Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
AUbrEY
Itap my fingers against the steering wheel as I merge onto the interstate toward Manhattan, the GPS informing me I still have another forty-three minutes before I reach Dean Ledger’s building.
Forty-three minutes to convince myself this is simply a job interview—nothing more.
I let out a nervous laugh.
Who am I kidding? When my dad first mentioned Dean’s name yesterday afternoon, I nearly spit sparkling water all over the dinner table.
Not because I expected to hear from the Ledgers after all these years, but because I’d spent the better part of my teenage years trying very hard not to make it painfully obvious I had the biggest crush on their son.
A very unsuccessful attempt, according to my older brother, Noah.
Noah would make fun of me all the time once we were alone.
He told me I needed to learn to keep my drool inside of my mouth because I looked like someone who had gotten one too many shots of Novocain.
My brain trails back to when I was fifteen.
“Dean’s here,” he’d announce every time one of those expensive sports cars Dean seemed to trade in every other year pulled into the Ledgers’ driveway.
I’d immediately pretend I couldn’t care less. “Oh. Cool.”
Then I’d spend the next twenty minutes changing my outfit, not that it mattered. Dean was twelve years older than me.
When I turned fifteen, he had already built his software company that would eventually make him one of the youngest billionaires in New York. He’d gone from being the cool, older neighbor to the guy whose face occasionally showed up in the business magazines that sat on my dad’s coffee table.
Meanwhile, I was just Noah’s annoying little sister who always seemed to be hanging around.
When I look back, it’s almost painful how obvious my crush was.
Fortunately, Dean never seemed to notice. Or maybe he was just kind enough to pretend he didn’t.
My GPS announces I’ve reached my destination just as I turn onto a quiet street lined with luxury high-rises. The building in front of me looks more like a five-star hotel than someone’s home, all gleaming glass, polished stone, and a doorman standing beneath an oversize awning.
Definitely not the kind of place a girl driving a ten-year-old Toyota Camry pulls up to every day.
I ease my car to the curb and leave it running before climbing out.
The doorman steps toward me with a practiced smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Hi.” I offer an awkward wave. “I’m here to see Dean Ledger.”
His expression immediately brightens. “Of course. I’ll take your vehicle. Just let the concierge know when you’re ready, and we’ll have it brought around.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Okay. Thank you.”
As the revolving doors spin in front of me, I stop for the briefest second and draw in a slow breath.
You can do this, Aubrey. It’s just an interview. You’re not fifteen anymore.
And Dean Ledger is definitely not the center of your teenage fantasies.
I square my shoulders and step inside.
After all … he’s only New York City’s most eligible bachelor.
No pressure.
The concierge ushers me to a private elevator with gold doors in the corner of the room. I walk inside and notice the only button has a capital P.
Right, of course he has the penthouse.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my black pants as the elevator slows to a stop before the doors slide open.
I take one confident step forward … and immediately stop.
“Oh.”
There’s no hallway. No door with an apartment number.
Nope, I’ve just walked straight into Dean Ledger’s penthouse.
My eyes dart around the expansive foyer, taking in the polished hardwood floors, the breathtaking view of Manhattan through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and then … a baby swing with a Pack ’n Play next to it.
Tiny pink socks lie abandoned beside a cream-colored couch.
The place is every bit as luxurious as I imagined, yet somehow … lived in.
“Aubrey?” a man’s voice calls from farther into the room.
I take several steps toward the familiar voice until the entire family room comes into view.
“Mr. Ledger,” I reply softly.
Mr. Ledger smiles warmly as he walks over, pulling me into a quick hug before I can overthink it.
His warm eyes hold mine. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” I say through a small smile.
“I appreciate you coming down to meet Dean.”
“I’m happy to.”
Before either of us can say another word, a bedroom door farther down the hall opens.
“I finally got—” The rest of Dean’s sentence dies the second he sees me.
So does my ability to form coherent thoughts.
He’s barefoot while gray sweatpants hang low on his hips. He’s holding a navy T-shirt in one hand while the other absent-mindedly rubs the back of his neck.
His chest is broad, lean muscle stretching across shoulders that somehow seem even wider than I remember. He seems so … domestic, standing in front of me in just sweatpants.
My fifteen-year-old self would’ve passed out.
Twenty-two-year-old me isn’t doing much better.
Dean glances down at himself. “Oh.” He lifts the shirt in his hand. “I was, uh …” He looks at his dad. “Liana spit up on me. Just needed to change my shirt.”
“Clearly,” Mr. Ledger says, failing miserably to hide his grin.
Heat floods my cheeks. “I-I can wait.”
Brilliant, Aubrey. Real articulate.
Dean runs a hand through his already-messy hair, looking more flustered than embarrassed. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company quite this fast.”
“No,” I blurt. “I mean … yes. I mean …” Please stop talking. “I just got here.”
His mouth twitches into the smallest hint of a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
As he disappears into the bedroom, I let out the breath I was apparently holding.
Mr. Ledger chuckles beside me. “Nervous?”
I tear my eyes away from the hallway. “What? No.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve known you since you were little, Aubrey.”
I groan softly. “Was it that obvious?”
“Only to everyone except Dean.”
Well, that’s a relief.
“Don’t be nervous. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” he says as he leans in. “He’s desperate, and he hasn’t slept in a week. You’ve got nothin’ to be nervous about. You could walk in here, wearing a clown suit, and I don’t think he’d notice.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “I somehow doubt that.”
Mr. Ledger grins. “Trust me. You’re walking into survival mode, not a job interview.”
As if on cue, Dean steps back into the room.
