Chapter 6
Six
FRANCINE
Monday mornings have never felt this nerve-wracking. A week later, I’m driving to my new clients’ home, staring at the GPS on my phone.
My ancient car shudders every time I go over a pothole, and the heat barely works, so my breath comes out in little puffs on the glass. The snow stopped yesterday, and now it’s just a steady, gray rain, icy enough that the windshield wipers stutter over it.
I shouldn’t be this nervous.
I’ve nannied for plenty of rich packs before. Some of them even had full-time chefs and in-home gyms, but this job is different. Carmen said the Silverwood brothers were the most high-profile clients Tiny Paws has ever had.
Which means I can’t fuck this up.
The GPS says I’m five minutes away, but all I see is a forest of pines and birch, the kind of place you’d bury a body if you were so inclined.
I’m gripping the wheel tighter as I pull onto the private road, my tires crunching over gravel. Even the mailbox at the end of the road is fancy, with gold letters spelling out “Silverwood” in the front of it.
Then, after a curve and a small bridge over a pond, I see it- the Silverwood estate. It’s not a house. It’s a freaking mansion. There’s a golden security gate with a camera, and I have to stop and squint at the tiny button panel.
I roll down my window, as rain splatters into the car and some on my face. I quickly jab the gray button before I lose my nerve.
“Um, hello?” My voice comes out small and echoey in the drizzle. I immediately want to crawl under the seat and die.
No response comes from the intercom. Instead, the massive gates begin to swing open silently, like something out of a gothic horror movie. I roll my window back up with the manual crank, my teeth chattering slightly.
I drive through the gates, following the winding road as it curves through stands of ancient pines. After about half a mile, the trees give way, revealing their home.
The Silverwood mansion stretches before me, a sprawling stone structure that seems to go on forever. It’s at least three stories tall, with countless windows.
A circular driveway surrounds an elegant fountain, which leads to the grand entrance.
To the right of the mansion is a beautiful pond, partly frozen over, with several parking spaces nearby marked ‘guest.’ I pull into one of these spots, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place my beat-up Honda looks among the pristine surroundings.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, tucking a strand of red hair behind my ear and making sure my eyeliner isn’t smeared everywhere. I’ve worn my most professional outfit, black slacks and a dark green sweater that brings out my eyes, but I suddenly feel woefully underdressed.
“You’ve got this,” I tell my reflection, not believing any of my words. “You’re a professional nanny with three years of experience. You’re qualified. You belong here.”
I step out of the car, the cold air biting at my cheeks. My old black sneakers, which are the only comfortable shoes I own, make squelching noises on the wet pavement as I walk toward the entrance of the mansion.
The front door is massive, made of dark wood with intricate carvings that probably cost more than my entire apartment. Before I can even lift my hand to knock, it swings open silently.
It’s like they’ve been waiting for me.
Standing in the doorway is the most imposing alpha I’ve ever seen.
He’s really tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His black hair is cut in a severe undercut, and his ice-blue eyes seem to pierce right through me. A faint scar crosses his jaw, somehow making him even more intimidating.
“You must be from Tiny Paws,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. “I’m Kieran Silverwood.”
His scent hits me right away. He smells like fresh pine needles. It wraps around me, and to my horror, my body reacts instantly. Heat pools low in my belly, and I feel a trickle of slick between my thighs.
What the hell is happening to me? First Drake’s scent, and now Kieran? Am I turning into some kind of scent-whore?
“Yes, I’m the nanny,” I say, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel. “Francine.”
His eyes flick over me, assessing. “You look young to be a nanny.”
“I’m sure twenty-six is old enough,” I reply before I can stop myself. “Nearly thirty, actually.”
His eyebrows rise slightly in surprise at my quick retort, and his lips twitch into a smile. “You’re a funny omega, Francine.”
I feel heat creeping up my neck at his words. His pinecone scent is overwhelming, making it hard to think clearly.
