Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) (2 page)

She had to. Her job, her livelihood, and all her dreams depended on it.

***

Each step up the goddamned grandiose stairway reverberated through Todd’s skull, setting his teeth on edge and his stomach roiling. Why the hell hadn’t the builder put carpet on these stairs?

Todd grabbed his head with one hand, keeping the other one hovering above his groin with the damned kitchen towel. It’d be funny if it weren’t so ungodly pitiful.

He, a grown man, hiding his modesty behind a piece of eight-by-twelve cotton because he didn’t have enough sense to pass out in his own bed.

He kicked open the bedroom door and grimaced. Bare, tan walls, minimal furniture, and the fucking king-sized bed mocked him.

He knew exactly why he’d chosen the couch.

And he wasn’t about to dwell on it. He’d done enough dwelling last night. More than enough, apparently.

He barreled through to the bathroom, his refusal to dwell on the reason just one more part of the person he’d become in the past two years.

And the poor woman downstairs who’d had to witness the person he’d become last night… God, wasn’t it just
perfect
she’d shown up this morning?

Todd grabbed the shower handle and turned the water full force to hot. He’d burn the alcohol out of his system if he had to. No one deserved that greeting her first day on the job. Even if it was his house.

Todd sucked in a breath as he stepped beneath the pelting liquid fire and realized he wasn’t as tough as he pretended. He turned the spigot back to warm and leaned his forehead against the cool ivory tile, and listened to the phone ring in his bedroom. Let the machine get the fucking thing. He couldn’t deal with the calls and the goddamned hounding.

Not today.

The water ran into his eyes and he wiped it away with the heels of his hands. Why
today
? Why’d she have to start
today
?

Why’d she have to start at all?

Why wouldn’t they all just leave him alone?

***

“
You see what you’re up against, Jonathan?” The archangel, Raphael, waved his hand in front of the computer monitor in the executive office of Domestic Gods & Goddesses and the split-screen images of Todd and Jolie faded to a serene, heavenly blue screen saver. “Todd doesn’t think he’s ready to let go of his wife’s memory and Jolie is still a work in progress. Getting these two together could be difficult.”

Jonathan Griff took a seat on one of the burgundy chairs opposite the mahogany desk and sipped the lemonade Raphael had given him. Well, perhaps he gulped it. This was a big assignment. Todd was front-page news. Still. After two years out of the public eye, the man could have media coverage in an instant. He was high profile. He was hot.

What if Jonathan failed? Not only would Todd and Jolie, his Charges, suffer, but it’d be public. Then he’d never earn his wings.

Of course, personal aggrandizement was not what a Guardian should worry about. His Charges’ happiness should be his sole focus.

He’d had some success in the past, but there always seemed to be
something
he never got quite right. Could he take that risk with such a prominent case?

“
You can do this, Jonathan.”

The archangel’s words reverberated inside his mind—another talent Jonathan hadn’t yet mastered. Why was Raphael offering him this assignment? The archangel had no malice in him so he couldn’t want to see him fail. Perhaps he had an overabundance of Hope?

Jonathan, left eye twitching, touched the keypad and the close-up of Todd’s face reappeared. The poor man was in so much pain and, while The Boss had a Plan for Todd, Jonathan couldn’t bear to see someone hurting.

And then there was Jolie. No one should have to endure what she had as a child. She was trying so hard to be all right that she’d almost convinced herself she was.

But she wasn’t. Not really. She played a good game, but she craved acceptance so much that she’d do anything to get it.

Well, almost anything.

Jonathan smiled, the twitch subsiding. He’d read her dossier. The girl had a fine moral character, as did Todd.

Character and a run of bad luck; that’s what the two of them shared. Not to mention the wellspring of love in their souls. That’s why the request for their happiness had been selected for fulfillment.

Now it was up to him to help them along.

Jonathan set the lemonade on an antique walnut-inlay table beside him and hopped off the chair to stand before the archangel. If Raphael thought he was capable of this job, then he owed it to his Charges to be the best Guardian possible.

“
Yes, sir. I believe I can help them.”

Chapter Two

As Jolie pulled the omelet ranchero together, complete with nice little lemon- and orange-rind garnishes courtesy of the Julienne peeler—a must-have in every kitchen—Mr. Best descended the hardwood stairs to the accompaniment of yet another phone call. That made five since he’d headed up. Amazing he had time for a shower.

She glanced through the arched doorway. More amazing was that he ended up looking like
that
. Even in a boring brown golf shirt and khaki shorts, you had to love summer and lots of skin. His was quite worth looking at.

Calm down. You need this job, remember?

Oh, yes, she remembered. She had enough memories from her unstable childhood with Mom flitting from man to man to know not to get involved with anyone to whom she owed her financial stability.

Heck, this job was for getting out from being under anyone’s financial strings. She’d had enough of others dictating when, where, or how she could live or what she was going to do with her life, and she was determined to stand on her own two feet. She’d made that vow when she’d left the foster care system ten years ago, and though the road had been bumpy, it’d been her road. And once she had enough money to finish her education and open her own pastry shop, she would be finished being beholden to anyone. The only person responsible for her life, her happiness, and her bank account would be Hers Truly.

“
Hey,” her new employer said, his golden hair curling damply at his collar. “I’m sorry about the nudity. I obviously wasn’t expecting anyone today.”

She set a glass of orange juice at his place at the table. “I should hope not. That is, I should hope nudity isn’t on the daily agenda. However, I am kind of confused as to why you weren’t expecting me.”

