“Mom,” Rachel groaned, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
Her mother looked bemused. “Why not? It’s only for two weeks. Sharon is willing to pay you for your time, and I know Jamie would appreciate the help.” She smiled fondly. “He’s such a sweet boy.”
Images of Jamie, bare-chested and supremely muscled, flashed through Rachel’s mind. Sweet boy was hardly how she would describe him. Sexy beast, maybe. Hot stud, definitely. The guy was freaking gorgeous, and his smile did things to her equilibrium that scared the hell out of her. His voice alone caused shivers to chase their way along her spine. There was no way she wanted to be at his beck and call for the next two weeks, especially if he was in the habit of walking around in nothing but a pair of workout shorts.
“Where is Dylan when you need him?” she muttered. If her brother were home, she could argue he should keep an eye on Jamie, since the two had been best friends since forever.
“Dylan has a full-time job,” her mother said. “He’s battling a wildfire in Idaho, and they say it could be weeks before they have it contained. Besides, this is what you do. You’re good at it.”
“I don’t think so, Mom. I hope you haven’t already told Mrs. Colter I’ll do it.”
“Of course I did.” Her mother sounded indignant. Then, seeing Rachel’s mutinous expression, she softened her tone. “You can’t refuse, darling. Sharon’s my best friend, and after everything she’s been through, she really needs this vacation. Do it for me. Please.”
Rachel sighed, her resistance slipping. “Fine,” she finally muttered. She stood up. “But I am not playing nursemaid to the guy. I’ll drive him to his appointments and I’ll run basic errands for him, but that’s it.” She gave her mother a warning look. “And my hours are strictly nine to five. He’s on his own outside of that time.”
Her mother gave her a falsely sweet smile. “But your website states you’re available twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week.”
Rachel gave her mother a tolerant look. “That was when I worked as part of a concierge company. They have a staff of four hundred assistants, all over the world. Now it’s just me. Besides, I can’t imagine any kind of scenario where Jamie Colter would require my services after five p.m.”
“Can’t you?”
Rachel gave her mother a sharp look, but the older woman’s face was blandly innocent.
“No,” she said clearly. “I can’t.”
“Well, what if it’s an emergency? For instance, if he falls down and can’t get up,” her mother clarified.
“Then what he needs is a medical alert and not a personal concierge,” Rachel suggested.
Her mother just looked at her, silent.
“Fine.” Rachel threw up her hands. “I’ll be there if it’s an emergency.”
“Thank you, darling.” Beaming at her success, her mother gave her a swift hug. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I’ll go tell Sharon; I know she’ll be so relieved!”
Rachel listened to her mother’s footsteps retreat down the hallway, followed by the slam of the front door. Crossing to the window, she watched as her mother walked the short distance to the Colter house, and rang their doorbell. After a moment, the door opened, and Rachel strained to get a better look. Jamie answered, still wearing the shorts, but now he also wore a bright red T-shirt. She watched as he moved back and invited her mother into the house. Was it just her imagination, or did he glance directly at her window before he closed the door again? Rachel stepped quickly away, not wanting him to see her.
The thought of being Jamie’s personal concierge for the next two weeks unnerved her, which was ridiculous. She’d managed the personal affairs of countless clients, from millionaires to single moms, and everyone in between. Except for Deke, she’d never had a problem keeping the relationship strictly professional, and she’d never had any issues with her clients overstepping those professional boundaries.
So why did she have this nervous, fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach at the very thought of doing anything personal for Jamie?
*
“Is that even a real thing?”
Jamie’s father, Alex, looked up from his newspaper to where Jamie leaned against the kitchen counter, a cold beer in one hand.
“Is what a real thing?”
“A personal concierge.” Jamie made air quotes with his free hand. “I’m pretty sure you’re all just making this up so I’ll feel better about having a babysitter while you’re on your cruise.”