Dani By the time Sunday rolls around, I arrive at Bonnie’s place bone-tired and happy to have a night to myself. She throws her arms around me and drags me in, plying me with a hefty glass of wine and a shit-eating grin. “Tell. Me. Everything.” “I’m a nanny. That’s the long and short of it.” I shrug to distract Bonnie from the truth—that I love this job more than I thought I would. That being in Emil’s house feels like an entry into his intimate life, and every minute I spend in his presence makes me want him more and more and more. And I definitely don’t want to tell her about Friday, when Emil arrived at the park looking like he wanted to tear my head off—or how the energy between us shifted afterward. How for the whole rest of the day, my pulse pounded between my legs with a need I’ve never felt before. But Emil k ept his distance. Retreated. He gave me no indication that he shares my feelings and dismissed me before dinner like he did every other night—so I stewed in my need on my own. Bonnie huffs. “You’re no fun. What about Van der Berg? Has he dragged you into a broom closet and screwed you senseless yet?” “Nope.” I hope I don’t sound as disappointed as I feel. “That ship has sailed. He’s all professional, all the time. I hardly see him—just an hour or so in the morning and night. I might as well be invisible to him.” Exc ept for that one moment at the park, when he plucked a piece of grass from my hair. Or the times his knee nudged mine under the table. Or that weird moment in his office on the first day. Bonnie arches an eyebrow. “I doubt that.” Shrugging, I sip my wine. “It’s the truth. What about you? How was your latest Tinder date?” I smile, hoping the sharp change in subject won’t make her question me even more. When she wants a bit of gossip, she’s like a hound tracking prey. Undeterrable. But today’s my lucky day. Bonnie takes the bait, her eyes rolling so hard they threaten to fall right out of her head. She waves me toward the sofas and starts regaling me with horror stories of the dating scene in upscale New York cocktail bars. Within minutes, she has me laughing so hard I’m in tears, and something tight eases in my chest. This is good. This life... I can do this. Of course part of me wants Emil. The feelings I had in that room at the Summer Ball were... new. Unfamiliar. Exciting. But this is okay too. I have a job that will ke ep me safe. The two kids are a handful, but they’re kind and precocious. I have a friend in Bonnie. A real friend. And as the days pass with Layla and Harriet, I might have two new friends in them, too. That’s more than I could have asked for myself over the past four years. This stability... it feels so damn comforting I’m scared to get used to it. Maybe letting go of whatever tension is between Emil and me is a good thing. If I stop seeing him as the man who made me orgasm for the first time in years and start seeing him as my boss, the father of those kids, the man who’s signing my paychecks, then I can start actually building a life for myself.
I’ve spent four years running, hopping from dead-end job to dead-end job, hiding at the first sign of intimacy— either friendly or romantic. It doesn’t have to be that way. For the first time in a long, long time, I feel like I can stop running. Using my new swipe card, I arrive at the Van der Berg penthouse an hour early on Monday morning, before the sun has poked its head above the horizon. The door snicks shut behind me and I listen for a few moments, hearing no pitter-patter of small feet, no giggles, no sign of children waking up. Leaning against the door, I let myself smile. As much as I enjoyed being at Bonnie’s place last night, I think I enjoy being here even more. “Coffee?” A de ep voice makes me jump. My eyes fly open—I hadn’t realized I’d closed them—and I come face- to-face with a topless Emil Van der Berg. His body... My mouth goes dry. Brain cells scramble. Body turns to warm goo. Broad planes of muscle taper down to a trim waist. The ridges and valleys of his abdominal muscles gleam with moisture, as if he only just st epped out of the shower. Dark hair is sprinkled over his chest, fading down to nothing but a line that leads down to his— “Coffee sounds good.” I force a smile. He nods, and we both head for the kitchen. In nothing but a pair of sweats, I can see the shapely outline of his ass, muscular and very bitable. My heart stutters. Emil hands me a cup