Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 9

9

Alexander

" B reakfast!" Paisley yells, banging on a cowbell.

I look toward the main house, and my gut drops.

Lance struts inside, shooting me a haughty look over his shoulder.

What's he doing now?

I need to get him off this ranch.

Phoebe told me I could kick him off.

That's what I'll do. I'll let him eat his last meal, then drag him out of here.

"Shut the gate," Mason orders, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I secure the latch and then follow my brothers into my parents' house. Phoebe, Wilder, and Ace are several feet in front of us.

The uneasiness I can't seem to escape reappears. I take my turn and wash up, then step into the dining room.

"Sit down, Phoebe," Mom says brightly, pointing to the chair beside Lance.

He grins. "Yeah, sit down, babe."

Phoebe's lips pull into a tight smile. She obeys Mom's orders, and Lance puts his arm around her shoulders.

I take several large steps toward the empty chair on the other side of Phoebe, but Wilder slides into it. I almost tell him to get up, but then realize how that would look. So I quickly assess the situation and then sit in the chair directly across from Lance.

He smirks. "Did you finish rodeoing up those horses this morning?"

I snarl, "Rodeoing them up?"

He grins and shrugs. "I don't know what you call it. Sorry. I don't know much about living in the country," he offers, nodding at my dad.

Normally, my father wouldn't fall for Lance's act, but he lets the comment slide and states, "That's understandable. So, you're from Pismo Beach as well?"

Lance nods. "Born and bred. You can kind of say I'm royalty around there. Right, Phoebe?" He grins and puts his hand on her thigh.

My insides churn. I make a fist under the table until my knuckles turn white.

Phoebe's cheeks turn pink. "That sounds arrogant," she reprimands.

He whines, "I'm just joking, Phoebe. Lighten up. Come on."

An uncomfortable silence follows, but it doesn't last very long. There are too many kids and other family members around.

It's how things always are. Normally, I embrace it all, but this douchebag needs to get the hell off my ranch.

Mom chirps, "Was the guesthouse okay for you two?"

"It was good for me. How was it for you, Phoebe?" Lance asks, arching his eyebrows.

I bite my tongue, wanting to tell everyone she didn't stay there, but it's not my business.

Phoebe doesn't lie and instead answers, "It was nice of you to put Lance up when he didn't give me any notice he was coming."

"Of course. Your boyfriend's always welcome here," Mom states, further infuriating me.

My chest tightens. How can Mom be so naive? This guy's a total loser. On the outside, he looks like a well-put-together guy, but he's definitely a loser.

I interject, asking, "Lance, what time is your flight today?"

He stares at me momentarily, as if to intimidate me, but this boy doesn't have what it takes to achieve that.

My scowl deepens.

Phoebe answers, "He's leaving after breakfast. I saw there's a noon flight with plenty of seats left."

Lance's eyes narrow. He demands, "You mean we're leaving."

"No," she says.

Ace cries out, "You can't take Phoebe! She's our nanny. Dad, tell him!"

"Yeah. We haven't had our beach party yet," Isabella pipes up, her eyes widening.

Arrogance fills Lance's expression. He adds, "It doesn't seem to make sense for her to fly back on her own tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Dad, tell him he can't take Phoebe!" Wilder demands.

I squeeze my fist tighter. I always knew this was coming. I had prepared all sorts of things to tell the kids when it was time for Phoebe to leave, but I can't think of one of them right now. I glance at her, and my heart thumps harder.

She stares at her plate, biting her lip. Her anxiety adds more fuel for my hatred of the man sitting next to her.

Lance announces, "Your dad's firing her tomorrow. And I don't see any point in letting her go through that. If she comes with me, she won't be alone and upset on the plane."

Before I can think about the repercussions, I blurt out, "Who said I'm firing Phoebe?"

Lance arches his eyebrows, challenging me. "She said come Monday, she won't have a job."

"No, that's not what I said," Phoebe interjects, glaring at him, then refocusing on me. She takes a deep breath, lifts her chin, and squares her shoulders, claiming, "I'm staying until tomorrow, until you make your decision."

Willow says, "Decision? What decision? That's a ridiculous statement. There is no decision to be made here. You're perfect for the boys, and you're a great nanny. There's no reason that you would leave. Alexander, reassure her."

I don't say anything. A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard.

"Dad, Phoebe can't leave. Tell her she's staying," Ace whines.

"Yeah, Dad. Besides the beach party we haven't had yet, who's going to make sure we have food at our house? I'm getting used to it now," Wilder chimes in.

Lance puts his hands in the air, stating, "It's okay, kids. Phoebe doesn't need to work anyway. We're getting married. I've got plenty of money. Once she pops out a baby, she'll have her own nanny, won't you, babe?"

A wave of heat floods my veins until nausea pummels me. An image of Phoebe in a wedding dress saying "I do" to the idiot in front of me and then with a big belly, bearing his children, taunts me.

