If The Shoe Fits (38 page)

And here,
she’d
been worried about
making a good impression on
him
.

A click of plastic bottle cap followed by a
shake of the bottle, the fridge opening, a gulp, then Naked Guy
sighing punctuated the silence before she turned on the faucet. She
cleaned out the pan, all the while the Naughty Girl side of her
brain screaming, “Turn around!” with the other, Jolie side, going,
“You
want
to keep this job?”

Self-preservation being the backbone of her
existence since being dumped into the foster care system, she
decided to listen to the Jolie side—no matter how much groaning
Naughty Girl did.

Naughty Girl, however, couldn’t resist a peek,
and was rewarded with a swish of his longish golden hair, a flex of
his well-defined arm, and an accompanying sizzle to her own nerve
endings.

So not good. Jolie had known he was a hunk
before she accepted this position. Had had quite the crush on him,
too. How could she not? The guy had been plastered all over every
magazine in the country for years, most especially here in his
hometown.

Todd Best.
The
Best, as the media had
dubbed him. And rightfully so. The man’s landscape paintings were
hanging in every high-end hotel, public library, and courtroom in
the country. Even the White House, for Pete’s sake. Not that she
had an eye for art, but when a painting looked like the scene down
the road and made her think she was standing there, feeling the
leaves rustling by, smelling the fresh cut grass, hearing the birds
singing in the trees and the ducks quacking on the pond, the whole
set-up, that, to her, was talent.

And, of course, there’d been his fairytale
marriage. But then, sadly, his wife had died suddenly and he’d
moved out of their home, turned the reins of his company over to
his brother, and put down his paint brushes.

Yes, Jolie had known
exactly
who she’d
be working for. That’d been half the incentive.

“
So, new girl, do you have a name?
And what are you doing here today?”

Since he was talking, she assumed it was safe
to turn around.

The old adage about making an “ASS out of U
and ME” proved true.

Although he was the one with the A-S-S. And
what a nice one it was. As was the muscled shoulder leaning against
the stainless steel of the microwave above the stove, and the
ninety-degree jut of his jaw line, the sculpted cheekbones, a
perfectly proportioned brow, the fall of hair over his
forehead…

She tore her gaze away from the visual
smorgasbord and, traitors that they were, her eyes headed
south.

Thank goodness he had the dish towel spread
across his nether regions like a loincloth. But a hot guy in a
loincloth was just as distracting as a naked hot guy. And she’d
seen him in both. Or not in both. Whatever.

She ordered her eyes back on the pan. “Um yes,
I do have a name, and as to what I’m doing here, I think that’s
obvious—burning the butter for your morning omelet.” She raised the
pan to illustrate and managed a quick push with her hip to get him
to back away from the stove so she could start cooking again,
praying all the while she wasn’t hitting something
vital.

Luckily, the guy had quick reflexes—or a good
hunch—’cause he stepped out of the way before her hip came anywhere
close to anything important, saving them the extreme embarrassment
of
that
.

“
How’d you get in?” Mr.
Clothing-Optional asked.

Okay, what was the protocol here? How long did
one actually have to converse with a buck-naked human being before
someone said something about it? Or did a strategically placed
dishtowel negate all observances of nudity?

“
Look, um,
Mister
.” What
did one call their bare boss? Todd? Sir?
Big guy
? “How ‘bout
you go freshen up a bit and I’ll make breakfast. We can have our
chat when we’re both, um, well, prepared for the day.
‘Kay?”

“
Fine. I’ll get dressed. Then
we’ll talk.”

“
You do that.”

As he sauntered—okay, maybe that was her
overactive imagination, because could one
really
saunter
with a Jim Beam-sized hangover?—from the fourteen-foot-ceiling
kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances that looked as if
they’d come out of their packing boxes yesterday, so stainless
steel shiny she could have used them as a mirror to fix her
lipstick—if she’d worn lipstick—and she inhaled enough oxygen to
jump-start primordial ooze.

Which posed a whole new set of problems for
this job. How was she supposed to focus if she kept getting
sidetracked by the physical?

But she would.

She could.

Heck, if she could outwit social workers and
manage to keep her teenaged self out of the gutter, not to mention,
actually
make
something of her life, she could certainly
keep her own libido in check.

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.”

~~~