Chapter 7 Marco
Marco
The conference room at Fiore Hospitality Group (FHG) HQ has floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the Flatiron.
The table could seat twelve but today it’s just the five of us.
Elena Park, my general counsel, sits to my right, her briefcase already open, documents arranged in that precise way of hers.
Rahul, my CFO, is on speakerphone from finance.
And Amara Khan, Jess’s attorney, sits across from Elena looking like she came prepared for war.
And then there’s Jess herself.
Jess.
She sits at the far end of the table, hair pulled back into some kind of knot thing that exposes the line of her neck.
Professional. Buttoned up. A fitted blazer that doesn’t quite hide the sexy curves underneath.
The kind of curves I remember gripping while she rode me.
She seems a far cry from the woman who came apart on my cock two nights ago, shaking and incoherent and so fucking responsive I can still feel her clenching around me.
Fuuuuuuuck.
Don’t go there.
I lean back in my chair and fold my hands on the table. Neutral. Controlled. This is business. Just business.
I need a nanny.
She needs work.
The fact that I can still taste her is irrelevant.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice even. “I appreciate you taking the time.”
Jess meets my eyes for exactly one second before looking down at her notebook. Her exposed throat works when she swallows. I watch it happen and think about how that neck felt under my mouth. How she tilted her head back to give me more access. How she...
Stop.
She’s nervous. Good. So am I, though I’d chew off my own hand before admitting it out loud.
“Before we start,” Jess says, voice steadier than I expected, “I have some non-negotiables.”
Elena’s eyebrow twitches. Barely noticeable unless you know her. I know her. She wasn’t expecting this.
Neither was I.
Then again, given the presence of Amara, perhaps I should have.
I gesture for Jess to continue. My pulse kicks up a notch but I keep my face blank.
“Live out only,” Jess says, reading from her notes. No hesitation. “I go home every night. My space stays mine.”
I nod. “Agreed.”
That was already in my draft contract. Elena and I spent two hours yesterday building a fortress of boundaries specifically designed to keep what happened between us from ever happening again. Hearing Jess say the same thing should be a relief.
It’s not.
It feels like loss.
“Debriefs in common areas only,” she continues. “Kitchen, mudroom, your office. Not bedrooms. Not your primary suite. And they end by nine p.m. unless it’s urgent. Otherwise we use a day log or text.”
“Sensible,” Elena murmurs, making a note.
I watch Jess’s fingers on her pen. She’s gripping it too tight.
White knuckles. When she shifts in her seat, the blazer pulls across her chest, highlighting those succulent breasts of hers, and I have to drag my eyes back to her face.
She’s trying so hard to be professional and yet all I can think about is peeling that blazer off her shoulders.
Watching those curves spill free. The weight of her breasts in my hands.
How her nipples peak when I suck them. How she whimpers and arches into my mouth begging for more.
Jesus Christ. Focus.
“No fraternization during employment,” Jess says, and her voice hitches just slightly on the word fraternization.
There it is.
The line in the sand.
No touching. No repeats. No nights where I forget I’m supposed to be grieving my wife.
“Agreed,” I say again. The word tastes like ash. But again, it’s already in our version of the contract. So why does it feel like a blow?
“Ninety day post term buffer if employment ends.” So even if she quits, I can’t touch her for ninety days? That seems... harsh.
She crosses her legs and I catch the movement in my peripheral vision. Those thighs. Soft and strong... they trembled when I pushed them wider.
Yes. Very harsh.
“Done,” I reply, though I’m dying inside.
Amara leans forward. “We also need clarity on intellectual property. Jess may pursue outside creative work. She retains all rights to any pre-existing or future works. Rest assured, there will be no kid content whatsoever. No faces, no interiors of the home or FHG spaces. No use of FHG marks without written permission.”
Smart. Protecting her lane if she rebuilds her brand. I respect that even as part of me wants to know what she’s planning. What she’s creating in that head of hers.
“Not a problem,” I tell Amara. “And I appreciate the privacy piece. Ben’s face doesn’t go online. Period.”
Jess looks up at that. Our eyes meet and hold.
Her pupils dilate slightly. Just a fraction.
