Holy shit.
This is not a normal New York City apartment.
Hell, this makesMillion Dollar Listingapartments look like cheap dorm rooms.
I’m not even hung up on the fact that there is no front door with at least four locks, a New York staple, because the lobby to this place runs like a mini Fort Knox, with a private elevator bringing me right up to the top floor.
Or should I sayfloors, since my eyes keep going up, up, up to the second floor that overlooks the living room, kitchen, and dining room.
But that’s all I can see from the spot I’ve been rooted to since I arrived and yelled “Nanny’s here!” in my best Snooki voice.
In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the right move, given the fact that Mateo’s face immediately went from shocked to annoyed.
Followed by his one-word dismissal.
No.
I shake my head and step out of my shoes. God forbid I bring filth from the city sidewalks onto these pristine floors.
I can’t believe he said no.
I need to fix this. Quickly. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by because my reality-TV drenched brain couldn’t come up with a normal person greeting.
Mateo stares at me from his kitchen island, arms crossed over his wide chest. His simple white T-shirt is working overtime to contain muscles I’m sure are extremely important for throwing baseballs at super speeds. And I’m pretty sure I saw him wearing those jeans on a billboard on the way here. I got a good view of the way they mold around his hips and ass when he walked away from me with my flan offering in hand. I quickly lowered my gaze, because the last thing I want is to be caught staring at my potential new boss’s butt. It was clearly the wrong move. Because he was barefoot, and the size of those things should be studied. I quickly closed my eyes and shook my head, because staring at the man’s feet seemed more violating than ogling his ass.
I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I keep seeing “no free toes” on social media and believe all naked feet this day and age are entitled to compensation.
Mateo’s eyebrow quirks, as if to sayyou done having that conversation in your head yet?
I give him my brightest smile in an attempt to disarm him of any argument he may have to not hire me. I clearly have my work cut out for myself.
“Mateo, your place is beautiful,” I say as I walk over to stand across from him, the kitchen island separating us.
“Thanks,” he gruffs. “Listen, Isabella—”
“Okay, hear me out,” I start. No need to beat around the bush when it’s apparent this man wants me around as much as he wants his next root canal. I put my arms up in a placating manner. “I know that our moms have been circling us for months, hoping I’d be your nanny—”
“Anna’s nanny,” he corrects.
“Right, of course. Because you’re a grown man. One who doesn’t need me to take care of, err—”
“Isa.” He exhales.
“My point,” I exclaim, more to myself so I stay on track, “is that Anna needs a nanny, and who better than someone who’s already done the gig? Plus, you know me, so you can trust that I’m not a crazy person off the street.” I chuckle nervously. “Right?” I straighten when he doesn’t answer. “Right?”
Mateo places his hands on the island and bows his head. I’ve never seen someone concentrate so hard on taking deep breaths, but clearly, my presence will do it to him.
“Isabella.” He says my name in its Spanish pronunciation. “Like I was saying, I’m sorry you came all the way down here, but my mother really shouldn’t have overstepped this time. Yes, I need childcare for Anna, but I don’t think I’ll be able to have a live-in nanny.” He pushes off the counter and slowly starts making his way back to the foyer, expecting me to follow.
“Wait! I can provide references, and I can be available twenty-four seven.” That’s a lie, because this girl likes her sleep. But desperate times and all.
Mateo halts his movements, then unexpectedly changes trajectories.
Back toward me.
It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes on his and not roam over his delectable body. Feels like I have to remind my brain that this man is supposed to be my boss, and I don’t think giving him a once-over is going to seal the deal for me. We’re standingtoe to toe, and no matter how hard I try to stop it, my chest keeps rising and falling due to Mateo’s intoxicating scent.
“I’m sorry, Isa, but I don’t think I could get used to having staff in my home.”
