure are. What do you charge for these?"

"I haven't sold them yet," I confess.

"Why not?" he asks.

"I'm saving up for my own bakery someday," I declare.

"Is that so?" Sebastian mumbles.

I cringe inside. Why did I announce that?

"You want a partner? I'll back you," Ben claims.

I gape, then compose myself. "Thank you for your offer, but this is something I need to do on my own."

He chuckles. "Can't argue with that kind of entrepreneurial spirit. But what do you say, Georgia? Can you help me out?"

Something tells me that I'm in a no-win situation. Sebastian moves even closer to me, and I assess his forced smile.

"Well?" Ben asks.

I try to contain my excitement about my first client, confirming, "Sure. I can make that happen."

"Perfect. I'll give you my number so you can get all the details," Ben declares.

"I'm sure your assistant can handle this," Sebastian suggests.

Ben's challenging stare says otherwise. He proclaims, "I think I'll handle this one."

Sebastian's face hardens.

Ben takes another bite of his cupcake and mumbles, "Remind me to take one of these for the road."

"Georgia, have a seat," Sebastian orders, pulling out a chair, his commanding eyes full of irritation.

I obey, trying to contain my giddiness. Sebastian Cartwright is not going to rain on my parade. I have my first client.

Alexander Cartwright

"Wilder! Ace! Go get cleaned up!" I shout across the ranch, wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead.

It's abnormally hot for the start of November. My sons have been riding horses all morning while my three brothers, Sebastian, Mason, and Jagger, break in six new racehorses we purchased.

Wilder and Ace run their horses harder away from the barn.

Sebastian chuckles. "Doesn't look like they heard you, Alexander."

"Like hell they didn't," I mutter, then put my fingers to my lips and whistle.

Ace, my youngest son, shoots me a mischievous smirk, then refocuses on Wilder and kicks his horse to catch up.

I cross my arms over my chest. "I swear Wilder is teaching him bad habits."

"No different from when we were boys," Sebastian claims.

I ignore his comment, whistle again, then shout, "Don't make me get on a horse to come get you two!"

My other brothers step next to Sebastian and me. They all find humor in my sons not listening to my orders, but I'm not amused.

I snap, "You're happy your nephews are turning into disrespectful boys?"

Mason grunts. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Yeah, they just want to keep riding. We were the same when we were kids," Jagger insists.

"We didn't ignore Dad when he called us in," I state.

"Your memory is fading," Dad bellows.

I turn my head. "Did Mom keep you in town all morning?"

"No. We've been back for a bit."

"You've been sitting inside?"

"Yep." A look passes over his expression. I can't tell what it is, and he whistles before I can question him. It's as shrill as mine.

My boys circle a tree and race toward us.

"Little shits," I mutter.

Sebastian chuckles again and pats me on the back.

It irritates me even more. My boys are good kids and have always listened to me. Yet Wilder's been pushing boundaries lately, and Ace is too happy to try anything his older brother does.

A cloud of dust trails them, and they stop several feet in front of us and then jump off their horses.

Mason opens the gate, and the horses trot past the fence.

"You need to lean into those turns," Dad instructs Ace.

"I told him," Wilder interjects.

I warn, "The next time you two want to ignore me, you'll skip lunch and spend the rest of the day doing chores. Understand?"

Wilder and Ace don't say anything.

"Well?" I push.

Dad interjects, "Boys, answer your father."

"We were finishing our ride," Wilder states.

"Yeah," Ace follows.

I point at them. "Don't push me right now."

My sons sigh and reply, "Yes, sir."

Before I can say anything else, Dad steps between them. "Let's go wash up." He turns them toward the house and guides them away.

"Unbelievable," I grumble.

"Chill out. They're just being kids. We were like that," Jagger reminds me.

"We wouldn't have ignored Dad," I repeat.

He grunts. "Sure we did. Stop insisting we didn’t. We were hellions."

"You're wrong," I insist, stomping toward the house. The last thing I'm going to put up with are my sons turning into little disrespectful brats.

"Georgia! I did it!" Ace shrieks, breaking away from my father and running toward the porch.

All day, the women in my family have been taking down Halloween decorations and putting up Thanksgiving ones. Orange and gold lights wrap around the posts and hang from the awnings along with pumpkins and turkeys. A huge autumn wreath with burlap, acorns, pine cones, reddish-orange berries, and multicolored fall leaves hangs on the front door.

"Yay!" Georgia praises Ace, then ruffles his hair.

