Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 2

2

Phoebe Love

" T hank you again. I can't wait to start," I tell Ruby.

She hugs me and says, "We're excited to have you on the ranch."

"Beach party!" Isabella shrieks, and the other kids start to chant again. I laugh. They've done it several times throughout the night.

Alexander shakes his head, just as annoyed as the other times.

His parents warned me he would resist the idea of a nanny, and they weren't joking. At this point, I can't tell if it's the nanny issue or if he just doesn't like me.

"See you soon, kid," Jacob states, giving me a fatherly hug and then pulling away. He turns toward Alexander. "What are you waiting for, son? Get Phoebe off to the airport before you mess up the flight schedule. We don't need another fine."

Alexander wrinkles his forehead, narrowing his blue eyes until they darken. "What are you talking about? I'm not going to the airport."

"Of course you are. And remember your manners. Now, move," Jacob commands in a no-nonsense tone.

Alexander clenches his jaw, glares daggers at Jacob, then slowly releases a breath. The sun-kissed wrinkles around his eyes fade, and he puts on his cowboy hat, then yanks open the front door. He forces a smile, leers at me, and gripes, "Guess I'm taking you to the airport. Ready?"

Butterflies flutter in my stomach and heat crawls up my cheeks, and I scold myself for feeling like a schoolgirl caught staring at her crush. It makes zero sense. He's rude, doesn't want me near his family, and has made it clear he's on a mission to get me fired before I even begin. Yet my body reacts the same way every time Alexander Cartwright's disdainful, angry, frustrated gaze locks on mine. It's almost as if I'm a glutton for his disapproval.

"I want to come!" Ace interjects.

"No, you're on barn duty for the rest of the afternoon," Jacob announces.

Wilder snickers. "Have fun with that."

Amusement fills Jacob's expression. He declares, "Not sure why you think you're not on it with him."

"What? Why?" Wilder whines.

Jacob wags his finger between the boys. "You didn't think you'd get away with not riding your horses in when your father called you earlier? Or did you?"

Ace's face falls. He gripes, "We came back."

"Yeah. You whistled and we came back."

"Don't act like you didn't hear your father, or barn duty will be for the rest of the weekend," Jacob warns.

The boys glance at each other, then both sigh.

"Go," Jacob says, pointing.

Wilder grumbles, "Come on, Ace. Bye, Phoebe."

"Yeah, bye," Ace follows.

"See you," I reply, fist-bumping them and biting on my smile as they pass me and scoot through the door.

"Time to go," Alexander orders and motions for me to exit.

We walk quietly to his truck. He opens the passenger door for me, and it takes me by surprise.

He grunts. "Let me guess. You're one of those females who thinks it's insulting for a man to open a woman's door?"

I grab the bar, hoist my bottom onto the seat, and shake my head. "No. Why would you assume that?"

"You just froze and pinned your eyebrows together."

"So?"

"So you looked upset."

"No, just surprised. Is that a sin?" I question.

He pauses, then nods. "Ah. I get it. You only hang out with those California boys who don't know how to be a gentleman."

"Ummm..." I close my mouth, thinking about his statement.

Alexander shakes his head. "Pinned that one correctly."

"No, you didn't." But is he right?

"Really?" he challenges, shooting his disapproval deeper into me.

I have the same reaction as before, and I curse myself.

Why does he make me feel so flustered? He's an asshole.

And who cares if my boyfriend Lance and other men I'm around don't hold my door open?

Well, it's kind of nice.

Why do I even care? I can open my own door.

He tears his gaze off mine and shuts the door. Within seconds, he's inside the truck next to me. His scent of musk, sweat, and the outdoors fills the cab, and it's like an aphrodisiac. I inhale it deeply, my heart racing faster.

He starts the truck and maneuvers us down the ranch's long driveway, pulling through the magnificent wrought iron gates.

"Your ranch is really beautiful," I tell him.

