It's been a month since I memorized all the building codes and regulations both locally and nationally, and I have to admit that Jack has bided his time before trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Perhaps he anticipated that I wouldn't let him best me that way a second time, or he worried I'd report his behavior to even more senior management than me, but he hasn't attempted to disrupt our progress by leading the team astray on a regulation again.

That isn't to say he's been co-operative. He's been quick to point out any time I ask him to do anything beyond his narrow job description. While others will take on a task or two that creeps outside the boundaries of their role within the team, Jack won't. No matter how small the ask, the answer is always no. Then when our project has slipped even a hair beyond our posted timelines, he's quick to assign blame.

The last straw is when I hear he held court in the breakroom after our last team meeting, complaining about the distribution of tasks and how I'm never satisfied with the work anyone is doing. The only person I've been routinely dissatisfied with is Jack.

"Do you know why I've called you in here, Jack?" I ask as he slides into the seat across from my desk, his characteristic smirk in place.

"Not a clue," he says. "Likely to ask me to do some other work that isn't within the scope of my job."

"A few people mentioned to me that you were dissatisfied after our team meeting yesterday."

"They must have misunderstood." The other expression he tends to wear around me—complete boredom—has fallen into place.

"Multiple sources spoke to me." Part of me is starting to wonder whether Jack is going to toe the line of being fired the entire time I'm here. So far, he hasn't done anything I can dismiss him for, at least not according to HR, but his negativity sets the climate of the office, and I've already grown tired of it. He took a Friday off last week, and the way the atmosphere in the entire office changed was very telling. It was the most productive day we've had, by far.

He doesn't respond, just looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

"If you have issues with something happening in the planning and construction of the low-income housing project, then you need to speak to me about them. I'm happy to listen to your concerns, though I can't guarantee I'll agree with them. Taking your grievances to the rest of the department is unprofessional."

"You're the boss. I'm sure you know best."

"If your negative attitude persists, I'll have to discuss it with HR." No need for him to know I already have.

"There's nothing in the company code of conduct that would suit any complaint about me."

If I wasn't sure he was walking the line, I am now.

"We're doing really important community work with this project. There are families on the waiting list hoping to get into this development, and the more we pull together as a team, the sooner we'll break ground."

"I'm aware of how a development works and the importance of the pre-development phase. I've been with the company for twenty years."

"Perhaps it's your teamwork that needs a slight adjustment then." I meet his gaze and hold it. He's one of the ones, according to my secretary, who believes his experience far outweighs mine.

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, or can I get back to doing my important community work?" He gives me a fake smile.

"By all means," I say, gesturing toward the door, "I would love for you to get some work done."

Once he's gone, I dig my planner out of my desk, and I record the notes from our meeting. HR might not be able to do anything with the attitude he's displayed so far, but I'm going to be having a chat with my boss about the work culture overall. Perhaps HR is due for a code of conduct overhaul.

~ * ~

By the time I get home, Ash is putting the kids to bed, and my dinner is in the fridge. Spaghetti, which if I'm being honest, is one of the few things Ash actually cooks well. It's hard to complain when he's really trying. Though I know what I would have been like back home—trying or not, I would have fired him by now for his various missteps. There have been a lot.

Given the chance to correct them, he never hesitates. When I mentioned we were eating too many fried foods, he started cutting up veggies for the fridge, and he bought a variety of dips for the kids as well. Instead of serving French fries with every other meal, he's steaming or roasting vegetables with mixed results. Sometimes they're too hard and other times they're too mushy, but he accepts and admits his failures with remarkable ease.

I take the spaghetti out and drop it into a pan on the stovetop. With somewhat limited counter space, there's no microwave. When I turn around, Ash is leaning in the doorway watching me, and I jump.

"I didn't mean to scare you." A slow grin spreads across his face, and he holds up his hands. "Thought you'd hear me coming down those creaky stairs."

"Too wrapped up in my own thoughts."

"Bad day?"

"Same as always. Half my team is fantastic, and the other half is a bunch of half-assed workers. I'm convinced Jack is the problem. He must have been poorly socialized as a kid." The thought makes me realize I have no idea what Ash is doing with our kids to socialize them. Though having Chloe in the house has forced Joey to become better at turn-taking.

Having his own nanny since he was born made him a little more spoiled than I anticipated. After five weeks with Ash and Chloe, he's much better at sharing an adult's attention. A lot of that is down to Ash's unwavering patience.