I can't help but smile. Our family fell in love with Sebastian's wife, and my sons weren't immune to her beaming personality.

She shouts, "Hurry up, guys. Lunch is ready."

"We're coming," Sebastian yells back.

Ace and Wilder disappear inside with Georgia, and the rest of us follow. We remove our boots, then take turns washing our hands in the kitchen.

I'm the last to enter the huge dining room.

Years ago, my parents had a custom-made table so the entire family could fit around it. It has several extra leaves, so it expands. My parents were smart and anticipated needing room for future spouses and grandkids. But even now, there are times we have to pull out kiddie tables. Today, we don't need one, since only my sister Evelyn and her three kids are here. Her husband and my other sisters, Ava, Willow, and Paisley, aren't home.

Before I step inside the room, an animated voice declares, "This looks amazing, Mrs. Cartwright!"

"Please, dear. I told you to call me Ruby," my mom insists.

I freeze outside the doorway, peek inside, then groan internally. My mother has an annoying habit of bringing home women and trying to set me up with them. She did the same thing with Sebastian, then once he married Georgia, she pinned her unwelcome matchmaking skills on me. 

I've told her countless times to stop and to not bring them around my boys. The last time it happened, she claimed any woman I would get serious about needed to be great with my sons.

It only infuriated me. We got into a heated conversation, which rarely happens. I reiterated that the last thing I want is to replace the boys' mother.

She reminded me that my wife passed away eight years ago and that I didn't need to be alone forever.

Every statement cut deeper into my still-raw wounds. So I fired back harsher than ever.

That was about eight months ago. I thought she learned her lesson, but she's at it again.

The stranger with long, magenta hair, a diamond stud nose ring, and tattoos peeking out above her pink tube top says, "Sorry, Ruby. So I assume this is Ace and Wilder?"

Oh no you don't.

I take three long strides and step in front of my chair. I glare at my mother, stating, "We're not doing this."

Mom smiles at me. "Sit down, Alexander. We have some things to discuss."

"Like hell we do."

Dad orders, "Sit down, son."

I ignore him and pin my gaze on the stranger. She's wearing enough jewelry to stock a store. She rises, and I can faintly make out hearts and the letters D and A before her tattoo disappears.

I wonder, does she already regret inking some dude's name on her chest?

What's his name? David? Daryl? Dannie boy?

Doesn't matter, I tell myself.

My gaze drifts to her perky tits, the tanned inch of her skin between the top of her skinny jeans, and on to the rip on her thigh, exposing another tattoo I can't make out.

Where does that lead?

I raise my gaze back to hers, finding she hasn't flinched under my staredown.

Mom really got it wrong this time. This woman is definitely not my type.

She pins blue fuck-me eyes to my sneer, and smiles. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Phoebe."

Great. She thinks she has a chance.

"I'm sorry my mother wasted your time. She's delusional sometimes. I think it's best if you go now," I state.

"Alexander!" Evelyn, my bossy older sister, scolds.

"Stay out of this," I say to her in warning.

"Jacob," Mom says, imploring Dad to intervene.

Dad's stern voice cuts through the air. "Alexander, sit down!"

I take a deep breath, my insides shaking with anger. I'm tired of my family interfering in my life. Nothing says I need a wife to raise my children. They're surrounded by grandparents, aunts and uncles, and their cousins. I assume there are only a few moments in their lives when they don't feel love.

Dad repeats, "Sit. We have things to discuss."

I cave and take my seat, then refocus on Phoebe. "Appreciate your time, but my mother once again overstepped. I'm not trying to be rude to you. I'm sure you're a lovely girl, but it really is best if you leave."

Her eyes widen. She glances at Mom and says, "Maybe this isn't a good fit?"

"Nonsense." Mom pats her hand. She pins her glare on me. "Alexander, I just hired Phoebe to be the boys' nanny."

I jerk my head back. "Nanny? They don't need a nanny."

"Just for two months while your father and I are gone."

Wilder asks, "Where are you going? Can I come with you?"

"I want to come too!" Ace exclaims.

Dad answers, "Sorry, not this time, boys. Your grandmother and I are taking a mission trip to South America for a few months."

"Mission trip? What's that?" Ace asks.

"It's where you help people who are less fortunate than you," Mom responds.

"You're going over the holidays?" Georgia asks with surprise and disappointment in her voice.

Mom smiles. "We're flying home for part of Thanksgiving week and also December 23rd through January 2nd."

