The Best Next Thing

“Mr. Hollingsworth, sir, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Or at all. “Can I fix you something to eat?”

He scowled at her suspiciously before an expression close to disbelief settled on his face.

“Mrs. Cole?”

She didn’t respond, merely kept her gaze level, and her face impassive. He raked his incredulous glance up and down her body, and she strove not to cringe beneath that scorching appraisal.

“Perhaps a sandwich, sir? I’m sorry, my refrigerator is on the fritz and the electrician hasn’t been in to fix it yet, and I’ve been keeping my groceries here for the time being. I’ll remove everything as soon as possible, of course.”

Miles was having a hard time reconciling the barefoot goddess in front of him with the prim, practical Mrs. Cole, whom—for some reason—he had always assumed was closer to fifty than thirty. Yet this woman standing in front of him in those tiny shorts didn’t look much older than thirty. But her slightly aloof demeanor, her voice, the absolute professionalism, despite the way she was dressed, were hallmark Mrs. Cole.

This was…bizarre.

Miles would move heaven and earth to secure an accomplished employee like Mrs. Cole, confident in the knowledge that once she was working for him, he wouldn’t have to do anything more than check in on her occasionally. That’s the beauty of hiring the best.

Mrs. Cole ran the house efficiently from behind the scenes, employing cleaning and catering services as needed, and communicating through texts and emails whenever she could. All while keeping herself determinedly invisible. She was like a phantom—the legendary Mrs. Cole who appeared only when needed and disappeared into the woodwork when her task was complete.

It was easy to understand how he had not noticed this striking woman before. And yet, the transformation was still mind-boggling. How could the difference in dress and hair be so profound that it felt like he was looking at a completely different woman? In fact, Miles doubted even Vicki or Hugh—both usually a hell of a lot more observant than Miles when it came to people—had any idea what she really looked like.

She was still talking about the refrigerator and he forced himself to focus on what she was saying.

“I don’t give a damn where you keep your groceries, Mrs. Cole,” he said, forcing the incredulity out of his voice. If she could maintain her professionalism under these awkward circumstances, then so could he. “Just make sure I’m fed on time, the house is clean, and I remain undisturbed. That’s all I require.”

“Will anybody be joining you, sir?”

“No.”

“And might I inquire as to how long you’ll be staying?”

“Six weeks at the very least.” He sensed her surprise even though her expression remained stuck in neutral. He had never stayed here for longer than a week or ten days. His siblings and their friends usually stayed longer but the siren song of work always called him back sooner rather than later.

“And yes, I’d like a sandwich.”

“Very well, sir.” So much aplomb in that crisp voice. “Would you like me to bring it up to your room?”

“I think that would be best.” He gave her another frowning once-over, before shaking his head, annoyed with her for being so disturbingly different. He trusted that she’d go back to her normal self by morning so that he could attempt to dismiss tonight as exhaustion playing tricks on his mind.

He left without a backward glance, and Charity heaved a relieved sigh. She dashed into her room to scrape her long hair back into a bun and drag on a skirt. She didn’t allow herself to speculate over what he must have thought about her sloppy appearance, and definitely didn’t allow herself to dwell over the heat she’d seen smoldering in his steel gray eyes while he had been dragging his gaze over her face and body.

He hadn’t recognized her, that much was clear and having him see her like that, without her usual protective shell in place, had left her feeling raw and defensive.

Just get through tonight, she urged herself, heading back to the kitchen to quickly assemble a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. She added a side salad and a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows—his favorite nighttime drink—and placed everything onto a breakfast tray. She took a moment to compose herself, allowing tranquility to blanket her shattered nerves. After another deep breath, she felt centered enough to calmly walk the long, dimly lit corridor to his suite of rooms.

There was no response to her initial knock on his bedroom door. After another perfunctory knock, she turned the handle and stepped into the room. It was illuminated by the bedside lamp, which shed only enough light for her to see that Mr. Hollingsworth was sprawled out and fast asleep in the center of his luxurious king-sized bed. She tried not to wince at the sight of the stripped-down bed, reminding herself that nobody had notified her of his imminent arrival. Impossible to be effective if she wasn’t kept appraised of the family’s intentions.