She shook her head. "No, I can see where you'd need to do that. I'd just appreciate some time so I can warn my friends and relatives."
"Warn?"
She sighed. "Alert. Is that a better word for it? I'd like to call them first and ask for their cooperation, so they're not taken by surprise."
"Fair enough." If she really was hiding anything, his private investigator would find it. He moved on. "Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Are you involved in an intimate relationship?"
Again, she hesitated. "How is that germane?"
He studied her curiously, wondering if he'd hit on something. "I need to know if you have any obligations that may interfere with your ability to give Isabella your full attention." Or prevent her from becoming his temporary wife. "I also need to know about anyone who may come into regular contact with my niece so that I can have them checked out."
"Of course." She inclined her head and another curl escaped, this one just behind her left ear. The shiny black ringlet bounced against the long line of her neck, providing an irritating distraction. "No, to answer your question, I'm not in an intimate relationship."
He lifted an eyebrow. "What about a casual relationship?"
A hint of color marched along the sculpted curve of her cheekbones. "I'm not in any sort of relationship at all."
He fought the satisfaction her response elicited. "How do you get along with your family?"
He'd caught her by surprise again. "There's just my father, and we get along fine."
"How often do you see him?"
Her brow puckered in bewilderment. "Once a week. Sometimes more often, now that I'm back in South Carolina."
"Does he live in Charleston?"
"Jim Isle, born and bred."
"How much contact do you anticipate he'll have with Isabella?"
To his surprise, a flash of alarm flickered through her eyes, darkening the honey gold to a deep amber. "I … I don't anticipate there being any contact between them."
He digested that for a moment. "Why not?" he finally asked.
She floundered for an instant. It was the first time he'd seen a serious crack in her composure and it filled him with curiosity. "Because my time with Isabella is business related and the time I spend with my father is personal. I really don't see the two crossing paths."
Interesting. "You believe in keeping your work and home life separate?"
"Don't you?" When he didn't respond to the question, she brushed it aside with a fleeting wave of her hand. "Yes, I prefer to keep the two parts of my life separate."
"Is there some reason you don't want your father to come into contact with Isabella? Does he have a criminal record? Would he be a bad influence on a child?"
"No," she instantly denied. "Not at all. My father is a good man. I just prefer to keep my family life private. Is that a problem for you?"
"I have no objection either way."
Surprise swept across her face, followed by relief, before she masked her emotions behind a facade of calm serenity. It was an interesting transformation to watch. He suspected her exquisite self-control was an innate part of her personality, and he couldn't help wondering what circumstances had occurred in her life that had required her to develop this ability. Had she also experienced trauma? Was that why she shrouded herself in unruffled composure, as a way to combat the whirlwind of strife and turmoil?
He took a quick stab in the dark. "You mention your father, but not your mother."
She took a quick breath. "My mother died when I was twelve."
"A difficult age to lose a mother."
A dry smile kicked up the corner of her mouth. "Is there a good age?"
"No. Even so … You must have learned coping mechanisms."
"Eventually."
"Would any of them help Isabella?"
"Some." She considered briefly. "In theory."
"Why in theory?"
"Because Isabella isn't me," she explained. "What worked for one person might not work for another. It's not a one-size-fits-all."
He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a long moment. He was tempted to hire her. So very, very tempted. Again, he sensed a ripple of tension just beneath her calm expression. "You've met Isabella. You see how much work it's going to take to get through to her. Why do you want this job so badly?"
Annalise moistened her lips and answered with care. "Isabella needs help. Maybe I can give her that help. At the very least I'll find out whether I'm capable of handling special-needs children."
"I'm not sure I want to hire someone who regards this as an experiment or a test of their capabilities." She didn't respond to the observation, though he could tell his comment worried her. "There's one other detail you should know about Isabella."
"Which is?"
He decided to lay it out for her. If it scared her off, he'd know she was wrong for the job. "After we explained what happened to her parents, my niece stopped speaking."
Annalise inhaled sharply. "She doesn't talk? Not at all?"
"She screams. That's her communication of choice. So you can see why I'd like the most experienced person possible for this job."
"Yes, I can understand that," she conceded. "But I'd still like a shot at the position."
Jack released his breath in a slow sigh. There were two reasons he didn't plan to hire Annalise Stefano, despite the urge to do just that. The first and most important was that she didn't have the necessary experience. Good instincts, but little hands-on practice. What if Mrs. Locke decided Annalise wasn't knowledgeable enough? He'd have precisely one shot at this. If the caseworker gave the thumbs-down, he couldn't run out and find a replacement bride. No, whoever he chose would have to be as close to perfect as possible.
The second reason he hesitated was the attraction he felt toward Annalise. It didn't bode well for a successful working relationship and threatened unending complications down the road. Plus, it didn't make sense to keep such blatant temptation in his home. Too risky.
He flipped the file closed. "I appreciate you coming in for this interview."
She fought to maintain her composure. "You've already made up your mind, haven't you?" A dark, husky note slipped into her voice and he gained the impression that she'd pinned a lot of hopes on this job. "You're not going to hire me." It wasn't a question.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Stefano." He let her down as gently as possible. "You've only just completed your studies. You haven't had any practical experience. I need someone who's actually worked with children like Isabella."
She didn't argue, although he suspected she wanted to. "If you change your mind, you have my number." She stood and approached his desk, holding out her hand. "Thank you for considering me, Mr. Mason."
He took her hand again, experiencing that same oddly appealing dichotomy of strength overlaying fragility. Of vulnerability warring with quiet determination. He didn't doubt she'd have thrown her heart and soul into helping Isabella, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was making a horrible mistake in not choosing her. He deliberately quashed any doubts. Doubts equaled weakness, and he learned at his father's knee never to allow weakness to influence a business decision.
Releasing Annalise's hand, he picked up the list of applicants and escorted her to the door. He opened it and froze. The outer office was deserted. Not a single person remained.
"Well, hell."
Annalise planted her hands on her hips and surveyed the empty chairs. "I don't suppose you'd care to reconsider that job offer?"
What choice did he have? Time was of the essence and Annalise had come close-very, very close-to fitting the profile he needed for both a nanny and a wife. "As a matter of fact, I would like to reconsider."
She nodded. "I thought you might." Her brilliant smile transformed her appearance once again. "When would you like me to start?"
In the distance, a shriek of anger penetrated the walls. Jack released an exhausted sigh. "Is now too soon?"