Dani St ep. Away. From. The sexy man, a tiny, easily ignorable voice screams at the back of my mind. It runs through all the reasons this is a bad idea. Why I should walk away. Why I should run. Louder, though, is the insistent thumping of my heart, the pulse that rushes so close to the surface of my skin, making everything more sensitive. More needy. Emil’s hands grip my elbows, rough, possessive. I never knew elbows could be sensual. But the press of his strong fingers against my skin is a brand that I feel somewhere de ep inside me. The breadth of his chest against mine is thrilling and terrifying and safe. I want this man to claim me, to shout to the world that I’m his the way he did with a simple hand on my back at the party. The same way he did in that darkened room, with his hands in other places. I want him to tell me I belong to him, to growl my name against my ear while his body shows me just how much he means it. And that thought—the de ep, sensual need I feel for this man—is what allows me to drop my chin to my chest and st ep away from him. I brush my hand over my forehead, turning away from him to catch my breath. I can’t have sex with him for a thousand and one reasons. The main reason isn’t that he’s my boss. It’s not that it would be highly inappropriate and would probably get me fired. No, the main reason I can’t have sex with Emil Van der Berg is that I’m broken. The part of me that wants something male inside me... that part hasn’t worked properly for more than four years. I can’t trust it, can’t trust myself not to fall apart. My instincts betrayed me with Rich, and I won’t make those same mistakes again. What happened at the Summer Ball was an error. An aberration. Walking out and seeing a vision of my ex- boyfriend across the room is proof that I shouldn’t be intimate with Emil. It can’t happen again. “I should go check on the kids,” I say in the silence, then stride to the door without waiting for an answer. Talia gives me about an hour of good behavior before she reverts back to her adorable devil-child self. By that time, Emil has left for work and Kathryn has made herself busy doing the thousand and one things required to ke ep a penthouse looking pristine while two small children live in it. For the most part, I’m able to stick to the prescribed schedule. We go outside to play for a couple of hours at the park across the street, do some reading exercises, coloring, and finally, by the time Emil walks through the door at six o’clock, I’m about ready to fall into bed. I expect to be asked to help with dinner and putting the kids to bed, but Emil dismisses me as soon as he walks in the door with little more than a wave of the hand. It would sting, but I know where I stand. I’m the nanny—even though his eyes do seem to linger a few moments, swe eping over my body like they did the first day we met.
When I get to the staff quarters, I take a long shower and try not to think about that evening at all. It might as well have happened to someone else. While Emil and the kids have dinner in the apartment, I eat alone in the staff quarters. The s eparation is noted—no matter what happened at the Summer Ball, I don’t belong out there. Kathryn, before she leaves for the evening, pats my shoulder and tells me to go to bed. She has a soft smile on her face. “You did good today, Dani. You might last around here, after all.” “How long did you say you’ve worked for the Van der Bergs?” “I’ve known Emil since he was a child,” she says. “The past couple of years have been... tough.” Sadness crosses her eyes, but she shakes it away with a toss of her head. “Go and get some sle ep. You look like you need it.” After she leaves, I climb into the surprisingly luxurious single bed in my room and grab my phone. Seeing a text from Bonnie, I call her and give her a rundown of my day. “So, six days a week, huh. You think you’ll survive?” “I’ll be fine. Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay at yours on Sunday nights?” She blows a raspberry. “Come on, Dani. I miss having you here already.” For the first time since I met Bonnie, I believe her. It doesn’t feel like charity, like forced friendship. Bonnie really does enjoy my company, and I enjoy hers. I smile. “I’ll see you in a few days, then.” “I expect all the details.” The next morning, I wake up in a strange bed—but I’m used to that. I spent four years waking up in more beds than I can count. It’s the thought of waking up in this bed for the foreseeable future that has my instincts stretching taut. The kids get up at the same time as Emil. I help them get ready, then come out to see Emil sipping a cup of coffee as he sits at the table, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. The sight of that triangle of golden chest makes something warm tumble through my veins, which I dutifully ignore. I even ignore the way his hands curl around his cup, and the way he leans back in his chair, completely confident and strong and male. His presence fills the room, presses against me like a physical touch. Like I said, I ignore it. Mostly. After pr epping some food, I sit down at the table with the kids, listening to Francis babble about firetrucks. A strong male knee nudges my thigh, and I freeze. My heart beats an unsteady rhythm as I peel a mandarin orange with trembling hands, then the contact is gone. Emil stands and kisses both his children before leaving, then I’m thrown into another hectic day. The only respite I get is when I take the kids to the park across the street. Talia and Francis hold my hands as we cross the road, even though I can feel the excitement buzzing through them. As soon as we touch the edge of the playground, they take off like two bullets. With a sigh, I sit down on a bench to watch them. “Danika, right?” I turn to see a gorgeous blond smiling at me. Her charges, a little boy and a girl, are already screaming and laughing as they run toward one of the slides. The blond glances at them before turning back to me. “We did our training together last year at the Delmar Childcare Agency.” “Layla.” I smile, remembering her immediately. “You got a placement as well?”