of coffee, my fingers brushing his as I grab it. Heat jolts through me at the touch. I hide my shock by ducking my head. “Are you okay?” His voice is... gentle. It liquefies my insides. Who was I kidding yesterday? I can’t just let go of this. My body reacts to him like I’ve stuck my finger in an electrical socket. I shake my head. “You should put some clothes on.” It takes all my courage to let my eyes climb up that glorious chest to meet his gaze. Smug amusement flits across his face. “Oh? Last time I checked, this is my house. I can wear as much or as little as I want.” “Right. I just meant... I didn’t...” I suck in a de ep breath, my eyes drifting down to the bare expanse of skin on display in front of me. An unholy urge to close the distance between us and run my tongue over every inch of exposed flesh crashes into me, so strong I nearly obey. I bet he tastes divine. With a de ep breath, I pull myself together. Think of something to say. Something work-related. “Mr. Van der Berg—” “Emil.” Heat swe eps across my cheekbones. “Emil,” I concede, “I meant to ask you about this last week but I never got around to it...” He sips his coffee, popping a brow. Don’t stare at his chest. Don’t think about the bulge in his sweats. “The Eldridge twins, Benny and Jane, have a birthday party coming up. They want to go to a baking class and they invited Francis and Talia. It’s a twenty-five-minute drive across town—” “No.” The light in Emil’s eyes dies. “That’s it? No? Talia’s already talking about it.” “I am the parent here. I’m not a slave to Talia’s wishes.” The air turns icy as he meets my gaze, his eyes hard. Unyielding.
“Of course. I’ll talk to Layla—the Eldridge nanny—and tell her the kids can’t make it. But... if the party happens to be at a time you’re available, maybe you could drive them yourself?” Just like that, the frost between us melts. Emil’s shoulders drop as he releases a breath, his eyes closing for a long moment. I want to close the distance between us. I can almost see the d epth of his pain, black and malignant in the pit of his heart. I want to help him. Heal him. When Emil lifts his gaze back to mine, he looks more tired than I’ve ever seen him. “I’m sorry I snapped,” he starts, gravel rattling in his voice. “Let me know the time and I’ll see what I can do. It’s been a while since Talia and Francis went to an event with their friends.” “Okay. I didn’t mean to... hurt you.” The words come out as a whisper. Emil smiles sadly, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from my face. I stand still, so still, as his knuckles brush my cheek, my neck. He spreads his fingers over my shoulder, skating down my arm. A trembling breath slips through his lips, as if it’s taking all his self-control not to close the distance that s eparates us. I can’t let him do that. I can’t ruin this job, this one chance at a regular life. I’ve had a taste of it now—stability. Friendship. Community. I’m not ready to give that up. Not for some burst of passion that will likely end with a broken heart. When I speak, my voice is a croak. “I’m going to go to my room.” Emil pulls his hand away and gives me a jerky nod. Scurrying to the staff quarters, I let out a long breath and squeeze my eyes shut as soon as I’m behind my bedroom door. Groaning, I shake my head. So much for thinking of him as nothing but a boss. How can I shut off the part of my brain that wants him? How can I banish it forever? I want this job. I like this job! I don’t want to mess it up. When I open my eyes again, I notice three boxes of shoes on my bed. Frowning, I pad forward. Gleaming white Converse stare back at me, the same brand and size as my current footwear. The next two boxes have different shoes, the scent of leather wafting up my nose as soon as I open them. Then my gaze shifts to the closet. It’s partially open, and I spy clothing hanging. Opening the closet, I’m faced with a whole new wardrobe. Jeans, shorts, T-shirts, easy wrap dresses. Everything in thick cotton or linen, sturdy stitching, clean lines with elegant details. This clothing is way, way too nice to be mine. What the hell? Did Emil do this? Forgetting about the partial aneurysm that the sight of Emil’s chest just caused in my brain—and the awkwardness about the twins’ birthday party—I grab a pair of shoes and head back to the kitchen. “What’s this?” Emil—still shirtless, still gorgeous—looks up from his seat at the table. He leans back, stretching his arm across the back of the chair next to his. The muscles in his shoulders and arms stand out in stark relief. He has to be flexing on purpose. No one’s muscles look like that on a normal day. His stormy grey eyes flick from my face to the pair of sneakers I’m brandishing like weapons. He still looks guarded, closed off. But when he notices the fire in my eyes, a hint of amusement ignites in his
