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KARL COULDN’T HELP but repeat his words. “Your son?”
When Paul had said Charlie, a succession of possibilities had hurtled through his mind, beginning and ending with various sizes of dog. Son was not one of them.
He wasn’t proud of his next two thoughts:
The first—Would this job make him a nanny, then?
The second—Did that mean Paul was married?
There might have been a silent ‘damn’ with the last one. Even if he did know nothing would ever happen with Paul. Duh.
Still, he found himself stealing a glance at Paul’s hands. No ring. Curious. But he'd probably best save asking about that for another time. The priority was to secure the job after all.
“Wow, so you’re a dad.” He did look all responsible and grown up. When did that happen? Certainly, he didn’t feel there yet. Twenty-seven was still so, so young. To have a kid, anyway. “How old is . . . Charlie?”
Paul smiled. It changed his whole face when he did that. Humor lined his eyes in fine creases, making him look so much lighter. He’d go so far as to say his eyes sparkled, but that’d come out sounding wrong. Plus, they were probably just reflecting the light. “He’s nearly four years old.”
So, a terrible toddler, huh? Not that he was worried, one kid he could handle. As long as, oh—
“Potty trained?” Karl’s expression must have hinted at worry, because Paul laughed. The sound had a strange, warming effect on him. Or maybe it was just that he’d never heard him do that before. Yeah, that was what it was.
“For the most part he is. During the day, yes. At night he wears pull-ups, but you won’t have to worry about that. In fact . . .” Paul picked up his phone. “Maggie,” Karl shook his head. Really? He couldn’t just walk over there? “Clear my schedule for the next half-hour. I’m going to show Karl the apartment, explain the job, and show him his, uh, lodgings.”
Karl watched as Paul drummed his fingers as he spoke. The man, and his son—he still wasn’t quite over that one—had to live close by if Paul could manage all that in thirty minutes.
“ . . . uh-ha, that’d be fine.” He hung up the phone and stood. “Follow me.”
When they got to the elevators and had to wait, Paul ran his hand through his dark crop of hair. The silence was quickly becoming weird. Karl linked his hands, cracking his knuckles, not missing it as Paul winced. “Um, so, what would be the hours for this job?”
The guy looked relieved to have something to talk about. Though why he couldn’t come up with something himself, he had no idea.
“I’m a busy man.”
Karl couldn’t decide if this was arrogant or plain direct.
“I have five hotels to manage, and I’m busy most of the day. My current girl,” Girl Friday, Karl presumed, “she’s eight months pregnant, and her doctors have advised her not to work for the remainder of her pregnancy. I need someone to prepare breakfast in the mornings for my son if I’m already out of the house—sometimes I have to get up early to travel.”
So far, no mention of the mother. Was it safe to assume there wasn’t one? “Then,” Paul continued, “it’s a matter of getting Charlie to pre-school, maybe making a few shopping, or, um, dry-cleaning errands, then picking him up again. I do my best to get in by seven, so I can eat with him before he goes to bed. If the food is ready, it makes it easier for me to spend more quality time with him. So preparing a little something would be part of your job, too.”
The elevator opened and they entered. Paul swiped a key card through the slot next to the keypad.
“I know it’s a pretty long day, but when Charlie’s at pre-school you’ll have some hours to yourself, and you’d be relieved as soon as I’m home.”
Huh. He sounded almost glad to say that last bit. It was then Karl noticed they were heading upwards, and not down as he’d expected. Well, well, well. So he lived in the hotel. Interesting. Guess that answered his earlier question.
Paul leaned back against the rails, loosening his tie a little. “Now, do you have your own car or will you need to borrow one of mine?”
One of—jeesch. Okay, maybe someone with a Lamborghini didn’t have a right to comment on that. “I have a car.” But—
“Good. Charlie has a bumper seat—”
“It’s not a very child-friendly one.”
Paul waved the issue off as if, either way, it really didn’t bother him. “I’ll get you a spot in the parking garage. You can use the Volvo with Charlie.”
Volvo. How predictable. Would he also have to take the boy to soccer practice?
Paul must have recognized the look on his face because, as the doors slid open, he said, “Of course, you could always take the bus.”
Har-har. Funny, Paul.
“Volvo’s fine.”
Karl stood back as Paul opened the door to his fortieth-floor apartment. As he stepped inside after Paul, he paused a moment, admiring the place. The front door opened into the lounge of thick creamy carpet, massive cherrywood bookshelves, an impressively-sized plasma television in the corner, and, best of all, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a view of the city.