This time, he’s wearing the navy T-shirt, and cradled effortlessly against his chest is the tiniest little girl I’ve ever seen. She’s dressed in a pale pink sleeper; one chubby fist curled beneath her chin as she sleeps peacefully against him.
My gaze shifts from Dean to Mr. Ledger.
The pride on his face is impossible to miss. His eyes soften, the corners crinkling as he watches his son carry his granddaughter across the room. It’s the kind of look that doesn’t need words.
Love—pure and uncomplicated.
From what my parents told me, Dean had no idea Liana existed until last week. One phone call changed everything, and now he’s doing his best to figure out fatherhood while somehow running one of the biggest tech companies in the world.
I don’t know much beyond that. Only that he’s overwhelmed and desperate enough to interview a twenty-two-year-old who’s been striking out in the job market.
As Dean gently brushes a thumb across Liana’s tiny back without even realizing he’s doing it, something in my chest softens.
I barely remember Mrs. Ledger. I was only three when she died, but growing up, I heard enough stories to know how deeply her loss affected this family.
Watching Mr. Ledger look at his granddaughter now … I can’t help wondering if this little girl feels like a piece of joy they never expected to find again.
Dean crosses the room, stopping beside his dad. “Think you can hold her for a few minutes?” he asks.
Mr. Ledger’s face lights up as if he’s been waiting all afternoon for those words. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Dean carefully transfers Liana into his father’s arms, one hand lingering beneath her tiny body until he’s certain she’s settled. Even after only a week, it’s obvious that handing her to someone else doesn’t come naturally.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, his gaze lingering on his daughter for another second.
Then his blue eyes meet mine. “This way.”
I follow him down a hallway and into a home office nearly as big as my parents’ entire first floor.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall while massive windows frame the Manhattan skyline.
A sleek wooden desk sits in the middle of the room, though it looks nothing like I’d expect from someone as successful as Dean.
A stack of parenting books sits beside an open laptop while an empty baby bottle rests on a coaster. A burp cloth hangs over the back of his desk chair.
He catches me looking and lets out a quiet breath. “I’ve stopped pretending I have my life together.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “I appreciate the honesty.”
“It seemed easier than faking it at this point.” He gestures toward one of the leather chairs. “Have a seat.”
I smooth my blouse before sitting down and folding my hands together in my lap so he doesn’t notice how badly I want to fidget.
Dean remains standing for a moment, staring out the window, as if gathering his thoughts. Finally, he circles the desk and lowers himself into the chair across from me.
“I’ll be honest.” He rests his forearms on the desk, his fingers loosely intertwined. “This isn’t how I expected to hire a nanny.”
“I’ll be honest too.”
One corner of his mouth lifts.
“I didn’t expect to interview to become one.”
The hint of a smile that appeared is gone almost as quickly as it came.
“So”—he studies me for a long moment— “why are you here?”
The question catches me off guard. “My dad asked if I’d meet with you.”
Dean slowly shakes his head. “That’s not what I asked.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“I …” I look down for a second before forcing myself to meet his eyes again. “I need a job.”
“Any job?” His tone isn’t judgmental, but definitely curious.
“No.” I straighten in my chair. “I need an opportunity.”
He leans back slightly, waiting for me to continue.
“I spent four years earning a degree. I fully intend to build a career with it.” I shrug. “But until someone gives me that chance … I still have bills to pay.”
“So, this is temporary.”
I nod. “Yes.”
His eyes remain on mine for another beat before he gives a slow nod of his own. “Thank you for being forthcoming.”
Silence settles between us and I try not to show just how nervous I feel.
He clears his throat. “My daughter is two months old.”
“My father told me.”
“I found out she existed eight days ago,” he says so matter-of-factly, but I can hear the exhaustion hiding underneath.
The words hang in the air.
He continues, “I’m not looking for someone to entertain a toddler. I’m looking for someone to help me keep a tiny human alive while I figure out how to be her father.”
The vulnerability in that admission surprises me. This isn’t the confident billionaire I built up in my head all these years. This is a man who’s scared.
“I can’t promise I’ll know every answer,” I say quietly. “But I can promise I won’t pretend to.”
His expression doesn’t change, though something in his eyes softens.
“I’ve taken care of babies before. I know routines. I know bottles and diapers and nap schedules.” I smile a little. “More importantly … I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed.”
His brow furrows.
“My parents weren’t rich. If someone needed help, everyone pitched in. I spent years babysitting because families trusted me with the people they loved most.” I glance toward the hallway, where Steven, Dean’s father, is quietly bouncing Liana. “I don’t take that kind of trust lightly.”
Dean follows my gaze before looking back at me. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. He simply watches me, as if trying to decide whether to believe me.
Finally, he exhales. “When my dad first mentioned you”—a small, almost-embarrassed smile crosses his face— “all I could picture was Noah’s little sister.”
I laugh. “I get that a lot.”
“But you’re not fifteen anymore.”
“No.” I smile. “No, I’m not.”
Another silence settles between us. This one feels different. It feels lighter, like something has shifted.
Dean drums his fingers once against the desk before making up his mind.
“If I offered you the job”—his voice is careful now— “would you be willing to move in?”
I bite my lip. Even the thought of living with this man has my face feeling flushed. “I can do that.”
“I need someone here.” His eyes flick briefly toward the office door, where the faint sound of Liana cooing reaches us. “Frieda leaves Friday.”
Five days. My heart starts pounding.
“I’d need to pack some things, but”—I nod— “yes.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Then I’d like you to start Monday.”
For a second, I just stare at him. No second interview or references. No promises to call me after interviewing other candidates.
“You’re … hiring me?”
“I am.”
The smile that spreads across my face is impossible to contain.
For the first time since I graduated college, it feels like someone is finally willing to take a chance on me.