“Just filling in while the regular nanny is on maternity leave,” she says, tilting her head back to sun her face. “Nannying is a different beast from daycare. It’s so much more... just more.” I laugh. “This feels like the first time I’ve sat down since I woke up this morning.” “You’ll get used to it,” a voice says from my other side. An older woman takes a seat on the next bench over, smiling at the two of us. I’d guess she’s in her late fifties or early sixties, silver hair streaked with dark. The little girl who arrived with her stands with her arms behind her back, waiting patiently. “May I go play, Mrs. Harriet?” “You may.” She nods magnanimously at the girl, who takes off running toward the playground. “Teach me everything you know,” Layla says. “I haven’t been able to get my kids to sit still for more than three seconds.” The older woman chuckles. “Rule with an iron fist—and a warm heart.” She stares at the two of us with dark brown eyes that miss nothing. “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’d recognize Delmar girls anywhere.” We introduce ourselves, and I find myself easing into a comfortable conversation. It’s different than talking to Kathryn—her loyalty is clearly to Emil. It’s also not quite like talking to Bonnie, who might as well live on another planet for how different our lives are. But here... the three of us share something. Speaking to Layla and Harriet eases something in my heart. I find myself laughing, truly comfortable for the first time in a long, long time. “So,” Layla starts, casting her eye over the playground before turning to me, “how in the world did you bag the Van der Berg job? I lasted less than a day!” I fight my body not to blush. Shrugging, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I guess he likes me.” “Emil Van der Berg doesn’t like people. Especially not women.” Harriet purses her lips. “I heard his wife was stealing money from every charity she pretended to help.” Layla leans back, stretching her long legs. “They say she was nice to your face but a total snake behind your back.” Curiosity burns through me, but I force myself to tamp it down. “We shouldn’t gossip about a dead woman.” Harriet snorts. “She’d deserve it all, and then some.” Both Layla and I swivel to stare at the older woman. Harriet pulls out knitting needles from her bag and shrugs. “She was a shrew.” Layla starts laughing, and a thousand questions are on the tip of my tongue—but just then the children start screeching. All three of us jump up and rush to the other side of the playground. Talia’s standing in front of a blubbering Francis, shielding his body with hers. Facing Talia is Harriet’s little girl with a snarl on her lips. “Back off, Isla,” Talia spits, puffing up her chest. “What’s going on?” I start, but Harriet st eps in. With a sharp whistle, she takes one st ep forward and all the kids around us stand up straighter. She points to one side, and Isla st eps back, tucking her chin.
Then Harriet faces Talia, who, to her credit, doesn’t back down. My little girl juts her chin out with a stubborn pinch of her lips. Harriet’s face is impassive, unreadable. The face-off lasts a few tense seconds, until Talia deflates like an old balloon and wraps her arms around herself. “I think that woman is my hero,” Layla whispers in my ear before sliding over to the two kids she came with. “Come on, Talia.” I kneel in front of the little girl. “What happened?” “Isla called Frankie a stupid baby.” She crosses her arms while Francis wraps her in a hug from the side. I wait as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. Talia’s shoulders slump. “I said she wasn’t my friend anymore and she couldn’t come to my birthday party. She said she never wanted to come anyway, and that only babies celebrate their birthday. Then Benny and Jane got mad because their birthday is soon. So I said Isla was mean and she didn’t deserve a birthday.” Oh, to be young. I feel for Talia, for the hurt she’s experiencing—and I want to shield her from all the badness in the world. “Birthdays aren’t for babies. I celebrated my birthday last week,” I tell her. Talia’s eyes brighten. “You did? Mine’s not for a while. It’s in February. I’ll be eight.” She glances at her friend and nibbles her lip. “I still want Isla to come.” “Why don’t you tell her that?” Talia lets out a long-suffering sigh, then nods once. “I’ll say I’m sorry.” “Good girl.” The fight is resolved when the two little girls hug and make up, back to being besties within minutes. I find myself falling into a similar routine the next day, and the next. Mornings and evenings have my teeth on edge—I can’t quite seem to relax around Emil—but days are getting easier. No less tiring, but easier. The kids seem to trust me more, listen to me more, and enjoy themselves too. We go to the park at the same time every day, met by Layla and Harriet. Somehow, without actually planning it, we alternate bringing each other coffees and treats as we sit and watch the kids play. Layla fell into childcare like I did—unexpectedly, but not unpleasantly. She’s always loved kids, but there’s some lingering sadness behind her eyes. She tells me she moved to NYC three years ago, and nannying is the only thing that pays enough for her to be able to afford a place here. Harriet is a career nanny, and she’s a force to be reckoned with. I learn more watching her interact with Isla than I did in a full year working at a daycare. By the time Friday rolls around, I feel... settled. And it feels good. “Have you discovered any sordid secrets about Emil Van der Berg?” Layla sips her latte, her long blond hair twisted into a neat bun. In a simple T-shirt and jeans, she looks like an off-duty supermodel. I cut her an exaggerated glare. “That’s hardly professional behavior, Layla.” “Can you blame me?” She laughs. “The Eldridges are no fun. He works all the time and she makes a career out of attending boozy brunches. I feel sorry for the kids. All that money and no affection.” Harriet grunts, needles clacking as she knits. “They aren’t the only kids in that situation.”
