The Boy Who Has No Hope (Soulless #6) - Victoria Quinn Page 0,15
tongue. “Math…I hate it.”
“I hate it too, so don’t ask me for help.” I went to the fridge and pulled out items to make dinner.
“I thought you went to college?”
“For literature. Not math.”
She adopted a British accent as she teased me. “For literature…” Then she rolled her eyes.
I kept a straight face and wouldn’t allow myself to laugh, even though I did find my daughter hilarious. I arranged everything on the kitchen island and glared at her.
She smirked then turned back to her work. “Isn’t your new boss some kind of smarty-pants?”
“He’s not a smarty-pants.”
“Is he a dummy-pants, then?”
I started to prepare dinner for the two of us, getting the chicken breasts ready and washing the vegetables. “Lizzie.”
She chuckled and used her pencil to work out her problems. “He’s an astronaut or something, isn’t he?”
“An aeronautical engineer.”
She turned back to me and made a face. “A what?”
“He builds rockets and other things for space, like satellites and other instruments.”
“Wow…he’s super smart.”
“That’s an understatement.”
She abandoned her homework at the table and joined me at the kitchen island. Without being asked, she finished washing the vegetables and patted them dry before slicing them in preparation to go into the pan. “You think he’d help me with my math homework?”
“I’d never ask.”
“I guess I could ask Grandpa…”
Seventh-grade math was no challenge for me, but I wanted Lizzie to figure it out on her own. “There are so many online resources for you, like YouTube. You can figure it out, Lizzie.”
“I’m not very smart, Mom.”
I nudged her in the side. “Come on, that’s not true. And even if it were, you can always improve. You’re never stuck with the hand you’re dealt. You can always get a better one.” I put the meat in the pan with oil and started to sauté.
She used another pan to grill the asparagus and Brussels sprouts. “So, what’s this guy like anyway?”
“Brilliant. Interesting. Kind.”
“How old is he?”
“A few years older than me.”
“Really?” she asked in surprise. “I was picturing my history teacher—super old.”
I chuckled. “He’s very young, especially for the amount of success he’s had.”
“What does he look like?”
“I don’t have any pictures of him.”
She pulled out her phone from her pocket to Google him. “What’s his name?”
I’d never Googled him because I didn’t want to snoop. I’d also never told him about my daughter, because any time an employer knew you were a single mother, they assumed you wouldn’t be able to handle the workload. If every boss could just Google that information, I would have a much harder time finding a job. So out of respect, I didn’t Google him. “Derek Hamilton.”
She typed it into Google, and the hits popped up.
I kept working and didn’t look at her screen.
“Wow…this is him?”
I flipped the chicken. “Dark hair and eyes?”
“Uh, yeah.” She abandoned the veggies and held the phone up to my face. “Mom, he’s gorgeous.”
I suppressed my smile as best I could and took over the vegetables. “He’s not bad to look at.”
“Come on, you’ve got to think this guy is hot.”
“Lizzie, he’s my boss. I don’t see him like that.” When the food was done, I scooped everything onto plates.
“Uh, you should.” She held the phone up to my face again. “Because he’s hoooooot.”
I chuckled. “You’re way too young to describe a man like that.”
“Mom, I’m almost thirteen.”
I rolled my eyes because that number was so small and she had no idea. I didn’t have my shit together until a few years ago. Juggling my education with a small child made me straighten out and really understand the definition of responsibility. I did everything the hard way—and learned difficult lessons because of it.
She pushed the phone farther into my face. “Mom, you can look at this guy every day and not think he’s got eyes like chocolate?”
I laughed as I yanked her phone away and put it down. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You think you guys will get married?” she asked excitedly.
“No.”
“Do you want to get married?”
“Lizzie.” I forced myself to be serious even though her reaction was hilarious. “He’s my boss. I don’t see him that way. He’s just a guy.”
Lizzie put one hand on her hip and stared at me, giving me a meaningful stare full of a teenager’s attitude. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
“Sure…”
“Shut up and eat your dinner.” I handed the plate to her.
She carried it to the dining table and ate.
I sat beside her and ate, my feet tired from wearing heels all day, from running around and taking care of every aspect of Derek’s life.