Paisley chirps, "You're getting married?"

"Yeah, you're getting married?" Willow follows with a doubtful tone, then glances at Phoebe's hand.

Phoebe shakes her head. "No, we're not getting married. Lance has never asked me to marry him."

He claims, "I've talked about it quite a bit."

Dad narrows his eyes, questioning, "Have you asked her father for permission, son?"

Lance straightens up in his chair. His expression turns solemn. He reveals, "Phoebe's father isn't in the picture."

Phoebe's cheeks turn bright red. Shame and embarrassment cross her expression, and it makes me want to kill Lance. I don't know what the story is, but it's apparent she's upset about it.

Mom coos, "Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that."

I want to ask her what happened to her father, but now isn't the time.

Willow tilts her head, her eyes in slits. She hurls out, "So you've gotten down on one knee? You've given her a ring?"

For once, I'm happy my sister is in the same room as Phoebe and me. She doesn't like Lance any more than I do. It's clear as day.

Lance clears his throat. "No, not yet. I wanted to give Phoebe some time to live a little while we're young. Isn't that right, babe?" He slings his arm around her, tugging her closer.

She doesn't say anything, gaping at her plate, and takes deep breaths.

I glower, seething, "You wanted to give her or yourself time to live a little?"

Lance answers, "Her," then grinds his molars, meeting my stare.

"Looks to me like she doesn't want to marry you."

Lance crosses his arms. He snarls, "That's a strange thing for a man to say who has nothing to do with our relationship. Or do you?"

My stomach flips. It's my own fault for speaking up. There's nothing going on between Phoebe and me, but I can't blame a man for asking me when I'm butting into their business. Still, I step further into hot water, fuming, "Meaning?"

He tries to intimidate me again with a glare, then takes a sip of coffee and nonchalantly shrugs. "Just asking. You seem to be fond of her for a guy who's going to fire her."

"I'm not firing her," I repeat before I think about the consequences.

"Woo-hoo! Yes," Wilder says, pumping his arm in the air.

"Beach party here we come," Isabella cries out.

"Good. Phoebe's way better at homework than Grandma or Dad. No offense, Grandma," Ace declares.

A smile forms on Phoebe's face. Then she pins her blues on me and quietly questions, "You're not firing me tomorrow?"

Now I'm between a rock and a hard place. My mouth turns dry. A few minutes ago, I couldn't think of one reason not to keep Phoebe. Now, all I can think about is how I need to prove to my family that I can handle the boys on my own.

"Of course he's not firing you. He'd be a fool to let you leave. Well, sometimes he's a moron, but he's not that big of an idiot," Willow teases.

I glance over at her, my pulse skyrocketing, once again wishing she knew how to mind her own business.

Phoebe clears her throat, then asks, "Alexander? Are you letting me stay?"

Lance grunts, then insists, "He already said he's firing you, so he's firing you. After we eat this delicious breakfast, we're getting on a plane and going home."

Dad speaks up. This time, he's not on Lance's side. "Now, hold on a minute, young man. Phoebe took a job with our family, and I'm pretty sure she can make her own decisions. And my son clearly stated he's not firing her."

Lance glances over at Dad. "Why should she stay in an environment where she's constantly being threatened to lose her job?"

"She's not," I claim.

He arches his eyebrows. "That's an interesting statement. She told me on the phone the other day, and again last night, she was getting fired on Monday."

"Stop saying that! You didn't listen to what I said. I told you I was on a trial run and Monday would be the deciding day," Phoebe corrects.

"Sounds like threats to me," Lance adds.

"My son doesn't threaten women," Dad declares.

Lance sits back in his seat and sighs. "Sir, I'm not trying to get on your bad side. I'm only trying to protect my woman."

His woman.

It's another statement that makes me want to hurl. He doesn't deserve Phoebe. I've only known him a few hours, and it's clear he doesn't deserve one ounce of her time or attention.

I meet Phoebe's eyes. "I think she can make up her own mind and decide if she wants to stay or go. Can't you?"

She confidently states, "Yes. Of course I can."

Good girl.

I toss Lance a smug look and then turn back to Phoebe. I ask, "Are you still interested in staying on the ranch as my kids' nanny? Or are you ready to go back to Pismo?" My chest tightens as I wait for her answer.

What if she says she wants to go back to Pismo with Mr. Douchebag?

Why do I care?

My kids love her. It's only about my kids.

Plus, I want to put Lance in his place.

Not that Phoebe's not a great nanny or hasn't shown her value, but sending this idiot back to Pismo and keeping Phoebe away from him is suddenly way more important than proving to my family that I don't need help.

She beams at me. "Of course I want to stay. I love it here. And I really enjoy helping the boys."

She loves it here.

I grin, directing it at Lance, and boast, "See, she's not going anywhere with you."

He grabs her hand. "Phoebe, don't be ridiculous."

