Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

Right?

I ring the doorbell again.

He didn’t even talk to me. And I want this job. I need it. We have debts Mom can’t ever hope to pay back, and I will be leaving town soon… My admission papers and a partial scholarship letter sit at home in the bedroom I share with Gigi, in an envelope under my mattress.

Not that it’s a secret. But I feel like I need to keep them close to me, this promise of a new life, as soon as those debts are paid off, and I can be sure to leave my family set up okay.

There aren’t many jobs in a small place like this, and the salary offered by Matthew Hansen for a nanny to babysit his brats could make all the difference between taking some of the financial stress off Mom or leeching off her for one more summer.

Not an option.

“Hey!” I bang on his door when leaning on the doorbell brings no results. “I’m not leaving! You’d better open up.”

Curtains are definitely twitching behind the windows of nearby houses, but by now I’m flushed and warm with righteous anger and desperation.

He does need a nanny, after all. He’s the one who posted the offer on the sheet of paper outside the post office. He can’t send me away without even talking to me.

“Open up!” I yell. “Please, Mr. Hansen, just give me a chance—”

The door swings wide open, and I stumble back with a yelp.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he hisses. “What the hell do you want?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out as I take my first good look at him in broad daylight.

Wow.

Okay, Gigi wasn’t exaggerating. He sure is hot. His white tank top and low-slung sweats mold to a powerful body. Tousled dark hair falls in his bright eyes. He scratches at his short, scruffy beard, and licks soft-looking lips.

He grunts. “Who the fuck are you?”

Oh yeah, Gigi was right on both accounts. He’s hot—and an asshole.

“Octavia Watson. I’m here for the interview?” Of course you’re here for the interview, don’t make it into a question. “You told me on the phone that I should be here at eight.”

There.

I lift my chin and wait, my gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark, and I don’t mean just dark brown. They’re deep and stormy like rainclouds about to burst. Dark like night wells that don’t reflect the moonlight.

“Interview?” he mutters, sounding confused.

“For the job. To babysit your children.”

He squints at me.

Encouraged, I step closer. He towers over me, and his scent hits me—clean male sweat with a hint of…something chemical? “Can I see the kids?”

“What?” He scowls. “No.”

My heart drops to my feet. “But…”

“We’re done here.” He starts closing the door, and I panic.

“I have experience! Look, I raised my brother and sister. I love kids, I’m really good with them. On the phone, you said—”

He slams the door closed and I stumble back, stunned.

Jesus.