“Please, come inside,” he says, stepping back to allow me in.
The floor is polished marble, the ceiling soars at least twenty feet above, and a crystal chandelier hangs in the center. My old sneakers squeak obscenely against the pristine floor, announcing my commonness with every step.
A man in a formal butler’s uniform appears from nowhere, extending his hands for my coat.
I shrug out of my bubble jacket, wincing as I notice the rip on the side where cotton stuffing is starting to poke through.
The butler takes it with the same expression he might use to handle radioactive waste, polite but cautious, and hangs it on a coat rack where it looks pathetically out of place next to what appears to be cashmere and wool.
“I’d like you to meet the family,” Kieran says, gesturing for me to follow him. “They’re all eager to meet Nora’s potential new nanny.”
We walk through several opulent rooms before entering what must be the living room, though it’s larger than my entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the pond, and the stone fireplace is big enough to roast a whole cow.
There are four people in the room: three men, and a little girl with curly brown hair who’s curled up in an armchair, reading a book.
I freeze.
Drake is there.
He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, one leg draped casually over the other, wearing dark jeans and a hoodie. His hair is messy, his eyes tired, but when he looks up and sees me, it’s like getting struck by lightning. My whole body goes rigid.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even blink. He just watches me silently, but I can see the surprise behind his eyes.
For a second, I imagine I’m back in my bedroom, writhing on the sheets, crying out his name as I come harder than I ever have in my life. The memory is so raw and vivid, I’m sure everyone in the room can see it on my face.
My cheeks burn.
The other two men stand as we enter. One is tall and lean, with chestnut-brown hair, glasses, and a calm, analytical gaze.
He’s wearing a crisp button-down and dark pants, looking every inch the intellectual alpha.
The other is massive, even taller than Kieran, with long dark hair pulled into a man bun, golden-brown eyes, and arms covered in black ink.
He looks like the bouncer at a really exclusive nightclub, but his posture is oddly gentle, hands folded in front of him.
The little girl doesn’t even look up from her book.
Kieran clears his throat. “Gentlemen, this is Francine. She’ll be our new nanny.”
I can feel their gazes on me, hot and assessing. The one with the glasses gives me a polite smile. The tattooed one just nods, his eyes lingering a little too long on my face.
“I thought nannies were supposed to be old,” he growls, and I blush.
“Hi,” I say, feeling out of place here.
The girl finally puts her book down. “Are you my new babysitter?”
Her voice is small but confident. I kneel to her level, careful not to get too close.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m Francine. What’s your name?”
She sighs, like she’s had to answer this question a thousand times. “Nora. I’m eight. That’s Drake, Rowan, and Elias.” She points at each brother in turn, then holds up her book. “Have you ever read The Wolf of Rue Morgue?”
I nod. “I loved that one when I was your age. Isn’t there a secret code hidden in the chapter titles?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes! Nobody else ever notices. Did you find all the clues?”
I grin. “I think I found most of them. But you’ll have to tell me if I missed any.”
Nora beams at me, and for the first time since I arrived, I feel something loosen in my chest.
The one with the glasses, Elias, stands and extends a hand. His grip is warm, firm, and he holds my gaze just a moment longer than necessary.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Francine,” he says. His voice is smooth, almost hypnotic. “We’ve heard good things from your agency.”
Rowan, the tattooed giant, nods and offers a handshake as well. His hand dwarfs mine, but he’s gentle, as if afraid he’ll crush my fingers.
“Hey,” he says, voice so deep it rumbles in my bones.
Drake is the last to stand. He moves with a lazy grace, as if he’s got all the time in the world. He takes my hand, his palm warm and rough.
“Drake,” he says, acting like he doesn’t know me. For a second, I think he’s going to say something about what happened, about the night he broke into my apartment and held me while I cried in my sleep.
But he just nods, lets go of my hand, and sits back down. Like I’m a stranger.
It stings more than I want to admit.
