“Butt out, Chantal.” His focus switched back to Emily, needing her response, her answer. “Tell me why you won’t come and work for me.”
“How about because you’re obnoxious,” Chantal said, putting herself between them, arms folded, expression determined.
“She needs a job, sis.”
“We’re working on that.”
Everything inside him ground to a halt. “Care to explain?”
“Good grief, Mitch, you can’t force Emily to work for you. And when she makes up her mind—which won’t be with you standing over her—it will be because she has choices. Now, was there anything else you wanted?” his sister, the turncoat, asked sweetly. “Besides the chance to browbeat my houseguest?”
Seething, Mitch gritted his teeth. “If it’s still all right with your houseguest, I’d like to buy her grandfather’s dog for Joshua.”
Through an agency in Cliffton, Mitch found temporary child care in the form of a middle-aged cleanliness guru with the unlikely name of Mrs. Grubb. More interested in keeping the house free of dust and lint than keeping Joshua entertained and happy, she wasn’t working out.
As if to punctuate that thought, her vacuum cleaner started up, its high-pitched whine eating through the last of his concentration. Earmuffs, industrial strength. He started a mental shopping list, then wondered if Mrs. Grubb did shopping. It would get her out of the house, even if it did defeat the child care purpose of her employment, because he was not, no way, sending Joshua to any shopping center.
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