gaze. “New shoes.” “And the closet?” My voice is hard. “New clothes.” Does he think I need his help to dress myself? Is that the impression I’ve given? That makes my attraction to him so, so much more embarrassing. I must look like some sad little dog trailing after him with drool running down my chin. I frown. “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t need charity.” Shame smarts across my cheeks, flushing them red. “It’s not charity. It’s a uniform. As stipulated in your employment contract.” He arches a brow. Smug. Male. Arrogant. A lump clogs my throat as I hold his gaze for a few moments. I’ll admit I need new shoes, especially when I’m running after two small kids six days a week. And the clothes... they look gorgeous. Timeless basics. The type I would never buy for myself because I can’t justify the initial investment when my bank account always dances close to zero. Shame fades to embarrassment, coloring my cheeks brighter. A uniform. For work. Of course. He’s not doing it because he likes me. He’s not doing it because we had some special connection at the Summer Ball. He’s not treating me like a charity case. He gave me a uniform to wear while I’m taking care of his kids. He was probably ashamed that the neighbors would see me in shoes a thread or two from falling apart and clothes I’ve had for a decade. I nod. “Right. Thank you.” He shrugs, returning his gaze to the folder in his hand. I stare at his bronzed, muscular flesh for a moment too long, then retreat back to my room to put the shoes back. When I come back out, I grab my coffee and slide into the chair across from his. My eyes snag on another file in front of him, eyes lighting up when I read the subtitle. “An exhaust filter which reduces emissions in combustion engines by up to eighty percent,” I read, eyebrows jumping. “What’s this?” I drag the r eport toward me, flipping through the pages before I stop myself. I jerk upright. “Oh. This is probably confidential. I’m sorry.” Emil waves a hand, eyes searching my face. “There aren’t any trade secrets in there. We run an internship program every year, and I’m reviewing the applications that won for this year. I’ll be meeting the students who wrote these papers today. They’ll start working on a summer project with our R&D d epartment.” Sipping my coffee, I nod and flip through the pages. “This is clever. Exhaust filters usually don’t work for nanoparticles, which tend to be more damaging to the environment and health than larger ones, but this kid seems to have an idea for a solution.” I flip over to the front. “Veronica Ramirez. I’d talk to her about this.” When I meet Emil’s gaze again, he’s frowning. “You know about air pollution? About particulate matter?” Face flushing, I close the r eport and swallow my bite of apple. “From another life.”
“Tell me.” “I used to work in the industry. I was working on an engine that was supposed to change the face of electric cars when I... quit.” Emil leans back in his chair, giving me an even better view of the expanse of gleaming golden skin stretched taut over his muscular frame. “Did you, now.” It sounds less like a question and more like musing, so I don’t answer. He tilts his head. “What else aren’t you telling me about yourself?” “I have a vast trove of secrets, Emil,” I say, rapping my knuckles on the table. “Can’t reveal them all at once. It would ruin the mystery.” With a tinny laugh covering up my discomfort, I put my empty mug in the dishwasher and retreat to the staff quarters, not taking a full breath until I’m behind a locked door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I left that life behind, but I can’t help being interested in the industry that owned my life from college until I ran away. Seeing those r eports was like reading one of my technobabble articles that Bonnie so loves to mock. Addictive, interesting, intellectually challenging. Sighing, I groan. I need to leave it all behind. Truly let that part of my life go, otherwise I’ll never be free.