"But you'll miss a lot of the fun stuff," Wilder says.

"Agreed. Why would you go over the holidays?" Sebastian asks.

Mom's eyes brighten. "They needed more help. Not many people want to go at this time of year, and your father and I have always wanted to help. Now that he's retired—"

"Semiretired," Dad interjects, as he still doesn't like the thought of being retired.

"They don't want to go because it's the best time of year!" Isabella, Evelyn's oldest daughter, chimes in.

Mom slides her arm around Isabella and tugs her closer. She replies, "Yes, but we'll be here for the main events."

I rise and focus on Phoebe. "Sorry, I misunderstood why you're here."

She asks, "Why did you think I was here?"

Evelyn answers before I can speak. "He thought our mom was trying to hook you up."

A flush crawls up Phoebe's cheeks.

To my surprise, my dick hardens. It makes no sense. This barely-out-of-college woman isn't my type.

Get her out of here.

I ignore my cock, hoping no one can see it, and explain, "I'm sorry my mom wasted your time. We don't need a nanny."

"You do," Mom insists.

"No, we don't," I hurl back.

"Alexander, sit down. You're making a fool of yourself and being rude to our guest," Dad scolds.

"We don't need a nanny," I reiterate.

"Sit down," he orders, pointing to my chair.

I release a frustrated breath and plop down, objecting, "I can manage the boys alone."

"Really? Who's going to help when you're working?" Mom asks.

I point out, "They spend all their free time outside where we can see them."

"Who's going to help with their homework?"

"I can."

Mom snorts. "You're working past dark almost every night."

Guilt hits me. I haven't been the best at helping the boys with homework. I hated school when I was their age. And my sons take after me. They'd rather be out in the pasture riding horses or playing Cops and Robbers. So they whine as much as I did. It frustrates me. But my mom is great with homework, so I've been happy to let her take on those duties.

I insist, "I'll do it."

Evelyn snickers. "Sure you will."

"Stay out of it," I snap.

She adds, "They have to do their homework. Plus, you're horrible when it comes to school stuff."

"I said to keep your nose where it belongs."

"She's right. The boys' schoolwork can't suffer," Dad declares.

"I'm good not doing homework while you're gone. No offense, Phoebe," Wilder states, then gives her his dazzling smile.

"Not funny," I warn.

"I don't need to do homework either," Ace proclaims.

Phoebe laughs and replies, "You're both doing your homework. But don't worry. We'll make it fun."

"Homework is never fun," Wilder mutters.

"It will be with me," Phoebe claims.

I clench my jaw, breathing through my nose, my heart racing faster. I assess Phoebe again, wondering how my mother could be so off base with her judgment. This woman is wild; I can tell. Surely, she won't be a good influence on my boys. They'll run right over her.

"She's very qualified," Mom says, as if she can read my mind.

"How?" I question, truly curious how this stranger could handle my sons, who are starting to push the boundaries any chance they get.

Phoebe's voice is confident when she smiles and states, "I've taught art for the last three years."

"Three years! And art! That's a lifetime of lessons there," I sarcastically declare.

"Alexander!" Mom reprimands.

"What? It's a fair assessment."

Phoebe straightens her back, narrowing her eyes on me, divulging, "Not really. I started babysitting when I was twelve. I nannied through college for a family with five children, and the parents were absent."

"I'm not an absent father," I snap.

She tilts her head. "I didn't claim you were."

I stare at her, and tension builds around the table, but mostly between the two of us.

Sebastian clears his throat. "Why don't you give her a chance?"

I jerk my head toward him. "Since when do you stick your nose in my business?"

He holds his hands up. "Mom and Dad interviewed her, so she must be overqualified."

Surprise hits me. I turn toward Dad. "You interviewed her?"

"Of course."

I ask Sebastian, "How did you know? You were outside with us."

Guilt fills his expression.

I glance around the table. More anger fills me. I realize I'm the only one who was kept in the dark besides the kids. "You all knew?"

Evelyn answers, "We didn't realize they were leaving over the holidays. Mom told us it was supposed to be in February."

Mom interrupts. "Your father and I didn't know how desperate they were for extra help. We couldn't turn them down."

Evelyn continues, "We assumed you'd try to claim you can handle everything on your own."

"I can. They're my children, after all," I remind her.

Georgia puts her hand on mine. She softly says, "Hey."

I glance at her.