But I see it. I see everything. The flush starting at her collarbone.
The way her lips part like she’s about to say something and then thinks better of it.
That mouth. Christ. That smart, sharp mouth that looked so fucking good stretched around my fingers, tasting herself.
That would look even better wrapped around my cock.
She looks away.
“Mutual NDA,” Amara continues. “With a morals clause limited to privacy and safety. It doesn’t bar lawful reporting or whistleblowing.”
Elena writes that down without comment but I can see the approval in the set of her shoulders. This is a good contract. Protective without being punitive. Jess came prepared.
I’m impressed.
I shouldn’t be.
It’s just a nanny contract.
Except it’s not.
It’s a treaty.
A framework for how we’re going to exist in proximity without combusting. How I’m going to see her every day and pretend I don’t remember the sounds she made. How she’s going to take care of my daughter and act like I didn’t walk away after making her cum four times.
“Exit clause,” Jess finishes. “If boundaries blur, either party can end employment immediately with two weeks’ pay and a neutral reference.”
“Two weeks is generous,” Rahul’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Standard is one.”
“Two is fine,” I cut in before Elena can negotiate. If Jess needs to bail because I fuck this up, she shouldn’t have to worry about money while she finds something else.
When she finds something else.
Because she will leave eventually. They all do. Matilda lasted eight months and that was a record.
Jess will last maybe six before she realizes working for me is soul crushing and Ben’s anxiety is a full time job and this whole situation is a disaster waiting to implode.
The thought sits in my chest like a stone.
Elena starts refining the language. She’s surgical about it, tightening phrases and adding qualifiers. “No meetings in bedrooms or the primary suite. After hours debriefs only in common areas with the door open and another adult on premises.”
Another adult on premises.
Translation: don’t be alone with her behind closed doors or you’ll do something stupid.
Fair.
Though the wily part of me wonders just how enforceable that clause will be...
“Kid content boundaries need teeth,” Elena continues, typing as she talks. “No images, video, or audio recordings of the minor. No posting about daily activities in a way that could identify location or routine. No use of the minor’s name or likeness for commercial purposes.”
Jess is nodding along. She gets it. Of course she gets it. She built a whole career on content and metrics and the algorithm. She knows exactly how invasive that world can be.
She leans forward to read something Elena’s pointing at and her blazer gapes just enough.
The shadow of cleavage. The edge of a bra.
Black lace maybe. My hands fist under the table.
I want to reach across and pull that blazer open and suckle those fucking gorgeous tits.
Want to see if she’s wearing the same black cotton bra from her apartment or if she upgraded for this meeting.
Want to find out if her panties match. Want to peel them off with my teeth and taste her until she forgets every word of this fucking contract.
“The IP carve out is broad enough,” Amara says, scanning the document Elena just pushed across the table. “Jess keeps ownership of anything she develops. If she creates curriculum or content as part of this role, that’s a separate discussion with separate compensation.”
“Agreed,” I say yet again.
I sound like a fucking robot.
But what else can I say? That I want her here not just because Ben needs stability but because I can’t stop thinking about her? That hiring her is the worst idea I’ve ever had and also the only one that makes sense?
That’s not going in the contract.
Elena prints two copies. Slides one to Jess, one to me. “Review and initial each page. Sign the last.”
I pick up the pen Elena provided and pretend to read every word, because I already know what it says.
Jess seems to be actually reading it, though.
She bites her lower lip while she scans the pages.
Worries it between her teeth. I remember that lip.
How it felt when she bit down on my shoulder to muffle her screams. How it would feel if she bit me again.
Harder this time. Leaving marks I’d have to hide but wouldn’t want to.
The room is silent except for the sound of pages turning and pens scribbling initials. Through the window I can see the city moving. Taxis and pedestrians and people living normal lives where they don’t have to negotiate contracts with the woman they slept with two nights ago.
Lucky bastards.
I reach the signature page and pause. I stared at the pen in my hand. It’s heavy. Expensive. The kind of pen that signs deals worth millions.
This one is worth more.
This one is Ben’s routine. Her sense of safety. The scaffolding that keeps her world from collapsing.
I sign my name. Marco Alessandro Fiore. The ink is dark against the white paper.