He paused for a second, and his eyes ranged over her. She wondered if she was inappropriately dressed. She’d put on a pair of jeans, a lightweight sweater and tennis shoes, and she’d brought an apron in case he didn’t have one. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Is what okay?”

“What I’m wearing.”

He averted his gaze as if he hadn’t really been looking at her in the first place. “Of course. Dress however you like. I rarely get company during the day when I’m working.”

So it would be just the two of them in his secluded house for hours on end....

She rubbed sweaty palms on her thighs. “When’s your next deadline?”

He was leading her back up the stairs. “End of December.”

“Will you be able to meet it?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Instead of thanking her, he turned and gave her another assessing look before continuing the tour. As they passed through the dining room, which was quite formal, she guessed he typically ate in the kitchen. His living room had more of a lived-in feel. So did the game room, which included a pool table, darts and video game systems, along with a big-screen TV. The only thing he didn’t show her was his bedroom. It had to be on the top floor, as she’d initially guessed.

On the third level, double doors separated his workspace from the rest of the loft. Inside, Sophia saw an extra desk. He said that was where she’d be handling the clerical tasks he assigned her and gestured at the chair. “I’d like you to take a typing test, if you don’t mind.”

“Right now?” she asked.

One dark eyebrow quirked up. “Is there something wrong with right now?”

“No.” Except that her anxiety had her feeling queasy. “What do you want me to type?”

He grabbed a research book from the shelves lining the two walls that weren’t glass. “How about half a page from this? I just want to get a general idea of your speed.”

She was a far better cook than she was a typist. She preferred to start proving herself in the kitchen, but she couldn’t say that, not without sounding as if she was making up excuses. At home, she’d used a laptop to surf and shop on the internet. She could limp along on a keyboard but wasn’t what anyone would consider a crack typist.

He held the book while she tried to copy it. But having him so close, watching her, brought out the worst of her nerves. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t avoid making mistakes. Soon her eyes were burning, too, with the tears she was holding back, and that made it difficult to read. Terrified that he’d notice she was about to break down, she blinked and blinked and consequently finished the paragraph by slaughtering almost every word.

He shut the book. “Maybe we can get you an online typing tutor.”

She curved her lips into a smile. “If you don’t mind letting me borrow this laptop, I’ll take the clerical work home and do it on my own time since I’m slow, if that’s okay.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose—as if hiring her was the worst mistake he’d ever made. “That’s fine.”

“I’m not as bad as I seem at the moment,” she insisted.

“It’s fine, like I said. This is just a stopgap until you find something more suited to your, uh, skills. We can work around...whatever.”

In other words, he’d put up with her until he could conscionably get rid of her.

“And what do you think would be better suited to me?” she asked.

He shrugged as if he didn’t care as long as she eventually secured alternate employment. “There’s always retail. Or...maybe you should take some online classes while you work here to gain skills in other areas. Medical transcription or...or web design. Something like that.”

She winced but hoped he couldn’t tell. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

If he heard her sarcasm, he didn’t respond to it. With a nod, he went to his own desk. “I’m going to get a few pages done. The cleaning supplies are above the washing machine. Maybe you can start with the house.”

She curled her nails into her palms. His tone said, Anybody ought to be able to do that. “What time would you like breakfast?”

He was opening his document. “I had a piece of toast with my coffee earlier.”

“So skip breakfast?”

“Right.”

“And lunch?”

“I’ll eat at one and five, just to give you a rough schedule. Lunch you can bring up and set on that desk.” He indicated the desk she’d been using. “I’ll get to it when I can. Dinner should be ready at five so you can eat with Alexa before you go home. I’ll have the leftovers when I finish up for the day.”

He wasn’t planning on seeing much of her, despite the fact that they’d both be in the house, she realized. Since she couldn’t type, she’d been relegated to the nether regions. “Got it.”

When she didn’t immediately leave, he turned to look at her. “Is there anything else?”

“I might not be quite as worthless as you think,” she said and walked out.

He was an idiot. He’d thought he could employ Sophia for a few months without finding it too much of a sacrifice, but that was a joke. She was in his house where he’d have to face her every time he left his office. And she was going to be there all day every day, except weekends.

Instead of writing, Ted spent the next hour cursing his own ridiculous response to recent events. So when his phone buzzed, it was a welcome distraction rather than an interruption. He couldn’t create a good story, not in his current frame of mind. He might as well answer.

But when caller ID showed it was his mother, he almost put down the phone. She’d told him not to get involved with Sophia, and he’d done exactly the opposite. Now he’d hear about it. But if he didn’t answer, she’d just keep trying until she got through. Why not break the news, if she hadn’t learned it yet, and get that over with?

He pushed the talk button. “Hello?”

“Tell me it’s not true,” she stated flatly.

She’d learned, all right. “Who told you?” he asked.

“I ran into Sharon DeBussi at the gas station. She said her granddaughter told her they were going to be okay because of you.”

“Everyone needs a hand now and then, Mom.” He pretended his actions were perfectly logical and defensible. But he’d lost a lot of confidence since Sophia had arrived. Hiring her had been a mistake. She couldn’t even type, which suddenly seemed more significant than it had when he was feeling sorry for her. He sincerely doubted a woman who’d been that rich could cook or clean, either. She’d stupidly settled for being nothing more than Skip’s arm candy. So what had he been thinking? It wasn’t his responsibility to save her from her own poor choices, but he’d jumped in despite that, and now he had to deal with the fallout.

“Why not let someone else give her a hand?” his mother asked.

“Because no one else stepped up!” At least that was true. He wouldn’t have offered her a job if he felt she’d had a better option—or even another option. “From what I could tell, our fellow Whiskey Creek residents just wanted to...pile on.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“She inspires a great deal of resentment. I get it. But enough is enough.” That was true, too, and stating it so emphatically seemed to bolster him, if only slightly.

“I knew she’d draw you back into her web.”

His mother’s tone got on his nerves. She could be so smug. “Stop it. I’m not in her web. I’m trying to do something kind for another human being.”

“The same human being who broke your heart when she chose that bum over you?”

“Thanks for the reminder. But have you forgotten how hard it was when Dad left us?” he asked. “And you had child support, an education and a good job. What does she have?”

“The uncanny ability to prey on your sympathies, apparently.”