He glances across the cab, dryly replying, "Thanks. It's been in my family for several generations. I assume you've never lived on a ranch before?"

My defenses rise. "No, but that doesn't mean I don't love the outdoors or animals."

He tightens his lips. "Sure." He refocuses on the road.

What a smug asshole.

I lower my gaze and freeze, my pulse quickening.

Alexander's jeans stretch taut over his thighs. The bulge between them is just as enticing.

The truck bounces, and he mutters, "Sorry. This dirt road's a bit rough right now."

I tear my eyes off his lower body and stare out the window. "No worries."

The cab goes quiet for several minutes. The unusually sunny day intensifies, warming the inside of the truck. Alexander's intoxicating scent grows stronger until my head spins and my heart pounds so hard I wonder if he can hear it.

What is wrong with me?

I have a boyfriend.

Not for long.

What am I saying? Lance and I only need some space. Then we'll be good again.

He's going to flip when he finds out I'm moving to Texas for two months.

Guilt eats at me. I didn't tell Lance I was coming here for a job interview. He thinks I'm here visiting a friend from college.

Then my guilt turns to anger.

Lance never asked my friend's name, where I knew her from, or anything about my trip. He barely listened when I said I'd be gone for two days.

In some ways, it didn't surprise me. He hasn't been super attentive since the first year we started dating, and even less this past year. If it doesn't have to do with his friends, career, or tennis matches at the country club, he's not interested.

My friends don't care for him either. They stayed quiet at first, keeping their opinions to themselves, but lately they've been voicing their disdain. He's never been overly friendly, so they stopped trying. It's a constant conversation of them telling me I can do better and me trying to convince them they don't know him.

The same debate erupts in my head.

When Lance and I are alone, it's different.

Well, it used to be. For the last year, everything has felt different.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when Lance didn't ask many questions about my trip. Maybe part of me was relieved. I didn't have to create a lie since my friend Alicia moved to Texas, and I did get to see her last night. All I did was leave out some details.

Now that the Cartwrights hired me, I'm going to have to fess up. I'm unsure how Lance will react when I tell him, but I believe with my whole being that we need some space. He'll miss me, realize all I do for him, and things can return to how they were when we first got together.

Or he won't miss me at all, and that will give me the courage to break up with him.

My heart sinks at that thought. We've been together since we met at my college graduation four years ago. His brother was in my class. We'd never met, but I literally ran into Lance coming out of the auditorium. He didn't waste any time getting my number, and the next night, we went out. The last four years have good and bad memories, but I remind myself that every relationship has both. And I hate thinking about not making any more good ones with him.

"You know my boys are going to push every boundary they can, right?" Alexander warns, pulling me out of my thoughts.

And we're back to a job interview.

I take a deep inhale of his scent, smile, and turn toward him. "Of course. As I stated, I know kids very well."

He snorts. "Doesn't mean you know my two boys."

"I didn't claim to," I chirp, turn, and put my knee on the seat.

His eyes drift down. He stares at my leg a moment, then stabs me with disdain. "Didn't you?"

I ignore the blood rushing through my veins, growing hotter with every second he continues to challenge me. "Yes, I know children. Wilder and Ace both have their own personalities, and of course I don't know them yet. However, I know how kids try to push the limits, especially boys their age."

He grinds his molars, focusing on the road.

Even though I don't feel overly confident he won't fire me after the trial period, I fake it, adding, "When I return, you'll see that I'm more than capable of taking care of your boys."

"I don't need anyone to take care of them."

"Your family seems to think you need some help," I retort.

"I don't. You'll see."

"Okay. Why don't we make a bet, then?"

Alexander's head snaps toward me. "So you're a gambler?"

"No!"

"You just said you want to make a bet."

My cheeks heat, and I stutter, "Uh...y-yeah. It's a phrase."

"A phrase gamblers use."

"I'm not a gambler," I insist.

He drills his gaze so hard into me that I try not to shrink back in the seat. But I also have to squeeze my thighs together.