She smiles, and I calm a tad. It's hard to be mad at her. Maybe it's because she's not blood but has always treated my kids like her own since the moment she met them. So while she's just as much a part of us now, she has a different perspective on things without the years of history of annoying me at times like the rest of my family.

She suggests, "Why don't you just have Phoebe nanny this next week and then you can decide if you need her?"

I take a deep breath, happy Georgia's on my side. It's not what I want, but she just gave me the green light to teach my family that I'm more than capable of handling everything on my own. I'll agree, then Phoebe can pack up and be on her way once everyone sees the boys and I don't need her.

I reluctantly turn toward Phoebe. "Fine. You can stay for the week. On Friday, we'll reassess."

"I need to go home and get my things first. My lease is up in three days," she claims.

"Where's home?"

"California."

Of course she's from California. That explains the piercings, tattoos, magenta hair, and tan.

I wonder what other tattoos she has hiding under those jeans.

What am I saying?

I scoff. "Let me guess. L.A.? Or is it San Francisco?"

She shakes her head. "Pismo Beach."

"You should take us to the beach!" Ace exclaims.

Phoebe smiles at him. "I saw you have a lake on your property."

"We do!"

"Why don't we have a beach party after you've earned your stars this week?"

He wrinkles his forehead. "Stars?"

She nods. "Yeah. You can earn all kinds of cool stuff with my stars."

"Like what?" Wilder asks.

"I want stars!" Isabella pipes up.

Phoebe laughs. "You can earn them too."

"It's going to be cold soon," I state.

Phoebe shrugs, then turns her gaze back to the kids. "So? We can still have a beach party, right?" 

"Yeah!" Wilder pumps his arm in the air, and the other kids follow, chanting, "Beach party!"

My siblings and parents seem to find it funny, but it irritates me. The last thing I need is this woman putting ideas into my kids' heads when she won't be here to follow through. So I mutter, "Better do it this week, then."

The room goes quiet, and she says, "I can be back by Tuesday if that works?"

"It does," Dad answers.

Phoebe's lips twist. She arches her eyebrows as she asks me, "And for you? Tuesday through Monday will give you enough time to make your assessment?"

I wonder why she finds this funny. Come next week, she'll be hightailing it back to California, homeless. But I answer, "Yep."

"Great. Can we eat now? I'm hungry," Jagger states.

Trays full of lunch meat, cheese, and bread are passed around the table. Bowls with potato salad, Caesar salad, and fruit follow.

"Did you make all this, Georgia?" Phoebe asks.

"Evelyn and the girls helped. Didn't you?" she asks Emma, Evelyn's middle child, who seems attached to Georgia's hip lately.

"I washed the lettuce and broke it apart!" Emma exclaims, beaming.

"You did a great job too," Georgia says, and they fist-bump.

"Mmm, this lettuce is amazing," Phoebe declares, taking a huge bite and grinning at Emma.

Emma eats up her praise, and I internally groan.

Maybe this idea of Georgia's isn't so good after all. These kids are going to get attached to Phoebe and then I'll be the bad guy.

The conversation continues, but I barely hear it. I hardly taste my food either. Everyone around the table is eating and praising Phoebe like she's the most amazing person to ever stay at our home. It only convinces me further that this is going to be a disaster. Of all the things my mother has done, this is going to top the cake. Phoebe won't be needed, and these kids will be heartbroken once she leaves.

Better in a week than two months.

Two months.

What the heck were my parents thinking? My kids don't need to get attached to any woman who isn't family.

Warm apple pie crumble topped with vanilla ice cream gets passed around the table. It's another dessert hit by Georgia. She has a thriving cupcake business, but she can make anything. She even figured out how to make low-sugar stuff taste good for my brother, who's terrified of getting diabetes. Today is no different. She made the same dish but with reduced sugar for him.

"Who will do holiday stuff with us while you're gone?" Isabella asks my mom.

Mom points around the table. "Everyone here, plus your other aunties and Phoebe."

"Phoebe's only here for a week," I remind everyone.

"Alexander, you will give Phoebe a fair chance," Dad commands.

I grind my molars. I love my family, but this is one of those situations where I wished they'd stay out of my business.

This is what I get for still living on the ranch.

Maybe I should move out?

What am I saying? This is our home, and my sons would be devastated.

Phoebe pipes up. "It's okay. I'll prove to Alexander that I can add value while you're gone." She grins at me.

I stare back at her, my mouth turning dry. I'm not sure who this woman thinks she is, but if she thinks she can win me over, she's got another thing coming.

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