Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
preston
Is April pranking me? Did she really send a child to look after my daughter?
I blink rapidly, hoping my eyesight will readjust and show me a nice old lady, someone with at least a generation under her belt of experience raising children.
It’s no use. This Mia kid prances in front of me, pulling a suitcase behind her.
I don’t think this girl is done being raised herself, for fuck’s sake.
This is a painful reminder that no matter how bright and talented my protégé is, she is just twenty-four years old, and the girl who just entered my house might be even younger.
When April said she had the perfect person to come help me with Lily, the only question I asked was, “Do you trust her?”
That seemed more than enough at the time.
Now, I regret not asking for a full resume, a list of references, and…
well, a fucking photograph too. Aren’t nannies supposed to be old and unattractive?
Not that I’d be interested in this woman—or in any other woman, for that matter—after my pregnant wife up and left me with what I thought was my second child.
My mistake. It was her lover’s. Silly me.
Left me and our daughter Lily behind. A kid too smart to believe her mom is still on vacation, but way too sensitive to go through this unscathed.
For the first few weeks, I drowned reality in liquor. I couldn’t deal with my failure. People had always defined me as successful, and now? Now I didn’t know who I was anymore. I couldn’t make peace with how blind I must have been to miss all the signs.
Facing my shortcomings hurt too much, so I numbed that pain with alcohol. Dug a hole for myself and stayed there, feeling sorry for my stupid self.
Eventually, I delegated raising my daughter to my neighbor. Called in sick at work. Canceled surgeries.
I only asked for help when said neighbor broke into my house after I didn’t call to check on my daughter for two days straight and found me passed out next to a pool of my own vomit.
Luckily, we’ve known each other long enough for her to know that particular, very low moment in my life didn’t define me. But she still threatened to call Child Protective Services if I didn’t clean up my act fast.
That was the day I called April and begged her to come back home.
It should’ve pained me to rob her of an incredible work opportunity in London.
But I was past feeling anything. No guilt, remorse, or shame.
I was a walking corpse, stripped down to function.
Even in that dark hole, I knew I only had two things left in my life that mattered, and I’d lose the most important one if I didn’t reach out for help.
But if I was gonna take time off work and earn being called Dad by my amazing daughter, I was gonna need April back here to take over for me. There’s no one else I’d trust to hold my position as head of orthopedics.
So it was only natural I also trusted her when she said she found the right person, someone she knew personally, who would be a great fit for us.
Turns out, no woman can be trusted.
Because Mia doesn’t look right at all. The second I laid eyes on her, I knew it—she’s going to bring trouble into my life. The knock-you-off-axis kind that turns rational thought into wishful thinking.
She’s a walking, talking red flag. If, of course, flags had a pair of thick legs and an ass that’s putting those pants to the test. Jesus Christ, I’m staring, and that’s not right.
Preston, have some decency and stop checking her out.
She commands the room as she steps into my house, or maybe it’s just my brain misfiring in her wake.
Her curves fill tailored burned-orange pants, the matching jacket doing nothing to hide the temptation beneath.
Her skin glows with that warm flush that makes her look fresh off a beach shoot—not out of a flight from gray and rainy London.
Her wide hips sway in a rhythm that could drive a man to madness if he looks too long. God help me, because I do.
Her hair is a mass of dark curls, wild in that ‘accidental sex hair’ kind of way. And her face—Jesus—those full lips curve, amused, in on a joke I’m too disturbed to get.
Mia’s a head smaller than me, far from dainty. She’s feminine, but not delicate. Her smile is shy, but her presence is loud. A walking contradiction, I have no business deciphering.
She’s your employee. Forbidden fruit. Eyes up, Jett.
I'm not one to waste time on things I can’t control, but now I’m questioning everything I’ve just signed up for.
She walks past me, only to come to a sudden halt, and pivots, her long curls slapping me right in the face. I flinch, both at the whip and the scent that assaults my nostrils—citrus and honey—something that could burn and heal in the same breath. It feels like a warning.
“My bags,” she yelps. She’s clumsily trying to carry another two up the steps by the time I shake off the paralyzing effects of the smell of her shampoo.
“Here, let me help you,” I offer, remembering my manners, and have her suitcases inside my house before she finds her next footing on the steps.
“Sorry about the mess.” I pull a cloth from my back pocket to dry my hands, but the thing is so damp, it’s not much help. “I thought I could handle fixing my bathroom. Funny thing is, as a plumber, I’m a great surgeon.”
It’s a joke. A bad one, but I’m a dad, so I’m allowed those. I get nothing from her. Nada. When I opened the door, Mia was all sunshine and smiles. The minute I introduced myself, she turned somber and uncomfortable.
