“Liza?”
“Brace yourself,” she whispered to Nate. “My mother is going to gush over you.”
“Does she know about...Carrie and me?”
The question threw her a little. She hadn’t expected him to care about things like that, or worry about how this affected her life in any way. A little knot of appreciation tightened in her chest.
“Nothing. You’re going to be a total surprise. And I have to warn you, my mother has two weaknesses—she can’t keep a secret, and she’s a serial social climber. She’ll tell everyone at the country club, on Facebook, and possibly stop by the local news stations to tell them that you were here. So, if she knows why…” She shook her head. “I’m not responsible for the ensuing scandal.”
He put a light hand on her shoulder. “I got this.” Instantly, a smile broke across his face as he turned to her mother. “Mrs. Lemanski?”
He’s got this? He got her name wrong, for one thing. She hadn’t been Mrs. Lemanski for…three husbands.
But the wrong name didn’t make Mom stumble on her Manolos. The face she was staring at did. “Are you…” She put her hand on her chest, red nails gleaming. “Oh my God, are you…”
“Nathaniel Ivory.”
Color rose from her heavy gold chain necklace right up to her perfectly styled frosted hair, her eyes popping. “As I live and breathe.” She tapped her chest as though she couldn’t do either one at the moment. “What on earth…oh, you are even better looking in real life! Gorgeous! Isn’t he, Liza?”
“Stunning,” she agreed dryly, getting a quick look from Nate.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand, and Mom practically lunged at it with both of hers, pumping mightily.
“Don’t tell me you’re moving into Blue Landing!”
Liza snorted. That’d be the day. He probably had servants’ quarters nicer than this.
“I’m just here to see your daughter,” he said. “I guess she didn’t tell you we met at the press conference in Barefoot Bay yesterday.”
“Oh, I read about that baseball team and…” Her mother finally took her eyes off Nate long enough to finally focus on Liza. “I thought you were at work. What were you doing there?”
Tracking down Dylan’s biological father. “Uh, I—”
“Job hunting,” Nate supplied. “And I’m here to deliver the good news. You’re hired.”
She just stared at him, utterly speechless.
“For what?” her mother asked.
“Yeah, for what?” Liza repeated.
He looked at her like she knew exactly what for. “My administrative assistant. We were so impressed with how you helped Frankie Cardinale navigate all that county red tape, we decided unanimously to offer you a job.”
She tried—she really did—to say something, but not a word would come out. I got this meant offering her a job? “Are you out of your mind?” she asked under her breath.
But her mother heard. “Are you?” she demanded of Liza. “This is the best news in…well, forever! You say every day how miserable you are at the County Clerk’s office and, Liza…” Her eyes darted to Nate, stealing a glance at his body and lingering over…all of it. “I mean, Liza. Why would you not accept?”
“Because…” It was insanity. Working for him? Was this his way of staying around Dylan? “I don’t know the pay or benefits or—”
“Name your price,” Nate said. “We’ll triple your current salary, cover health care and—”
Dylan honked the horn lightly, making Nate smile.
“And there’s a children’s program at the resort where I’m setting up the office until we get further along on the site. Dylan can be in it at our expense.”
“Liza!” Her mom practically squealed. “It’s an answer to your prayers!”
“I wasn’t praying for another job.” Except that she kind of was. What she wasn’t praying for was any reason to be near Nate Ivory. In fact, the opposite was far, far preferable.
“What do you say?” he asked.
Before she answered, Dylan laid on the horn with all he had, the deafening blare echoing over the quiet neighborhood.
Liza leaped at the excuse, rushing to the driver’s door to stop the noise. “Dylan!” In the seat, his eyes were wild as he pressed the steering wheel with all his might.
“Stop!” she cried, lifting his hand for blessed silence. “Sorry, Nate.” She tried to extricate Dylan from the seat, but his little hands clamped on the steering wheel, and he started kicking wildly, his sneakers slamming into the bottom of the dashboard, leaving tiny black scuffs on the cream-colored leather. “Dylan, stop that!”
“I want to dwive!” Smack, smack, scuff, scuff.
“Dylan, please.”
“Dwiiiiiive!” He wailed, his voice rising exponentially from upset to temper tantrum. Full-blown meltdown was about fifteen seconds away. Actually, it might have already arrived.
She bit her lip, not sure whether to laugh or reprimand. Welcome to fatherhood, Nate Ivory. How would this sound in Beverly Hills?
Nate was next to her before she realized what was happening, large, strong hands reaching into the car to easily calm the kicking. “Take it easy, bud.”
Dylan kicked harder.
“You can drive it.”
And then he stopped. Liza whipped around to look at him, her breath taken away by how close he was, their shoulders touching. “Don’t encourage him. He’ll just be more disappointed. He’s only four, Nate.”
“I know, and such a big guy.” He gave Dylan’s legs a squeeze. “When’s your birthday, bud?”
“Januawy twenty-fuhst!” He started kicking again, like it was his birthday all over again.
Nate seemed to pale for a split second—no doubt, the car had never been treated like this—but then he took control of the wild legs again, a catch in his voice. “Not if you kick.”
Dylan stopped instantly. Because kids were traitors like that.
“And only if Aunt Liza says yes,” Nate added.
“Aunt Liza, pleeeeease!”
“I don’t...no. You can’t take him in this car.”
“I want to dwive!” Dylan screamed again.
Nate covered the boy’s legs again. “In a minute—”