What the Single Dad Wants... Read Free Page A

Extending her hand to him, she introduced herself. “I’m Isabelle Sinclair. Helping Hands sent me. I’m the physical therapist.”
    The response came out before he could stop it. “You’re kidding.”
    She looked at him a little uneasily, puzzled by his reaction. “No, I’m not. Why would I kid about something like that?”
    This had foot-in-mouth written all over it, but he felt he had to at least try to talk his way out of it. “Shouldn’t you be, you know… bigger? ” He used his hands to emphasize his point.
    She smiled, and he immediately noticed that it wasone of those impossibly sunny smiles that seemed to light up a room. The kind of smile that came with its own wattage. Brandon caught himself smiling back.
    â€œTrust me,” Isabelle told him, “I’m as big as I need to be, Mr. Slade.”
    He really had his doubts about that, but if she had any trouble, he intended to be around to lend a hand, so he supposed it was all right.
    â€œIf you say so,” he murmured. “C’mon, I’ll take you to her. She’s waiting for you.”
    Isabelle could feel the butterflies in her stomach multiplying as she followed him. It was a first for her. She’d never felt nervous about meeting a client before.
    Brandon led the way to the place his mother was currently presiding over: the living room. Ushering the physical therapist in, he withdrew to give his mother the center stage he knew she both needed and loved.
    â€œI’ll be right down the hall if you need me,” he told Isabelle in a soft murmur.
    The sound of his lowered voice caused a chaotic ripple effect that involved every part of her body. The man was just too handsome for her own good, Isabelle thought.
    The next moment, thoughts of the writer’s chiseled profile were forgotten as she found herself looking into Anastasia Del Vecchio’s violet eyes.
    Wow. The single word undulated through her.
    â€œTell me about yourself, dear,” Anastasia instructed with a regal wave of her hand that would have made Queen Victoria proud.
    Anastasia was lying on an oversize sofa in the living room, where she had taken up court, choosing to be “in the thick of things” rather than “cooped up” in the guest room, a room that had been sumptuously decoratedaccording to her dictates for those times that she needed to stay overnight rather than return to her own home. The actress lived in a mini-mansion approximately ten minutes away by car—if that car happened to be speeding all the way. And when she drove, it usually was.
    As Isabelle appeared to do her best to meet her scrutinizing gaze, Anastasia did a succinct evaluation. Not of a therapist, but of a young woman for whom she had plans.
    She had a nice smile, Anastasia thought, and lovely skin and hair, but she definitely needed a little work and patient guidance as far as making the most of her appearance. She supposed that was a good thing. It meant that the girl was dedicated to her work, which was, after all, why she was predisposed to hiring her.
    I hope you’re right, Cecilia, Anastasia silently cautioned.
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    This was Anastasia Del Vecchio, Isabelle thought, trying her best not to act like a starstruck groupie. The Anastasia Del Vecchio.
    She could hardly believe it.
    Granted, this was Southern California, and movie and TV stars did cross paths with mortals on a somewhat regular basis, but that didn’t make this moment any less awe-inspiring for Isabelle. As a native to the area, she’d encountered more than a couple celebrities herself, but no one of this magnitude and definitely not someone who had captured her heart at a very young age, when fantasy and escape had been so important to her.
    â€œYou can speak now,” Anastasia told her.
    Honesty had always been Isabelle’s best strategy. So rather than say she was busy mentally reviewing the woman’s case—something she