Is she that disappointed with me? At first sight? Wow, that’s a new low, Jett. You’ve really let yourself go, old man.
I don’t care; I lie to placate my shattered ego. She’s the new nanny, here to take care of the house and my kid. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me.
The silence is so thick I have to sidestep it, like clutter in a cramped room.
“Lily is at her grandparents’. She’ll be back on Sunday,” I say after she’s swayed back and forth on the balls of her feet long enough to give me motion sickness.
“Let me give you a tour of the house and then you can settle in.”
She just nods.
I may live in a meticulously decorated 4,000-square-foot home, but I have a feeling it’s about to get pretty claustrophobic living under the same roof with this woman.
My career thrived on following my instincts, and my gut is telling me this is a bad idea. Is it too late to send her back to London? Because I already regret this arrangement.
I’m a practical man. She hasn’t unpacked. This would certainly be the best time for it.
But I'm also reasonable and know beggars can’t be choosers. Lily will be back in a couple of days, and I need help. A lot of help. I hate it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. If April trusts Mia, then I’ll have to trust her too.
The clock is ticking, and I need to go back to a very demanding, very time-consuming job, and I need to figure out how to do that and be here for my kid too.
I also need to prove to two very obnoxious friends that I’m not a drunk who needs a babysitter myself.
Oh, fuck. All that alcohol must’ve killed my brain cells because I’m only now realizing why April picked a friend of hers to look after my daughter. Mia’s here to keep an eye on me too. I glance back and glare at the new nanny.
My skin prickles with outrage. How could I be so stupid? Well, to be fair, I’m on a roll. And now I’m welcoming a damn spy into my own house. It takes all I have to keep moving forward instead of turning around and tossing her bags out on the street.
How the hell did I let things get this far? I used to have everything under control—my marriage, my career, my daughter’s future. Now? I’m outsourcing parenting to someone who looks way too young for the job, and worse, I’m handing her a backstage pass to watch me fall apart if I fail.
I park her bags near the sofa and exhale a gulf of fire through my nose before mustering the bare minimum of politeness to address her. “It’s a three-story house. Four, if you count the basement.”
She nods again, fidgeting with her hands, but she doesn’t reply. Good. I’m not in the mood to chat either. “Here’s the living room. Kitchen’s in the back, dining room to the right.” I point to the rooms like a fucking steward who doesn’t care if the plane is about to crash.
“Your room is on the second floor. So is Lily’s, along with the bathroom we’ll all have to share for the foreseeable future. It’s an old house with only two full bathrooms, and I just fucked up mine.”
I glance down at my soaked clothes, feeling stupider by the minute. “Third floor is my room and said fucked-up bathroom.”
She squints, her mouth curling into a shy grin. Riiiight. She won’t laugh at my jokes but finds my misery amusing. Noted.
“And the basement?” she asks, her voice feminine and curious.
“It used to be my wife's yoga studio.” The mention of her stretches the edges of my mouth down, but I pull them back. I refuse to give that woman any more power over me. “But I turned it into a gym you’re welcome to use. And a library.”
Her eyebrows rise at the word library, and this time, she makes no effort to hide a full-blown smile.
“Thank you,” she adds, her chest expanding with a thrilled inhale—drawing my attention where it has no business going.
It’s my turn to nod before turning away. I grab the heaviest suitcases and signal for her to follow. I lead her to her bedroom, the carpeted stairs muffling my angry steps on the way up.
Opening the door for her, I catch the quiet wow that leaves Mia’s lips. She seems more than pleased with what she sees.
The room has massive windows overlooking the back garden, a super-king bed, fresh flowers and a candle April left as a welcome on the bedside table. There’s also an office desk, a decent-sized closet, and one of my favorite spots in the house—a hammock swing chair.
That’s my reading chair, and I’m going to miss the hell out of it. But moving it made no sense; Mia won’t be here long anyway. Good, I tell myself. Less time to stare. Fewer opportunities to slip.
“I better get back to fixing my bathroom. Do you need anything else?”
“Just sleep. This is…” Her eyes scan the room with awe. “Perfect. Thanks.”
I grunt a goodbye and head upstairs, eager to put space between us.
I keep telling myself it’s fine. She’s just a nanny. A guest. It’s all temporary.
I’m not a man who gets distracted easily, but I can’t shake the way Mia’s smile lit up when I mentioned the library.
It’s more than just another room in the house; it’s my new favorite part.
There’s something about it… and something about her…
I can't quite put my finger on it, and I sure as hell don’t want to.
I grab my hammer, and my knuckles blanch.
Time to focus on fixing things—not on things I can’t afford to break.
Be a dad first. Doctor second. And whatever she is? Off-limits by about a decade and a half.