“How do you like the tea?” asks Kieran, watching me as I take a sip while we’re sitting in their home library.
The library takes up the entire west wing, with a domed glass ceiling and dark-wood shelves that stretch up three stories.
“I love it,” I say. The tea is incredibly tart but sweet. I take small sips, hoping the caffeine will wake me up and the sugar will keep me from passing out. The silence is weirdly intimate. I perch on the edge of a velvet chair, hands folded tight in my lap. “Your home is beautiful.”
Kieran leans back, fingers steepled under his chin. “Thank you. I’m lucky to have inherited a good business. Real estate’s been in my family for generations.”
I nod, unsure what to say. The longer I sit here, the more out of place I feel. The cup rattles slightly in my hands.
He watches me, eyes narrowed. “You’re nervous.”
“Is it that obvious?” I try to laugh, but it comes out as a squeak. “I guess I’m not used to…all of this.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he says, not unkindly.
He sets his cup down, stands, and walks to the window.
He stands there for a long moment, staring out at the rain streaking down the glass.
When he turns back, his whole demeanor shifts.
He suddenly seems colder and more distant, like he doesn’t trust me. “Let’s talk about your schedule.”
The sudden change catches me off guard. “Um, sure. What days do you need me?”
His eyes flicker down my body, lingering on my chest. I feel my face flush, and I cross my arms, suddenly very aware of how thin my sweater is.
“Every day,” he says softly. “Monday to Friday, seven a.m. to seven p.m. Nora needs help getting ready for school, and she needs someone here when she gets back. Sometimes she has nightmares at night, so overnights may be necessary. Is that a problem?”
My mouth goes dry. “I can do that.”
“You’d live here during the week then,” Kieran continues, his tone clipped and professional. “Weekends off, unless we need you. Is that acceptable?”
I nod, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yes. That’s…actually perfect.”
He studies me for a moment, as if weighing the truth of my answer. “You don’t like your current living situation.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer. I just look at the fire, letting the heat lick at my cheeks.
“There’s a guest suite on the second floor. You can see it if you’d like,” he continues.
My legs are shaky as I stand.
Kieran gestures for me to follow, and I do, trailing him through the maze of halls and up a grand staircase. The carpet is thick enough to swallow my sneakers, and the walls are lined with more paintings—wolves, forests, and the occasional family portrait. The air smells like pine and old books.
The guest suite is enormous.
It has a king-sized bed with a velvet headboard, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom bigger than my childhood bedroom. Everything is immaculate- white sheets, plush towels, little bottles of shampoo that look like they belong in a spa.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, turning a slow circle. The windows overlook the pond, and I can see the rain pelting the water in perfect little circles.
“If you need anything, let the staff know,” Kieran says. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, blocking the hall. “When can you move in?”
“I’ll need to pack,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nods, satisfied. “So, tonight then. Drake will accompany you. For safety.”
A jolt runs through me at Drake’s name. “That’s not necessary. I can handle myself.”
“It’s absolutely no trouble,” he says, turning his head towards the door. “Drake!”
A few seconds later, Drake appears. He doesn’t look at me. He looks at Kieran.
“You called?”
“Francine needs to pack her things. You’ll take her.” Kieran’s words are clipped, final. His eyes flick to mine, holding my gaze for a long moment. “We take security very seriously here. You’ll always have protection while you’re in our employ.”
The way he says it makes my skin tingle. Drake nods, then turns to me, the green of his eyes almost glowing in the hallway light.
“Shall we?” he says, voice low and smooth.
I nod, unable to speak, and follow him down the stairs. My hands shake as I grab my jacket from the butler, who looks at me like he’s already forgotten I exist.
We walk outside together, rain still falling in icy sheets.
The limo is waiting at the curb, its back door already open.
Drake slides in first, and I follow, the leather seats swallowing me up.
I stare straight ahead, wondering what the hell I got myself into and panicking inside as I sit across from him.