Chapter 1 #2
me—he smells like expensive cologne and something darker,
more dangerous. Like trouble wrapped in a very pretty package.
His office is exactly what I expected—all dark wood and
leather, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a massive desk.
Everything screams wealth and power, designed to make
visitors feel small.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.
"I'm not a golden retriever," I reply sweetly, but I sit
anyway. No point in being combative when I need this job
more than I need my pride.
He settles behind his desk, and I notice his hands—long
fingers that drum restlessly against the leather surface.
Musician's hands, I realize. The agency mentioned he used to
be in a band.
"I don't do small talk, Miss Brooks," he begins, pulling
out a thick folder. "Emma needs consistency, not another
temporary fix who'll disappear when things get complicated."
"I'm not planning on disappearing," I say, even though
we both know plans don't mean shit when life decides to fuck
you over.
"The last three nannies said the same thing." His tone is
flat, matter-of-fact. "Emma's pediatrician says she has
abandonment issues. She doesn't need another woman walking
out of her life."
Ouch. Direct hit to the emotional solar plexus. But I can
see the pain behind his words, the way his jaw tightens when he
talks about Emma's struggles. Despite his asshole exterior, he
genuinely cares about his daughter.
"Mr. Kane, I understand you're protective of your
daughter. That's admirable. But maybe the problem isn't
Emma's abandonment issues—maybe it's that you're hiring the
wrong people."
His eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, what kind of person tries to change a six-year-
old's creative space? Who forces quinoa on a kid? Did you
actually interview these women, or just hire based on résumés?"
"I don't need parenting advice from someone who's
been here five minutes," he says, his voice dropping to a
dangerous whisper.
Arrogant bastard. Just because he's rich and looks like
the Devil's hotter, better-dressed brother doesn't mean he gets
to treat me like some incompetent peasant who stumbled in off
the street.
"You're right," I agree, leaning forward. "You don't need
advice. You need someone who actually gives a damn about
Emma as a person, not just as a job."
"And you think you're that person?"
"I think I'm willing to try harder than your previous
hires, who apparently treated your daughter like an
Inconvenience."
He studies me for a long moment, and I force myself to
hold his gaze. Those blue eyes are doing things to my
concentration that should be illegal. God, he's probably used to
women melting into puddles at his feet.
"Emma's routine is sacred," he finally says. "Breakfast at
seven, creative time until nine, educational activities until
lunch. Outdoor play from two to four, quiet time until dinner.
Bath at seven-thirty, bedtime at eight."
"That's... very structured."
"Structure is what she needs."
"What about spontaneity? Fun? Being a kid?"
21"Fun is what leads to chaos. Chaos is what leads to..." He
stops himself, jaw clenching.
"To what?"
"To people getting hurt."
Good god, the dramatics. What is he, some kind of
control-freak billionaire who thinks he can micromanage the
universe? That poor kid must feel like she's living in a beautiful
Prison.
"Mr. Kane," I say, fighting to keep my voice level, "I
understand you want to protect Emma. But maybe the
problem isn't chaos—maybe it's that you're suffocating her
with all these rules."
His hands are still on the desk, and for a moment, I think
he's going to throw me out. Good. Let him. I'd rather be broke
than work for someone who treats his daughter like a project to
be managed.
Instead, he asks quietly, "Why do you want this job?"
The honest answer? Because I'm broke, desperate, and
running out of options. But looking at this arrogant asshole
who probably thinks money solves everything, I find myself
getting pissed off enough to tell him exactly what I think.
"Because Emma deserves someone who sees her for who
she is, not who you're trying to control her into being. And
because you both look like you could use someone who isn't
afraid to tell Mr. Perfect that his shit stinks just like everyone
Else's."
He leans back in his chair, and I swear I see the ghost of
a smirk. Probably thinking about how he can crush me like a
Bug.
"You're very direct, Miss Brooks."
"I prefer honest. Life's too short for kissing rich men's
Asses."
Now he definitely almost smiles. Bastard probably gets
off on the power plays.
"Indeed." He closes the folder. "The position pays well.
Very well. But it requires complete discretion. No social media
posts, no discussing our family with outsiders, no bringing
personal drama into this house."
Personal drama. If only he knew. But of course, His
Royal Highness probably thinks poor people's problems are
Contagious.
"Understood."
"There's also the matter of your references. Your
previous employer gave you a glowing recommendation, but
when I tried to verify your employment history, I found some...
Gaps."
My stomach drops. Shit. I knew this was coming, but I'd
hoped—
"I can explain?—"
"I don't need explanations. I need honesty. If you're
going to work for me, I need to know you won't disappear the
moment things get difficult."
I look at him—really look—and see nothing but cold
calculation. This man doesn't give a damn about me or anyone
else. He just wants to make sure his precious routine isn't
disrupted by another inconvenient human being.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say, meaning it more than
I've meant anything in years.
"Here's what's going to happen," he says, leaning back in
his chair. "You'll work for a week. Trial period. I'll evaluate how
you handle Emma's routine, her needs, her... challenges. If you
prove you can actually do this job without making everything
worse, then we'll discuss a permanent position."
"And if I don't meet your impossibly high standards?"
"Then you'll leave like the others, and I'll find someone
else who can handle the reality of working for me."
The arrogance is staggering, but I need this job more
than I need my pride. "Fine. One week trial period. But I want
it on record that I'm not planning to fail."
"Noted." He closes the folder. "You start now. Rosa will
show you to your room, and Emma will be expecting her
dinner routine at six. Don't deviate from her schedule."
"Understood."
"And Miss Brooks? Emma's already lost everyone who
mattered to her. If you're going to leave, do it now before she
gets attached. Don't make me explain to her why another
person she cares about decided to abandon her."
The silence stretches between us.
I turn back to face him, seeing the cold command in his
eyes.
"I won't," I promise, even though promises to arrogant
billionaires are dangerous things.
As I head downstairs, I can't shake the feeling that I've
just signed up for way more than a nanny position. Jaxon Kane
is dangerous—not because he's cruel, but because he's gorgeous
enough to make women forget he's a controlling asshole who
probably thinks emotions are a sign of weakness.
And Emma? She's already stolen a piece of my heart.
God help me, I'm working for the Devil's hotter, richer
brother, and I'm in so much trouble it's not even funny.
Actually, scratch that. It's hilarious. In the same way that
watching someone walk into a glass door is hilarious—painful,
but undeniably entertaining.
I'm so screwed.