the bottom turned left to enter the kitchen.
“We have a very simple floor plan.”
Glancing around the kitchen, Ellie said, “Yes.”
“Okay, now for the first floor.”
Mac led her out of the kitchen, down a short hall and turned right into a room that had to be the playroom. The back wall held cherrywood bookcases and built-in cupboards, probably for storing toys, and a wide-screen TV. A thick brown-and-red print rug sat in the middle of the hardwood floor. Otherwise, the room was without furniture. Unless you counted the bright blue plastic table and chairs with accompanying yellow plastic dishes and cups where Lacy sat—probably having an imaginary tea party—and the beige plastic stove, refrigerator and sink that Ellie recognized from her last trip to a toy store.
Looking up from her tea party, Lacy said, “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, sweetie. You remember Ellie.”
She nodded enthusiastically, her fine blond hair bobbed around her.
“Hi, Lacy. I like your playroom.”
Lacy only grinned and nodded again.
Mac walked over to his daughter, who tugged on his pant leg to get his attention.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.”
Though Lacy tried to whisper, her voice came out loud and clear.
“Okay.” Mac faced Ellie. “Can we finish our tour later?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
Mac said, “Great,” and headed for the doorway on the right. “Let’s go make something for lunch.”
Lacy’s face brightened as Ellie’s stomach fell to the floor. She hadn’t had time to get the cookbook yet! What would she do if Mac asked for something Ellie had no idea how to prepare?
Before she could panic Lacy said, “Can we have peanut butter sandwiches and ice cream?”
Walking into the hall, Mac laughed. “We’ll negotiate the ice cream after you’ve eaten the sandwich.”
Still carrying Henry, Mac left the room with happy Lacy skipping behind him. Ellie took a minute to breathe a sigh of relief before she bounded out of the room. She caught up with them in the kitchen.
Sliding Henry into a highchair, Mac said, “Now that I think about it, Ellie, you could actually finish the tour of the rest of the house by yourself. Dining room and living room are at the front of the house. Over there is the family room.” He pointed at the area beside the kitchen with the leather furniture and big-screen TV. “My office is above the garage, but there’s no reason for you to go there.”
He straightened away from the highchair. “While I feed the kids, you can make a list of what needs to be done cleaningwise. Then when the children and I are done, you can clean the kitchen and get started with supper.”
“Okay.”
He smiled patiently. “Okay.”
Not exactly sure what happened with lunch and feeling oddly dismissed, Ellie turned and walked out of the kitchen. It wasn’t that she had a burning need to make peanut butter sandwiches. She felt unnecessary. He’d insisted that she start today, yet she wasn’t doing any of the things he’d hired her to do. No. He wouldn’t let her do any of the things he’d hired her to do.
Her intuition tried to tell her that something was wrong with this situation, but she ignored it, as she intended to do for the rest of her stay here. After all, her intuition had already steered her wrong about taking this job. She wasn’t letting it in on any more decision making.
And she certainly wasn’t about to let it spark her imagination. That would only result in her becoming too curious about this man and his adorable children and asking some very inappropriate questions. Like what kind of woman would leave such wonderful kids and such a handsome, courteous husband?
Unless Mac had only been putting on a good front for her?
Because he had custody of his kids she automatically assumed he was a good man.
But what if he wasn’t?
What if he had his kids because he was an overbearing rich guy who threw his weight around to get everything he wanted?
What if she was about to spend the next several weeks living with another man like Sam?
Chapter Three
AFTER lunch, Mac took the kids out on his yacht for the afternoon. Standing in the kitchen in front of the French doors, Ellie watched the boat pull away from the dock, grateful for a few minutes to herself.
She had silenced her concerns that Mac might be like Sam by reminding herself of two things. First, she didn’t know Mac. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions. And second, Mac genuinely seemed to like his kids, to like spending time with them. So what if he’d nudged her out of lunch and really wasn’t letting her be the nanny? He might have done it unconsciously. She had no idea how long he’d been without a maid and nanny. But it could have been long enough that caring for his kids was now second nature. And if Ellie didn’t soon stop acting like a high-strung spinster, suspicious of every man she met, she’d lose this job, and Cain and Liz would be the ones to suffer.
Her cell phone rang. She looked down and saw Ava’s number in caller ID.
“Hey.”
“Hey! I’m at the gate. Now what?”
Ellie glanced around. Not only did she not know how to open the gate, but Mac wasn’t here to show her. She couldn’t even attempt to please this privileged family on her limited knowledge of cooking. She had to get that cookbook. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to open the gate and I can’t ask Mac because he just took the kids out on his boat.”
“Well, all I have is the cookbook. Why don’t you come to me and I’ll pass it through the gate to you?”
Ellie sighed with relief. “Good idea.”
Feeling like a criminal, she snuck out the front door of the echoing mansion, raced down the front yard and reached through the gate bars to get the cookbook from Ava.
“Thanks.”
Cain Nestor’s fifty-five-year-old assistant peered over her black frame glasses at Ellie. “Tell me I’ll be able to get through the gate tonight when we have to debrief about Happy Maids.”
“You will. I swear,” Ellie said, walking backward up the grassy front yard to return to the house.
“Good. I’ll see you tonight,” Ava called, but Ellie was already running toward the door. Cookbook under her arm, she tiptoed up the silent hall to the kitchen even though she knew she was alone in the house. Mac had said he and his children would be gone the entire afternoon, yet she still felt as if she was doing something wrong.
But she wasn’t. She could cook. She simply hadn’t memorized recipes for anything beyond burgers and spaghetti.
