Skylar's Pov
He stops dead when he sees me, a sigh and a confused smile curling on his lips at the exact same time. I try hard not to drool right there on his fancy floor, but damn, he's hot.
I'm not going to give a full monologue about how perfect he is, but there's something ethereal about him, like a plastic upgraded Ken doll with really sharp features and a presence that fills the whole room. I take a confident step forward, eager to yell and speak my mind about this whole messed-up situation, but my stupid heel tilts sharply to the side on the slick marble. My ankle gives way and I fall hard on the floor.
A heavy gush of shame floods through me, so intense I almost forget to breathe. Perfect first day at work, isn't it? Just perfect. I look down and see my knee is already scraped and stinging from the impact with the hard stone flooring. I just want to cry. I don't usually cry, I'm tougher than that, but I know with a burning certainty that I want to do it now. Buying thrift shoes has never failed me before, so why did it have to happen now, in front of him?
Rhys is rushing towards me after quickly setting Cassian down on the floor. The little dude immediately starts following him behind, mimicking the way he's walking with a serious expression on his tiny face.
"Cassian, you don't have shoes on," Rhys groans, obviously realizing he's walking barefoot too. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Just forget it," he groans, abandoning the thought and closing the distance between us.
I push myself up to a sitting position, and my carefully constructed bun chooses that moment to fall completely loose. My hair cascades down, a wild curtain covering my face and my current humiliation.
"Ms. Pauline, are you alright?" Rhys asks, his voice laced with concern as he leans closer.
I aggressively move my head to the side, the obedient hair strands finally following the motion and clearing my vision. "Who the hell is Ms. Pauline?" I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.
"Aren't you..." he starts, looking genuinely confused.
I push the last stubborn strands away from my face, glaring aggressively up at him. "Take a guess," I challenge, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
My eyes dart to the little boy standing beside him. The kid is just giggling now, waving his hand in a little gesture like he's trying to say sorry to me. He's like a miniature, chubbier version of the man he's standing next to, all the same sharp features softened by baby fat.
"Who are you and how did you get in here?" Rhys asks, his tone shifting from confused to guarded as he takes a careful step back from me. I take the opportunity to yank off my treacherous shoes and rise to my feet, feeling taller and angrier barefoot on the cold floor.
"I'm the woman you've been calling and texting all day, asking me to come over." I say it slowly, like I'm explaining something to a child. Then it suddenly clicks in my head, a possible explanation for this insanity. I lower my tone, glancing around the expansive foyer. "Is your wife home? Is this some kind of clever way to hide my identity from her? You're smart, I'll give you that," I concede, though the theory feels flimsy even as I say it.
"My wife? What are you talking about?" He clears his throat, his confusion seeming to deepen. "That doesn't answer my question about how you got in."
"I'm Skylar Jones," I announce, rolling my eyes for emphasis as I push back my wild mane of hair. "You texted me. You paid me. You gave me this address."
His face goes blank for a second, then a look of dawning horror replaces the confusion. "I think I made a mistake or something," he says, his voice quiet.
"The only mistake you made is to keep your kids in the same house you're meant to f-ck me in?" The words burst out of me, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and a deep, creeping disgust.
He instinctively reaches down and covers the little boy's ears, his eyes widening in shock. "Excuse me?" he says, his voice dangerously low.
I throw my hands up in the air in a gesture of pure, unadulterated frustration. The disgust in my chest is a physical thing now, making my skin crawl. I can't do this with him here with all these kids around. It's wrong on every level. "You heard me! Are you some kind of sick man or something? What is wrong with you?"
"I won't have you speaking to me like that in my own home," he fires back, his posture stiffening. "Your job here is to baby sit them and look after that." He gestures vaguely around the house.
I don't process the words at first. I think my brain instantly rejects them as pure nonsense. I step closer to him, as if I can send the sheer absurdity of his statement back to him so his brain can do the processing for both of us.
"I'm a hooker," I state, my voice flat and cold. "Why in the world would you call a hooker to babysit your kids? That doesn't make any sense."
Rhys' eyes go so wide I think they might fall out of his head. "What?" he breathes out, the word barely a whisper.
"You heard me!" I yell, my patience completely gone.
His face is a mask of stunned disbelief. "I told you on the phone I had three toddlers!"
"I thought you were talking in code!" I shout back, the pieces of our disastrous misunderstanding finally crashing together in my mind. "I thought you were talking about a threesome!"