Jesus. What is up with me? This guy is a complete jerk.

He hurls out, "I don't want my boys learning about gambling."

I put my hands over my face, groaning. I sigh, then lower my hands and force myself to look at him, insisting, "I can assure you I won't be teaching them to gamble. Because I. Don't. Gamble."

His expression hardens and he grips the wheel tighter. His shoulders tense, and the fabric of his T-shirt stretches across his biceps. He claims, "Irresponsible gambling ruins people's lives."

I stare at him.

He continues, "I'm raising my boys to be good human beings and future responsible adults."

Is this guy for real?

What a hypocrite.

Unable to stop myself, I point out, "Don't you train racehorses?"

He flinches, but it's so fast, I wonder if I actually saw it. He replies, "Yes. But that doesn't mean I agree with irresponsible gambling."

"What exactly is responsible gambling?" I tilt my head, narrowing my gaze.

His knuckles turn white. He answers, "Having limits. Knowing when to quit and walk away. Not being an addict."

I smirk. "But you train horses for both responsible and irresponsible gamblers to bet on?"

The color fades in his face. He snarls, "If you have a problem with how my family makes our money, you don't need to return."

I hold my hands in the air. "Whoa! I don't have any issues with it. I'm simply responding to your attack."

He scrunches his face. "My attack?"

"Your assumption that I'm going to teach your kids how to gamble; something I've never done, by the way," I admit.

"You've never gambled?" he asks.

I cross my arms over my chest. "No. I'm a teacher, remember?"

"So?"

I roll my eyes. "We don't exactly make a lot of money. It would be crazy for me to risk losing anything I earn."

He stays silent for about a mile, then questions, "So what bet did you want to make?"

Seriously?

"Go on. Tell me."

I debate whether to tell him I forgot or to answer him.

"Well, don't leave me hanging," he urges.

I finally reveal, "Fine. If at the end of my trial period, you realize you're wrong and need a nanny, then you owe me a favor."

"A favor?"

"Yep."

"What kind of favor?"

I shrug. "I don't know, just something in the future if I need it."

Mistrust fills his expression again.

"Fine. If you're scared of what I might ask you to do, then we don't have to bet," I mutter, then roll my eyes and turn away.

He blurts out, "What do I get when I'm right?"

I think for a moment, then reply, "Same thing. A favor."

He scoffs. "But you won't be here to make good on that favor."

Anger hits me. His assumption I won't make it through the trial period is insulting. "Just forget I said anything."

He veers to the right and pulls into the private airport. He parks close to the jet's staircase and gets out.

By the time he gets to my door, I've already jumped out of the cab, unsure why I'm agreeing to return here.

Because I need a job.

Because Lance and I need a break.

Because I'm running out of money.

"See you in a few days," I say, stepping toward the plane.

He moves in front of me. "Wait."

I freeze, hating the heat rising in my cheeks, and slowly glance up.

He towers over me. A gust of wind blows by us, and his scent flares around me, accelerating my flutters. His cowboy hat creates a dark shadow on his face, but I swear he's looking at the tattoo peeking out of my tank top.

Maybe he's a pervert and staring at my chest.

He declares, "Bet's on."

I put my hand on my hip. "I thought you were worried about collecting your win."

His lips twist. "Nah. I only take bets I can win, but I'll figure it out."

I sarcastically laugh. "So you train racehorses and gamble but you're worried about me influencing your boys?"

A hint of amusement fills his expression. He nods, agreeing, "Yep. Like I said, I understand responsible gambling. And apparently, you do not."

I huff, then straighten my shoulders. I hold my hand out. "Okay, Alexander. You're on."

His large, tanned hand reaches toward me. His fingers wrap around mine.

Electricity runs down my back. I take a shaky breath, surprised by the intensity.

The darkness in his gaze deepens. He locks eyes with me until I feel like I'll melt into a puddle at his feet. His gruff voice declares, "Looking forward to my win."