“Benny and Jane have been talking about baking a lot lately.” Layla glances at me. “Jane says Talia has been bragging about it.” I laugh. “We may have been making cookies almost daily. She practices her reading and math while we bake.” “Isla has also been asking me to bake with her,” Harriet says, tucking a strand of silver-streaked hair behind her ear. “There’s a bakery that does lessons for kids uptown. It’s the twins’ birthday coming up, and their parents asked me to plan something for them.” I frown. “Do they not want to be in volved? Not even for their twins’ birthday?” Harriet harrumphs. “I bet they brag about being hands- off parents. The opposite of helicopter parents and apparently a point of pride.” Layla makes a noise in agreement. “Anyway, I was thinking we could do that.” “We?” I grin. “Well, we might as well enjoy it too, if I have the power to suggest an activity.” Layla grins, mischief in her eyes. “What do you think? Baking class? The place is only about a twenty-five-minute drive. We could all ride together if it’s easier, or if the parents can’t—or won’t—make it.” My heart jags. Driving... That was a clear rule. No one gets behind the wheel of a car with Talia and Francis exc ept for Emil himself. “I’ll talk to Emil.” Layla’s brows jump. “First name basis, huh?” Her blue eyes twinkle. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Dani? Have you been naughty?” A blush swe eps over my cheeks. “Stop it. I happen to like this job and I’m not going to screw it up. I’ll ask about the baking class, okay?” Leaning back, a smile tugs at my lips as Talia giggles as Francis chases her, then turns around and wraps her little brother in a hug. “Those two are so precious,” Layla says. “They have so much love in them.” I make a noise in agreement. “Are you sure their mother was that bad?” She can’t have been such a shrew to catch Emil’s eye, to shut him off so completely from any other women after her death. Then again, I know better than anyone how much love can blind you, mislead you. Harriet arches a brow, huffing. “I’m sure. Strange woman, Callie Van der Berg.” “How so?” Layla asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Not a kind bone in her body,” Harriet says. “I heard rumors...” She purses her lips. “Linda Delmar was their nanny for a while, you see. She’s a good friend of mine.” “The owner of the agency?” I ask. Bonnie’s sister is our boss. I hadn’t realized she worked as a nanny as recently as a few years ago. Harriet nods. “The Van der Bergs were the last clients she took on before starting the agency. She heard rumors
from the rest of the staff about the wife.” Another snort. “Nasty rumors.” “What rumors?” I’m breathless. I shouldn’t pry. I don’t want to gossip. But... I can’t stop thinking about Emil, and the curiosity burns through me. Who was the woman who caught his eye? “A staff member in their household apparently saw her tampering with...” Knitting needles clack as Harriet’s voice drifts off. I lean forward. “With what?” “With their prophylactics.” Harriet shakes her head, putting down her needles with a grunt. “Rumors, of course, but I always wondered. It was common knowledge they didn’t want kids.” “She tampered...” Layla frowns. “So, what, she poked holes in their condoms?” Harriet levels us with a glare. “I don’t know for sure. All I know is what Linda told me, and she heard it from someone else. You know how these stories take on a life of their own.” She shrugs, returning to her knitting. “That’s what the staff used to say, anyway. In public, Callie was flawless. Perfect. Warm-hearted and generous.” Leaning back, I let out a long breath. “That’s crazy.” Layla just laughs, eyes twinkling. Soon, I’m laughing with her, nudging my shoulder against hers. Even Harriet’s lips curl at the corners. For just a few moments, I feel almost completely at peace. Friends—I have friends. Even if all we’re doing is gossiping. I don’t realize I’m about to get hit by a hurricane named Emil Van der Berg.