“I completely understand! People can be very fickle, downright liars. I met one this weekend,” I respond, a bit of my frustration leaking into my voice. “You wouldn’t believe the lies he told me, and I almost fell for him. I mean – for them. For the lies.” I shake my head, clarifying.

Vicky chuckles while opening the door to a study, where standing in the middle of the room, is the last person I expected to see. “Well, my son is many things, but he certainly isn’t—”

“The liar!” I involuntarily blurt out.

Victor looks just as smug, grumpy, and ridiculously attractive as he did Saturday night. And his expression mirrors my own—complete and utter disbelief.

Vicky whips her head toward me in offense. “Excuse me?”

But all I could do was grimace in the face of the man who sent me through a whirlwind of emotions in the matter of an hour just a few nights ago.

Vic rubs a hand over his face, looking more irritated than surprised. “Kerry, what the hell are you doing here?”

Vicky’s curiosity deepens. “Wait. You two know each other?”

Vic exhales heavily like this conversation is already draining him. “She was my… sort of date at the event you forced me to go to.”

Vicky’s face lights up like she just won the lottery. “A date? How lovely!”

I snap, “It isn’t! He’s also the liar I was just telling you about.”

Vic glares. “Liar? Look who’s talking!”

Vicky interjects in a firm tone, “Alright, that’s enough. Ms. Kind is here because she’s been recommended as the nanny and homeschool teacher for the girls. So, whatever the two of you have going on, put it to rest. Now.”

I cross my arms. “Oh, it definitely ended Saturday night.”

“And your employment ends now!” Vic argues. “She can’t teach the girls, Ma. It’s a conflict of interest. She’s—”

“More than capable, Son,” Vicky counters firmly, silencing Vic with a stern look. “You’ve turned down every applicant in town. Ms. Kind comes highly recommended. Now, you have the final say, but I implore you to give this young woman a chance. The girls are so excited.”

Vic clinches his jaw, seemingly wrestling with his emotions. I should be hesitant as well, but today isn’t about him. This job is my ticket to my re-independence, to rebuilding my life. That’s what matters to me, not Mr. Grey Beard’s ego, his smoldering glare, his uncharacteristic tattooed sleeve, or his sinfully tight Howard University v-neck that reveals a peek of another tattoo on his chest.

My eyes rake over him, but his also rake over me, like he’s trying to figure out how I went from his Saturday night headache to his Monday morning problem.

Finally, he exhales heavily, dramatic as hell.