Everything about his statement and what it does to me, confuses me. It deepens an ache I haven't felt since I first started dating Lance. It gives a new spark to the anger burning within me. And it makes me more determined than ever to pass his test and win this bet.

I force myself to reply, "Likewise," then step around him and make my way up the steps to the jet.

Don't turn around.

He's looking at me.

Don't give him the satisfaction.

I get safely inside the Cartwright's jet, barely hearing the attendant greet me, and sit in the luxurious, soft leather seat, peeking out the window.

Alexander wastes no time, jumping in his truck and taking off.

"Champagne? Something else?" the attendant asks.

I shake my head. "No, I'm okay. Thank you."

She disappears, and I'm in the air before I know it. My thoughts regarding Alexander, whether I should even return to the ranch, and my situation with Lance, are all over the place.

The pilot announces we're ten minutes from landing, tearing me out of my musings. I stare out the window until we land and then I exit the plane.

I walk across the runway, into the small building, and out the front door, expecting to see Lance and his car.

The road is empty. I pull my phone out of my purse, turn it on, and call him.

After two rings, his voicemail picks up.

I hang up and text him.

Me: Hey, I landed. Are you close by?

Several minutes pass.

I try to call again, but his voicemail comes on after three rings.

I hang up and return to text.

Me: Are you still picking me up?

I wait five minutes, call again, and get tossed into voicemail. Rage and hurt fill me.

I finally give up and order an Uber. I text him again.

Me: Can you at least confirm you're okay?

The car arrives, I get inside, and my phone dings.

Lance: Sorry. I forgot you were coming back tonight. It's best if you order a ride.

My insides shake. The journey back to my apartment is a blur as my emotions continue to spiral.

When I enter my place, I'm determined to be done with Lance. I open the closet door, pull out all the cardboard I stored over the last few weeks, and find my tape gun. I put the boxes together and spend hours packing my apartment.

I finish around three in the morning. Only my toiletries, several outfits to get me by over the next few days, and my bedding aren't boxed up. I text Lance.

Me: I took a temporary job in Texas. I'll be back in a few months. I think it's best if we take a break while I'm gone.

My phone rings. Lance's name and face pop up on the screen. I angrily answer, "Now you're going to call me?"

Voices and music blare in the background. I can barely hear him slur, "What do you mean you're going to Texas?"

"Just what I wrote. And thanks for picking me up," I hurl out, crawling under my covers, angry he chose to party instead of picking me up at the airport. I've been gone several days. It's clear he didn't miss me. Plus, we agreed before I left he would pick me up.

"I told you I forgot. It's not a big deal," he whines, right as a girl's voice cuts through the line saying, "Lance, your turn. Spin it."

My heart pounds harder. I demand, "Spin what?"

He ignores my question, then states, "I have to go. We'll discuss this later, but don't be dramatic, Phoebe. Your place is here, with me, not Texas."

I scoff. "Here with you? You can't even pick me up at the airport!"

He groans. "Jesus, woman. The drama needs to end. It's not a big deal. Besides, you're the one who wanted to run off to Texas and leave me all weekend. What did you want me to do? Sit at home by myself, missing you? That's not fair, now is it?"

So he did miss me?

Not much if he didn't show up.

Am I really not being fair to him?

He adds, "You don't know what it was like all weekend with you gone."

A feeling of pissed-off guilt floods me. Lance always has a way of initiating mixed emotions within me, and tonight is no different.

Before I can say another word, he adds, "I'll make it up to you that I wasn't at the airport. Go to sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow." He hangs up before I can reply.

Upset, I attempt to call him back, but he sends me to voicemail, which only enrages me further. I scream into my pillow, feeling a bit crazy, and toss my phone on the nightstand.

It's never been clearer that Lance and I need a break. Texas seems like a better idea with every minute that drags by. Any debate I had about dealing with Alexander and the headaches he's sure to create, disappears.