"Do you want to see if he'd like to spend a week with Nanny Ash? I can try to correct his shortcomings."

I laugh and shake my head while I stir the spaghetti on the stove so it doesn't stick to the pan. "Can you imagine? I'd be the one in HR over that."

"Do you reckon he's got a problem with authority or just a problem with you?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's that I'm a woman and that I'm American. Both of which, in his eyes, make me inferior. Also, he's been with the company for twenty years, and I don't think that helps. He's older than me, and according to my secretary, was one of the ones who felt they should have had a shot at the management role."

Ash comes into the kitchen and leans against the counter while I mix the spaghetti, waiting for it to reheat.

"How was your day?" I ask. "Kids okay?"

"Lots of footie in the garden. Didn't get round to the ironing. That's on tomorrow's list."

I'm tempted to take it off his list. He's already burnt a few items of my clothing by having the iron on the wrong setting, and I really had to deep breathe through those admissions. They weren't cheap mistakes, and after the second, rather large, incident, I told him if he wasn't sure about the setting to wait until I got home and he could ask. Or he could always text me at work.

"Maybe we should send some of my clothes to the cleaners in town, and we can organize activities for you to do with the kids away from here."

"Oh," he says, and he seems surprised. "Right. Yeah."

"Does England do parent and tot classes or indoor playgrounds or anything like that? Maybe swimming lessons? I'm happy to pay for Chloe too."

Ash has his phone out, and he's already searching for things while I dump my spaghetti into a bowl and take it to the table. He follows me with a furrowed brow, and for some reason, my stupid traitorous heart thumps extra loud when he glances up to meet my gaze. He has such soulful brown eyes, the kind where you can read a million thoughts in them in a single glance.

The attraction I'd hoped would dim the longer I was around him hasn't eased at all. The only good news is that it hasn't expanded to encompass all aspects of my life either. When I'm not around Ash, I can put him out of my head. But as soon as I'm in the house again, my body switches to high alert. Somewhere inside me is an Ash radar, and it's constantly homing on him the minute I'm on the property.

"There's a soft play in Bedford," Ash says. "I reckon that's what you'd call an indoor playground. There's a pool not far from here at the leisure center. They've got a parent and tot swim scheduled for the mornings. Do you reckon I could handle both kids in a pool?"

"Joey has armbands, and he's a pretty confident swimmer. You'd have to keep a close eye on him, but you wouldn't have to hold both."

"Might leave that one until the weekend, if you don't mind coming with us the first time." He's clearly biting the inside of his cheek as he pours over the search results. "I'm not much of a swimmer."

"Whatever makes you more comfortable," I say as I take a mouthful of the spaghetti. The idea of seeing Ash bare chested and wearing my own bathing suit into the pool is a tad terrifying, but Joey loves swimming. My discomfort is temporary.

"There are parks and some other places I can take them." He shakes his head. "Sorry I didn't think of any of this. When it was just me and Chloe, it was enough to keep my head above water. Suppose I should be thinking bigger picture now." He scans my face for a beat, and even though I should be eating, I can't look away. "I really appreciate how straightforward you are. Never have to wonder if I'm hitting the mark."

Is it weird that his comment might be one of the nicest I've ever received? Most people aren't like him—they'd take all these conversations we've had over the last five weeks and be offended. Gwen tells me all the time that the bar is too high, and that's my problem with relationships. I've wondered a few times if that might be the issue with my team at work, too. Maybe I am asking too much, even if I really don't think I am.

"If you're like this at work," Ash continues, "straight to the point without being an arse, then Jack is most definitely the problem."

"I think I'm like this?" I shrug and weave my fork through the spaghetti.

"Do you want me to be your enforcer? I'll come into your work and stand behind your desk. Then I'll pound my fist into my palm and glare at him." He makes the motion with his hand.

"Tempting," I say with a hint of a smile. "You might be undermined by the two small children strapped to you."

"Nonsense. We'll give 'em a bat each." He grins, and those dimples rise to the surface causing heat to pool between my thighs.

Fate, you drunk bitch, why did you send me a hot nanny who also happens to have a personality to match? I'm doomed. So, so doomed.

"Sounds adorable and also like something that'll land me in HR instead." I twirl the last of my spaghetti around my fork.

"The offer's there. Me and the tiny tots as your enforcers. No one messes with Paige Johnston and gets away with it while we're around."

His words, and the kind expression on his face inspire a rush of warmth across my chest that quickly migrates lower.

Doomed. I am doomed.

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