He ran a hand through that longish hair. A few strands fell forward onto his forehead. “I guess I got the dates mixed up. I thought I’d have the week to myself before the new girl started,” he answered.

“
To dance naked through the house?” She folded a napkin next to his plate. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but honestly, it is kind of distracting.”

Finally, a smile.

Whooooa
.

“
Promise.” He raised his hand. “No more nudity. Back to wearing a robe and sleeping in pajamas.”

She wasn’t going to picture that—and with what she’d already seen, that was taking some major mental fortitude. But because of her mother’s
wonderful
example of male-female relationships, she was sticking him in the look-but-don’t-touch category. Heck, she shouldn’t even look, but she
was
human.

“
So—” He grabbed a chair as the phone rang for Phone Call Number Six.

“
Do you want me to answer that?” She reached for the receiver.

“
Let the machine get it.” He scooted closer to the table. “So, do you really have a name, or am I just going to keep calling you ‘new girl’?”

Jolie whipped a folded letter from the pocket of the apron her friend, Giuseppe, had made for her when she’d graduated culinary school that now accompanied her to every job. “Here’s my letter of introduction from the agency, complete with references.”

Mr. Best, no longer Naked Guy (pity), scanned the letter from the DeLeos. He’d probably be counting his lucky stars she’d deigned to work for him after reading that missive. Mrs. DeLeo had gone a bit overboard, but Jolie couldn’t complain. She couldn’t have asked for a better reference than one from someone who owned a food service company yet had still hired a personal chef for her at-home dining experience.

She also wasn’t going to complain about Mrs. DeLeo’s verbosity because it was the perfect opportunity to check out Mr. Dressed Guy—
vis-à-vis
the whole being-human-and-allowed-to-look thing.
Sans
the nudity awkwardness, thank goodness.

She’d already noticed the taut muscles and broad shoulders, and his freshly-shaven jaw reminded her of the male models in those cigarette ads with their cowboy hats and boots, open collared shirts, and sexy-as-all-get-out jeans. Yep, she could see ol’ Todd here in the pages of a magazine. Those weren’t shoulder pads under his shirt and he had a nice start on a summer tan.

She glanced out the French doors. Yep, a pool. Probably like every other home in the Mirror Lake development. A necessity, she guessed, like the housekeeper, nanny, and circular driveway. Their own veritable Stepford.

“
The name fits,” he said, tucking the letter in his back pocket.

Pretty nice place to be tucked.

“
Uh… what?” She paused at the silverware drawer.

“
Your name. Jolie.”

“
Okay?”

“
It means ‘pretty’ in French,” he explained with a smile.

Well if she didn’t get all tingly at that. Which, again, was not a good thing.

She opened the drawer and found a sudden interest in selecting just the right fork and knife. “Oh. Thanks. But my name was supposed to be Julie.”

He cocked his head and it was kinda cute.

She walked back to the table and set the utensils on the correct sides of his plate. “My mother knew absolutely no French.” The language, anyhow. “She was just a bit too groggy, I guess, when she filled out my birth certificate and wrote J-O-L-I-E instead of J-U-L-I-E. It wasn’t ’til grade school that a teacher called me ‘Jolie’ and I learned about the mix-up. So, I went with Jolie from then on.”

Nothing said “I love you” like misspelling your own kid’s name.

But she was over it.

Really.

“
Well,” said Todd, “it worked out, because, as I said, the name fits.”

To which Jolie had no witty comeback without sounding like a teenager meeting her high school crush. Instead, she flourished the fluffiest three-egg white omelet ever under his nose, complete with perfectly done toast, a sprig of parsley and those little lemon and orange curlicues. Garnishes always made such a nice touch. Good for impressing the boss.

“
Are you going to join me? Meals are included in your contract.” He emptied a forkful of egg into his mouth and used the tines to point to the chair across from him.

Jolie sat. “I’ll have to remember that.” Especially since sitting there staring at him while he ate was more than a bit uncomfortable. Okay, maybe not quite as uncomfortable as the naked thing, but still…

Besides, she was a bit of a talker and silence kinda made her edgy. “So? Is that the best omelet you’ve ever had or what?”

His mouth had a little twisty move going like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

She checked his plate. Both garnishes accounted for.

Then he covered his mouth and coughed. Then coughed some more.

Oh no, he was choking.

She hopped up and started pounding him on the back. “Boy, oh, boy. First day on the job and I’m killing you. Not the best way to stay employed.”

He waved his hands once his airway cleared, then coughed again. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, it is the best I’ve ever had,” he said around another cough. “So, awesome omelet aside, what else do you make, Jolie?”

His eyes got all crinkly around the edges when he smiled, sparkling like light colored emeralds.

She knew dozens of girls who’d kill for eyes like that. Herself included…well, maybe not. People had always told her that her violet eyes were unusual and she’d enjoyed the attention when she was younger. Nowadays, she’d love for
anyone
to be looking close enough to see she even
had
eyes.

But that was a thought for another lifetime. The one where she’d be able to make decisions based on what she wanted rather than what she needed. The lifetime where she’d be her own boss—and, someday after that, where there’d be someone who’d look close enough to see
her
.

That lifetime
had
to be waiting for her. Other people had it; she should be able to, too. And she was trying. No doubt about that. Why, she was even writing a novel in the hopes that it’d supplement her cooking income. Anything for financial independence.

And while novel-writing might not seem like an avenue to financial security and eternal happiness, in her hand-to-mouth childhood the one thing she could never seem to beg, borrow, or steal was love, so she’d looked for it in books. Money being scarce—or non-existent—she’d chosen the happy endings in romance novels whenever she could afford a book.