Page 9 of The Live-In Temptation (Steele Brothers of Starlight Cove #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHLOE

Normally, I didn’t get first-day jitters. Starting a new job was totally routine for me. Just another Monday in Chloe-land.

What was not routine, however, was running into my boss. Literally.

And doing so before I’d even brushed my teeth, all while said boss was wearing nothing but a very small, very thin towel. And while droplets of water cascaded down his very broad, very defined, very drool-worthy chest before coasting over those basically photoshopped abs.

And Jesus Christ, he had a tattoo ?

I knew it probably wouldn’t be professional of me to lean over to get a closer look. But I wanted to. Desperately.

Wanted to know what those lines peeking out from the top of that low-hung towel led to.

Never mind getting a closer peek at the appendage down a bit and just to the left.

And dear god in heaven, did it twitch ? Or did he somehow have a third leg under there?

That had to be it, right? It couldn’t possibly be his di?—

“Chloe,” he said, his voice low and rough in a way that shot straight to my pussy. “Of course you’re an early riser.”

He was also an early riser, apparently. Or a shower, not a grower. Or—sweet fuck— both .

I snapped my gaze up to his, feeling like a kid who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. And though my hand hadn’t been anywhere near his cookie jar, the thought had definitely crossed my mind. Was crossing it right now, in fact.

Shaking the thoughts from my head, I straightened and plastered on a smile that was entirely fake.

Nothing to see here, boss man! Definitely not your brand-new nanny picturing her hand wrapped around your third leg.

“Sorry! Wanted to get a jump on the day, you know?”

He raised a brow. “I didn’t take you for much of a planner.”

“Oh, I’m not. Just want to make sure I have all the tools ready for our first day.”

“What kinds of tools?” he asked, skepticism heavy in his tone.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Chief.” I nearly patted his bare chest as I stepped around him, but I somehow managed to keep my hands to myself. “A girl’s gotta have some secrets.”

Like the fact that I was definitely picturing him losing the towel, hauling me up, pressing me to the wall, and having his gruff, stern, wicked way with me.

Ahem.

While Xander was getting ready for his day—and I was trying very hard not to recall every delicious inch of him I’d seen—I focused on a far less scandalous but far more important mission.

Cracking the case of Emma’s elusive appetite.

She sat at the table, her little legs swinging, her eyes weary but hopeful.

Xander had already filled me in on the daily breakfast battles, and I was making it my mission to win today’s round.

It would go a long way in proving my worth to him, and I didn’t know why that was so important to me. Just that it was.

“There are so many yummy breakfast foods, don’t you think?” I smiled brightly at Emma and gathered up the supplies I’d whipped up late last night. “I was thinking we could play a game.”

That piqued her interest, and she sat up a little straighter, her eyes intent on me.

I grabbed the page that read Doodlebug Diner: serving anything your belly desires . Smoothing it out, I taped it to the wall above the table as if it were a gold-plated plaque and not a piece of notebook paper I’d scribbled on in pink marker at midnight when I’d hatched this little plan.

“Welcome to Doodlebug Diner, Miss Emma,” I said, adopting a horrendous French accent.

She giggled at my funny voice and perked up as I set a hand-drawn menu in front of her.

I’d drawn everything I could think of for breakfast—even throwing in some unconventional choices like spaghetti and pizza.

Though, to be fair, pizza wasn’t unconventional for me .

But I had a sneaking suspicion buttoned-up, Type-A Xander would probably report me to the breakfast police for that one.

“Today’s specials include a chef with absolutely zero professional training that she makes up for with a lot of enthusiasm and an exclusive VIP guest.” I leaned over and dropped my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s you .”

She grinned up at me before turning her attention back to the menu, her gaze darting over the page. From the toast wearing a top hat and monocle to the waffle wearing sunglasses. Then she straightened and pointed to the muffin with the ponytail coming out of the top.

Check. Mate.

“An excellent choice, Miss Emma.” I bowed dramatically before taking her menu. “Our famous blueberry muffins, coming right up.”

As I was whipping up a batch, nobody could tell me anything. Day one, and I was nailing this. Boss bitch level, achieved.

I was riding my high as we said goodbye to Xander, as I French braided Emma’s hair while the muffins were baking, as I pulled the baked deliciousness from the oven and plated two for the VIP. I was riding it all the way until I set the dish in front of her and…watched her face immediately fall.

It would’ve been comical if it weren’t so heartbreaking. The excitement in her eyes dimmed, her smile vanished, and her shoulders slumped.

Dammit all to hell.

I’d gotten cocky, and look where that had gotten me. It had been easy—because I hadn’t solved shit.

She picked at the muffin, eating only half of it, her former excitement nowhere to be found.

I squatted down next to her and gave her a smile. “Looks like the chef got something wrong, huh? No biggie. Trying and failing is my favorite thing to do. Do you know why?”

She shook her head, but there was a bit of interest in those sad eyes.

“Because failing just means I get to try again. And I’m going to try again until I get it right.”

Emma looked up at me with reluctant hope. “Pinkie promise?”

I held out my pinkie toward her without hesitation. “Pinkie promise.”

After she’d linked her finger with mine, I flipped over the menu, grabbed a crayon, and drew a big rectangle with bubble letters above it proclaiming: Doodlebug’s Wish Box .

“That would be a great place to drop some clues on what tomorrow’s breakfast could be.

Why don’t you draw me something delicious while I clean up? ”

She slid the piece of paper toward herself and dipped her chin in a small nod. “Okay.”

“I knew I could count on you!” I set down several crayons for her then picked up her plate, smiling to myself when she started to draw. “After you’re done, what do you say we go on a scavenger hunt for some missing shoes before we head off for our first adventure to school?”

This time, the smile she aimed my way was a little broader, a little brighter. And my tension eased a bit.

I might not have gotten the breakfast situation solved, but as someone who was frequently on the losing end of shoes, I knew this was something I could tackle and win.