Dad warns, "Now, hold on, son. She came here to do a job. She's clearly stated she wants to continue working. And I'll add that I believe she has a great situation here. My son pays her well. She has a roof over her head and food in her belly. Plus, she's great at what she does. So I believe she's made her decision and you should respect it."

He snaps, "Her commitment that was held over her head until I showed up?"

"Not true," I state, even though he's got a point.

Would I really have let her go? I think, then push the question away. I convince myself that some things are more important than proving your point, and this is one of them.

"Excuse me, but that's not how I see it," Lance argues.

Phoebe begs, "Lance, please. Let it go."

He can't. He shakes his head, insisting, "That's not a situation for her to be in. She shouldn't always be worried about losing her job."

I nod. "No, I agree. And that's why she doesn't have to worry about losing it. I just told you I'm keeping her on. Actually, Phoebe, you passed with flying colors. Congratulations. We're happy to have you here for the next few months. In fact, maybe when my mom and dad get back, we'll extend your employment into a permanent position."

Lance's eyes turn to slits.

Jagger chuckles, then declares, "I'm hungry. And this conversation is boring me. Can we talk about something else and eat?"

I reply, "I'm okay with it if Phoebe is good with her position here and moving forward?"

She nods, smiling bigger. "Yes, I'm happy. Thank you for keeping me on."

"Thank you for doing such a good job," I respond, then pick up my fork and dig into my potatoes.

Lance lowers his voice, commanding, "Phoebe, I need to talk to you. Alone."

She releases a frustrated breath. "Lance."

"Phoebe."

She sighs. "Can you all excuse us for just a moment?" She slides her chair back and gets up.

Mom offers, "Of course, dear. You and Lance take all the time you need."

I press my fingers so hard into my thigh they hurt. "Lance, let me know when you want a ride to the airport."

He shoots me daggers with his glare.

Wilder interjects, "He drove a car here, remember, Dad?"

"Ah, that's right, son."

Lance spends another moment trying to stare me down, then rises.

Phoebe follows, and they disappear from the room.

"He's leaving as soon as breakfast is over," I mutter, then shove potatoes into my mouth.

Mom scolds, "That's not your decision. It's Phoebe's. He's her boyfriend."

"So what? Besides, they're on a break. He should be giving her the space she needs," I declare, still not sure what that phrase means, but it's what she said she wanted. So he should give it to her. If he's any sort of man, he should respect her wishes.

The room erupts in lively conversation about Thanksgiving and all the holiday plans over the next few months, but I don't engage. I barely taste my eggs or bacon. I swirl my toast through the yolk until the picture of the turkey on the plate appears, then I toss it down.

Phoebe and Lance seem to be taking forever.

What if Mr. Douchebag is convincing her to leave with him?

She won't go.

But what if she does?

The door opens and Phoebe steps into the room. She sits back down in her seat.

Willow questions, "Where's Lance?"

Phoebe clears her throat and smiles. She puts her napkin on her lap and replies, "Lance decided to go to the airport now. He said to say thank you for all your hospitality."

Sure he did.

Mom frets, "Is everything okay, dear?"

"Hopefully, you dumped him," I mumble under my breath.

Phoebe's blues meet mine in surprise.

I don't flinch.

"Phoebe?" Mom softly questions.

Phoebe tears her gaze off mine and refocuses on Mom. She answers, "Everything's fine, Ruby. I'm happy to stay on the ranch and nanny for the boys. It's best if Lance returns to Pismo. But don't worry, I'm one hundred percent focused on my job."

It's a statement she doesn't have to make. She's proven she's good at what she does. I already trust her with my boys. And the realization hits me like a slap in the face.

My insides shake. All I can do is wonder how a woman got me to trust her with my kids so quickly.

She's a nanny. It's normal, I tell myself.

Is it though?

I can't be sure. I've never had a nanny before. My family has always stepped up to help me after my wife got sick and died.

Mom doesn't want to let Phoebe's relationship issues go. She replies, "Of course you're here to do your job. And you're excellent at it. But are you sure... Is Lance okay too?"

Who gives a shit? I almost blurt it out but manage to keep it to myself.

In a cheerful voice, Phoebe answers, "Yes, he's fine. We'll be fine."

"We'll be fine." As if they're still together.

Panic sets in, causing my heart to race. I shift on my seat.

Phoebe smiles and asks, "Can we change the subject now?"

"Of course, dear," Mom answers.

Isabella pipes up, "Phoebe, can we make those turkeys and other decorations today?"

"Sure!" she answers.

The rest of the meal is spent in cheerful conversation with more holiday talk. By the time we finish breakfast, Lance is nowhere to be found, and there's no further mention of him.

Dad walks back to the corral with me, pats me on the back, and declares, "About time you admitted you needed a nanny."

I groan, realizing for the first time since breakfast, what just happened.