Page 40 of Imperfect Arrangement

The vines of her tattoos, the ones that have taunted me from a distance, are now vividly clear. My gaze zeroes in on the red circle over her heart, inside which a green weeping willow tree stands gracefully. Fitting, since she’s been taking root in my brain, driving me nuts. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“Raymond.”

The way she says my name shakes me back to reality, and it sends a jolt straight through me. She breaks one spell, only to cast another, one with her name written all over it.

“Can I have some privacy?”

Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? I feel like the biggest cliché—single dad ogling the nanny. Could I be any more of a walking stereotype?

“I…I’m sorry,” I stammer, feeling far from the guy who controls a boardroom.

“For which time?” She crosses her arms, and I have to fight the urge to groan as the motion hikes the towel up even higher, teetering on the edge of disaster.

“I’d suggest you don’t do that. Or maybe just, you know, use a bigger towel.” The words slip out before my brain can catch them, and I’m instantly regretful.

Willow’s eyes widen, and she glances down as if suddenly realizing how precarious the situation is. Her arms drop immediately, but she doesn’t scramble to hide.

No, this is Willow—unapologetic, fearless. She never backs down, especially not when I’m the one in the wrong. She levels me with a look that could kill.

“Do you realize some people would call this harassment? In case you forgot, I’m your employee. I really hope this isn’t how you treat all your staff, barging into their rooms when they’re half naked.”

And, there it is—the fire, the sharp tongue. And despite every logical reason to apologize, I can’t resist firing back.

“I didn’t barge, I knocked. Multiple times. And I did announce myself. I’m here to?—”

Before I can finally get to the damn point, her dog barrels into the room, and Willow lets out a high-pitched squeal that’s louder than when she first saw me here.

“Shut the damn door!” she yells, clutching her towel and running around the room in full panic mode.

“What’s going on?” I shout back, thoroughly confused.

Captain Lick, who usually moves at the pace of a sloth on vacation, is now sprinting after Willow like there’s a steak tied to her ankle.

“Cap, bad dog! Shoo! Go away!” Willow pleads, dashing around the room while that tiny menace leaps after her, practically bouncing off the walls like he’s had an entire pot of coffee.

And then it clicks. The little towel bandit!

“Raymond! Do something, dammit!”

Her frantic voice snaps me out of my stupor. I let out a sharp whistle, the kind that would make any dog trainer proud.

Captain Lick freezes, looking at me with an expression that says,Who, me?

But the damage is done. His paws rest on the green towel, a corner clamped between his teeth like he’s conquered Mount Everest.

Willow dives behind the love seat, trying to cover herself. Her head peeks above the backrest, eyes wide, looking both heartbreakingly cute and completely freaked out.

Keep it together, Teager.

“What the hell just happened?” I’m doing my best to stay focused and not replay the last five seconds—the part where the towel went airborne and Willow scrambled for cover.

“He’s got a thing for these inn towels,” she mutters, licking her lips nervously, which sends an inconvenient jolt straight to my lower half.

Great. Now’s really not the time for my hormones to stage a coup.

“Can you…?” She gestures toward the pink bathrobe on the bed.

I grab the robe and drop it beside her, turning away before I do something stupid, likelookagain. Thankfully, I’ve got a few shreds of decency left.