I blow a breath out. Covertly, of course. I can’t have Mr. Masterson glancing over here and seeing how annoyed I am. And conflicted. But mostly annoyed. You see, the frolicking is taking place about ten feet from the monstrosity Burke had set up on my lawn: a massive, Super Mario-themed bounce house, rented from a blow-up bounce house company in Atlanta.
He rented a bounce house for my lawn two days ago from his lair in San Francisco. And unless I throw a giant shit fit, it’s going to be here killing the grass for three more days. I would have never let the company set the damn thing up, but we weren’t here when they arrived. The kids and I had driven to the fire station to grab some fresh fruit from the farmer’s market.
When we spotted the thing—from way back at the end of the driveway—Oliver recognized it right away. Apparently it’s a Bowser castle. Bowser is a villain, Oliver said, so at least Burke got that part right.
The worst part of all of this is that despite the bouncy house right there in plain sight, the kids have been glued to Burke since they leapt from the car and raced toward him. It’s awkward, and it’s worrying. What if they actually want to go home with him?
I’ve been staring at their frolic-fest for probably what feels like eternity, and I can’t even hate him properly because he’s so attractive. He looks like an Instagram model posing for a dad-themed photo shoot.
Not that I would ever follow male models on Instagram—especially not the gorgeous, statuesque foreign ones from far-flung places like Milan and Hamburg and Johannesburg. But if I did do that, I might think he looked just like one with those sleek black boots, his slightly snug black jeans, and an even more snug gray wool sweater.
It’s not a regular sweater. It’s thinner, more like a shirt, and I can tell from looking at it that it cost a lot. You can just tell when something’s well-made—even when you don’t know that the person in it is worth like nine gamillion dollars.
Yeah. So he is rich. I knew he was some kind of tech smarty, but I didn’t know just how successful my new arch nemesis really is until I did some web browsing this morning. Apparently the villain Mr. Masterson has started and sold two startups already, and is working on a third one, financed mostly by him.
The tall, dark, slightly scruffy male-model knockoff occupying my mossy rock and wrestling with my charges is worth a screaming 120 million dollars.
So he’s ridiculously wealthy, enviably smart, and he’s clearly good with children. I was skeptical, based on his absence at the funeral and his absolute asshole act when he knocked on my door yesterday. But it seems crystal clear now that the kids adore him.
I chew the inside of my cheek—the cheek angled away from him.
He lifts his head, laughing at Margot’s tickles—which I know from experience are a lot more like pinches, so he’s probably impervious to pain like the super-villain he is—and his gaze catches mine. He looks radiant. Like he’s waited his whole life for this one shining moment. Like Margot and Oliver are all he needs to live his best life. I lift a brow and try to smile when our eyes lock, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it comes off as a grimace.
When we rolled up a few minutes ago and the kids first ran to tackle hug him, he smiled at me as he wrapped them in his muscled arms. It was a gotcha smile, an I-took-over-your-lawn smile. A this-is-what-my-money-can-buy, and-it-can-buy-you-too smile.
So yeah. When he looks at me again a second or two later, still wrestling with the kids, I give him the full scowl he deserves. I can be civil when the kids are looking, but right now they’re climbing on him.
Burke winks at me.
The mothertrucker winks. As if he thinks I think he’s charming or attractive.
I arch a brow. Nope. I don’t.
He grins as he tickles Oliver, and it’s a wicked, evil grin. I know, it says. And I love it that you hate me. I’m a villain, so this is my version of fun.
Fuck villains, I say with my face. But not literally.
He heard my freaking thought. He smirks as if he means to tell me, yeah, I know you want it, and he winks again. That freak!
I stand up…because I can’t just sit here all day. I stride over to the bounce house, and the kids scamper over behind me.
“Look, you guys!” I wave at its arched entrance. “Uncle Burke and I rented this castle for you!”
Now it’s my turn to flash a villain’s smile his way.
“Are you our uncle?” Margot asks, frowning up at him.
Burke laughs, a husky sound. He swipes a hand back through his wavy, dark hair. “Of course I’m your uncle, silly.”