Playboy Bachelors: Remodelling the Bachelor. Marie Ferrarella

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      “I could. If I were twins.” She paused, thinking. There was a way, but it involved a complication. “I could get my brother to work with me.”

      As he recalled, she used her brother as a babysitter. “Does he do this kind of thing?”

      “Yes.” It was probably his imagination, but she seemed to answer the question a little too quickly, as if she didn’t want to give herself any time to think about it.

      “Then get him.” He saw a hesitant look pass over her face. “What? If it’s a matter of more money, I’m sure we can arrive at a figure that’s mutually satisfying.”

      “No, it’s not that.” She’d quoted a price and she was going to stand by it. With Gordon helping, the job would get done faster so that balanced things out. “Gordon’s my babysitter. If he’s working here with me, I’m going to have to bring Kelli along as well, at least until I can find someone else.”

      It was a little unusual, but then, nothing about J. D. Wyatt was usual. “So?”

      She looked at him for a long moment, trying to discern if he was pulling her leg. “You wouldn’t mind?”

      “No. She seemed like a nice enough, quiet little girl.” He thought of Kelli’s love for painting. “We could set something up for her in the family room—the part that hasn’t been invaded with groceries, dishes and small appliances,” he qualified.

      “All right, then—” Janice began to pivot on her heel.

      “But I’m just curious about one thing.”

      She stopped in her tracks, waiting for the shoe to drop. “Go ahead.”

      “Why isn’t she in preschool, or nursery school, or whatever it is that they call it these days?”

      Janice had her own philosophy about that. She believed that the first few years of life should be spent around the people who love you. She’d been farmed out when she was Kelli’s age. Her father couldn’t deal with raising children so she and Gordon had been sent off to day care and left with people before and after school. She’d always promised herself that her own child would be raised differently, that her daughter would never waste a single moment of her life wondering if her parents loved her.

      “Kelli’s going into kindergarten this fall. I just wanted to keep her around for as long as possible. She has friends on the block and there’s nothing she could learn in preschool that I can’t cover.”

      He nodded, getting the feeling that he’d intruded. “Fair enough.” He regrouped. “All right then, why don’t you knock it off for today and then come back tomorrow with reinforcements?”

      “You’re the boss.” The tone she used had him sincerely doubting she believed that. “You going to go back in there and work now?” she guessed.

      It was getting close to noon. “After I go out to get something to eat since you’ve taken away my stove.” He looked at the barren area where his stove had once stood. She hadn’t asked him for help, the way he’d assumed she would. “How did you manage that, anyway?”

      “I used a dolly and a ramp and I walked it across the floor.”

      “How?”

      She grinned. “You move each side one at a time. First right, then left, then right and so on until you’re across the room.”

      He and his brothers had always subscribed to the brute force method. “How did you get it on the truck?” he asked.

      That had been the simplest part. “I borrowed a friend’s truck. He’s got a hydraulic lift.”

      It made sense, he supposed. It still bothered him a little that she was so much more adept at this kind of thing than he was. “Answer for everything, eh?”

      The wide smile on her lips took him aback for a minute, as did the churning sensation in his stomach that came in response. “Including your lunch.”

      “Come again?”

      “I made you something.” Thinking he’d remain in his office the way he had the other three days, she’d planned on surprising him and having the meal ready on the dining room table by noon. The best laid plans of mice and men…

      He stared at her incredulously. “You cook for your clients?”

      This was a first, but then, Kelli had taken such a shine to him and she did feel as if she were invading his space just a little.

      But in response to his question, Janice shrugged. “I made lasagna last night. I always make too much so I thought I’d bring some over.” She tossed him a smile over her shoulder as she walked out to her truck.

      “But I don’t have a stove,” he reminded her.

      “There’s a microwave buried on the sofa somewhere. Besides, it’s good cold,” she promised, leaving the room.

      He was still staring at the jumbled mess on his sofa, trying to make out the shape of the microwave, when J.D. returned a few minutes later, carrying what appeared to be a large, rectangular blue and white chest made of hard plastic. It look unwieldy and he moved to take it from her.

      When he did, he discovered that it was more than unwieldy, it was heavy. “You’re a lot stronger than you look,” he told her, bringing the chest over to the dining room table.

      “I have to be,” she quipped.

      Setting the box down on the table, he saw her raise one eyebrow in a silent question. “I’ve decided to have it cold.”

      “Translation.” She laughed. “You can’t locate the microwave.”

      “Beside the point,” he declared nonchalantly. He had, however, located two plates and he had one at each place setting now. “Join me?”

      She was surprised he asked. “I thought I was being dismissed.”

      He supposed he had sounded rather abrupt. But he hated being stumped and the program was driving him crazy. “Is that how it sounded?”

      Taking her seat at his right, she noticed that Philippe hadn’t actually apologized. “You have a very authoritative voice.”

      He laughed, taking a seat himself. “Comes from telling my brothers what to do.”

      “You were a fledgling bully?” she asked. Because the lasagna was hers, she did the honors, cutting portions.

      “I was the father figure. Or, I should say,” he amended, “the stable father figure since there were an abundance of other father figures milling around most of the time.” He stopped abruptly as his words echoed back to him. This wasn’t like him. “Why am I always spilling my guts to you?”

      Her smile was encouraging, understanding. “I have the kind of face people talk to. I’m more or less invisible,” she explained. “They don’t feel that they’ll see me again once the job is over, but for the duration, they have invited me into their home and since I’m there, they come to regard СКАЧАТЬ