And God knows Jackson never would have volunteered his time. Oh, he'd have donated money—then he could claim altruistic motivations. But get his hands dirty? No way. Jackson wasn't into things getting too messy. She knew that very well. Somehow he always came out smelling like roses. While others cleaned up his messes.
She sighed. No matter how hard it was, she'd been lucky. She'd escaped a real disaster with that man. She was still dealing with the aftermath he'd helped create, but at least she wasn't going to have to deal with him. The liar.
Her attention returned to Maksim's résumé. With her fingertip, she traced the place where he'd signed the cover letter. His penmanship curled and sweeping, but unquestionably masculine.
Maybe she was putting too much of Jackson on Maksim. It really was the ultimate in arrogance to believe this man falsified references just to get to her.
She shook her head, chuckling to herself. Clearly Jackson hadn't wounded her ego that badly.
And Cherise was right. Turning down someone as experienced as Maksim would be utterly stupid and self-defeating. They needed help. So she was going to let her own feelings about the man go. She had to give him a chance. This could be a changing point for her. A real way to get the center going on the right track.
Really, Maksim Kostova, now she knew his full name, could be a godsend.
CHAPTER 5
"Do you even know what you're doing?"
Maksim paused, focusing on where the tiny angled straw was supposed to fit into the small rectangular box labeled JUICY JUICE. He narrowed his eyes as the bane of his existence gazed up at him with wide, dark eyes.
Damon, the puker, blinked innocently. Pure evil hidden behind youthful artlessness.
"Yes, I do," Maksim muttered, returning his attention to the stupid little box. How hard could this be?
"It goes right there." Damon reached up and tapped a dirt-caked finger on the top, and Maksim was glad he didn't have to drink the juice after this kid had repeatedly touched it. Maksim just hoped that grimy fingernails didn't make him vomit like yogurt had.
"I showed you yesterday," Damon said, then followed the statement with a long-suffering sigh.
Maksim gritted his teeth and shoved the straw in as if he'd known where to insert it all along. But as he jabbed it into the tiny foil-covered hole, clear, sticky juice gushed out of the bent straw, covering his hand and the cuff of his sleeve.
Damon giggled. "I told you to cover the end of the straw too. You suck at this."
Maksim glared at him, then shoved the juice in the kid's direction. The little boy accepted it, still sporting a pleased smile.
Maksim suppressed a growl.
"How are things going?"
Maksim whipped around to find the reason why he'd decided to engage in this stupid plan standing in the middle of the room. Or course the reason was becoming more distant with each passing minute.
This was the first time he'd seen Jo since agreeing voluntarily to interact with these vile little creatures known as human children. It was truly a wonder that humans didn't eat their young. And to think he wasn't even getting paid for his hell.
But amazingly, things looked much better upon the appearance of Jo. And he now easily recalled what his payment would eventually be, and it was something far more appealing and pleasurable than money.
His eyes wandered slowly over Jo. The light green sundress she wore swished around her long shapely legs and displayed the curve of her bare shoulders.
Oh yeah, he suddenly remembered why he was here. Covered in fruit punch, and snot, and grimy handprints. Okay, he was still a little bitter, but Jo would so—so—make it up to him.
"Ms. Burke," Damon called, before Maksim had even gathered his thoughts enough to respond to Jo's question.
Jo immediately turned her attention to the small boy, walking over to the table, where he sat looking all wide-eyed naiveté. The little deceiver. Maksim had nothing on this kid.
"Mr. Kostova doesn't even know how to open my juice even after I told him yesterday."
"Is that so?" Jo glanced at Maksim, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Children were evil.
But even as he thought that, not for the first time today, Maksim forced a sheepish, yet boyishly charming smile onto his lips. "I must admit, I've never been good at those things."
Jo's eyes flickered just briefly to his mouth. Then she met his gaze, her dark eyes unreadable as usual.
"Not a big juice-box-drinker, huh?"
Maksim chuckled, making sure the sound was rich and full, designed to vibrate deep inside her. "No, not often."
He smiled charmingly again.
Jo smiled back, although a little tentatively. But he realized that was the first genuine smile he'd ever received from her, which suddenly made the awful events of the morning much more tolerable.
"Things are going great," he said, returning to her original question. He took a step toward her, half expecting her to back away, but she held her ground.
Jo smiled back, the gesture still reserved, but the smiles were coming more readily. Perhaps he would be able to charm her more easily than he'd thought. Though why he'd doubted that fact seemed silly to him now. He was a demon—he had good looks, and deceit on his side.
"How is your day going?" He took another step toward her.
"Great," she said, her eyes flicked down at the space between them, clearly gauging how close she'd let him get. "I've been able to get a lot of paperwork done."
He would imagine that was true. She'd been sequestered away in her office, door closed, for two days now. He wondered how much of her disappearance was work and how much was just avoiding him.
"Maksim is doing great," Cherise called over to Jo from where she helped some of the other kids with their lunches. "The kids just love him."
Maksim had to admit he liked Cherise. She was sarcastic, outspoken, a blatant flirt, and still his biggest advocate. What wasn't to like?
And Cherise spoke the truth. The children did love him. To torment him. To crawl him all over him. To talk incessantly to him in lisps that were virtually impossible to understand—if he'd really wanted to, which he didn't.
Again he plastered on a smile. "They are great kids." His lying skills were usually impeccable, but his declaration sounded insincere, even to him.
Jo didn't show any signs of doubting him. Again she gave him a smile. Man, he was doing well today.
"Well, I thought while the children were busy with lunch, I'd go over what days and hours you'd like to help out. It would be easier for me if you had a set schedule, if that is okay with you?" Jo said.
In her office. Alone. Oh yeah, he'd love that.
"Great," he said.
Jo nodded, then headed toward the hallway. Without looking back, she led him to her office.
The room was tiny, which he liked. The tight space brought him into a much closer proximity to her. The only pieces of furniture in the room were a rickety, cheaply made desk with an ancient-looking computer on it. An equally old office chair covered in worn, ugly, brown tweed sat on one side, while two metal folding chairs were positioned on the side closest to the door.
Spread on the desk were several piles of paper, revealing that while she may have been avoiding him, she was busily working, too.
She gestured to one of the gray metal chairs as she slipped around the desk. He sat down, the metal creaking under his weight. She braced both hands on the arm of the desk chair and gingerly eased herself down.
"The hydraulics are broken," she said by way of explanation to his look. "Sometimes it just drops."
He nodded, not really interested in the chair. He was far too distracted by the delicious scent of her permeating the room—a warm, inviting perfume like vanilla and cloves that made his mouth water and his muscles tighten with need.