Blimey. Now, where was the kitchen?
He snapped out of his awe and hurried after Paul, who was already gesturing and explaining things. “ . . . end up vacuuming every day. I apologize in advance for that one.” He chuckled, and that made Karl really want to pay more attention to his words. “As for cleaning the windows, the bathroom and dusting, once a week will do. Washing might need to be done twice weekly, though—it’s crazy how much having a kid ups the laundry load.”
They walked into a dining room with a lovely round table nestled into one corner, next to a—oh, nice. An entire bookshelf of board games. And even nicer—in fact, so nice he could have orgasmed right there—was the kitchen. Massive counter space, two sinks . . .
He left Paul’s side, moved around the breakfast bar and headed for the oven. “Okay, gas stove—excellent.”
Paul gave him a confused look as if he wasn’t quite sure how to take someone waltzing into his kitchen, and, yes, flinging open the cupboards. “Paul. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Well right now, I’m being disappointed. Why are these cupboards so bare?” This would not do. The job description had implicitly said there’d be cooking involved. He searched the bottom cupboards. Well now, how was that going to be possible with only this? “You only have one pot, and a, ah, rather dodgy looking pan.”
“Well, we don’t need fancy, you’ll manage. Boiled potatoes, a side of fish and a vegetable will do us.”
Karl shut his eyes. Sorry, but no. Maybe he’d have to live without the proper equipment, but he’d figure something out. There was no way he’d be making something so—so common, though. “Do I get to do the shopping as part of this stint?”
Paul slowly inclined his head. “I’ll give you an account for household necessities, including food and cleaning gear.” As Karl looked toward the pot cupboard again, Paul added, “Not frivolous cooking utensils.”
He searched Paul’s face for how serious he was and was met with a stern but steady stare.
He wasn’t joking.
Damn.
They whizzed through a tour of the rest of the place. Charlie’s room had a mural of Winnie-the-Pooh and Tigger, as well as a small, very low bed, drawers and boxes and boxes of toys. Lucky kid.
Paul pointed out his bedroom but kept the door shut. Didn’t he know that’d only make one more curious? Just as well he didn’t care.
Because he didn’t.
Karl came to an abrupt halt, almost banging into Paul’s back. He was so close, another inch and they’d be flush. He caught a whiff of aftershave. Oh, that smelt good, he’d have to find out what it was. Paul twisted suddenly, and Karl rocked back on his heels, grinning casually. He tapped the door they stood in front of. “And what’s in there?”
Paul tugged again at his tie. Karl wanted to suggest he take the darn thing off if it was bugging him so bad. “In here,” Paul said, opening the door, “is your room.”
Karl’s mouth dropped open. It was huge. Almost bigger than his entire old apartment. And this was just one room. It was simply furnished with a desk, some chairs, a large in-built wardrobe, and a king-sized bed opposite the he-didn’t-want-to-know-how-much-this-place-must-cost view.
Paul pointed to a door to the left of the wardrobe. “There you have direct access to the outer hall, so in the evenings you don’t have to come through the apartment. And, of course, there’s a bathroom and shower through those sliding doors.”
Karl picked his jaw off the ground. This was a million times better than the Lamborghini. Sleeping in the Lamborghini that was. “So, when can I start?”
A trace of a smile cornered Paul’s lips before he quickly schooled his expression. “You can start right away, if you like. I’m picking up Charlie from school today. You can meet him when I bring him home.”
Karl eyed his new room again. Totally worth being a Girl Friday for. Or male nanny. Or cleaner. Or whatever. “I can’t wait.”
Paul was quiet as they walked back through the apartment. There were no photos on any of the surfaces. He’d hoped there’d be a glimpse of Charlie and the whole family. No, it had nothing to do with the mysterious mom. Well, that’s what he was telling himself, anyway.
His steps slowed as they reached the lounge again. Paul’s place reeked of true success, but the red and gold colored tapestries, finger paintings stuck onto the wall with tack, and scattered toys by the coffee table gave it a family feeling, too.
Something he’d been kicked out of. Something his mother had said he didn’t deserve.
At that moment, Paul looked over. Karl forced a large smile. Well, not entirely forced. A part of it was real. The part that couldn’t believe the boy he’d made life hell for would give him such a chance. A boy he’d never cared for like he had his family, who had nevertheless shown him more compassion.
He vowed right then and there he’d make it up to Paul somehow. Show him how sorry and how thankful he was.
Shit, he was going to be the best Girl Friday there ever was.