Chapter 2 - Annie
My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel of my beat-up Honda Civic. I just interviewed with the most intimidating man I've ever met, and somehow, miraculously, got the job.
Raphael Conti. Even his name sounds dangerous.
When the nanny agency called with an "urgent placement opportunity" for a "special client," I expected a celebrity or maybe a divorced executive with boundary issues. Not a walking fantasy with eyes that could strip you bare and a body that belongs on the cover of a romance novel.
"Get it together, Annie," I mutter to myself as I navigate through the upscale neighborhood. His house is modest compared to some of the mansions on the street, but still far nicer than anywhere I've ever lived. "He's just a single dad who needs help with his son."
A single dad who stands at least 6'6", with shoulders that fill doorframes and tattoos creeping up muscular forearms. A single dad whose eyes darken when he's assessing whether you're a threat. A single dad who clearly does something dangerous for a living.
I pull over at a coffee shop a few blocks away, needing a moment to collect myself before driving home. The air conditioning hits my flushed face as I step inside.
"Just breathe," I whisper, joining the short line.
I need to be professional about this. Marco is adorable and clearly needs stability. Raphael, whatever he does for work, obviously cares deeply for his son. That's all that matters.
But as I order my iced coffee, I can't stop thinking about the way Raphael looked at me when he thought I wasn't noticing. Like he was hungry. Like I was something he wanted to devour.
No man has ever looked at me that way before. Most either see my curves and make crude comments or dismiss me entirely as too young, too naive. Raphael looked at me like a man who knows exactly what he wants but has decided he can't have it.
The barista calls my name, breaking my reverie. As I take my drink and head back to my car, my phone rings. It's Mom.
"How did it go, honey?" Her voice is tired but hopeful. Since Dad died, she's been working double shifts at the hospital, and I know she feels guilty that I'm working instead of just focusing on school.
"I got it," I tell her, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "It pays really well, Mom. Like, really well. I can cut back on my weekend waitressing hours."
"That's wonderful! Tell me about the family."
I slide into my car, considering how much to share. "Single dad, one little boy who's five. The dad has... unusual work hours, which is why the pay is so good."
"What kind of work does he do?" Mom asks, always perceptive.
"He didn't say, and the agency made it clear that part of the job is not asking questions." I chew my lip. "But Mom, the little boy is so sweet. And they really need help."
There's a pause on the line. "Annie, be careful. That sounds..."
"Like Dad's work, I know." My father's undercover operations shaped my childhood. The secrecy, the unexplained absences, the nights wondering if he'd come home. "I can handle it."
"I know you can, sweetheart. You're stronger than I was at your age." Her voice softens. "Just remember what your father always said—"
"Trust your instincts," I finish for her. "I will, Mom. I promise."
After we hang up, I sit in my car for a long moment, thinking about Raphael Conti and his intense dark eyes.
Every instinct I have tells me there's danger there, but not the kind that threatens me physically.
The danger is in how easily I could fall for a man like him.
A man who's clearly off-limits in every possible way.
"Professional boundaries," I remind myself firmly. "He's your employer, he's older, and he's... complicated."
But as I drive home to our small apartment on the edge of the city, I can't stop thinking about tomorrow morning, when I'll walk back into that house and see him again.
Next Day
I'm at Raphael's door at exactly 6:25 AM, determined to make a good impression.
I've dressed in dark jeans and a simple blouse that's professional but allows for movement.
Perfect for chasing after a five-year-old.
My short hair is neatly styled, and I've applied just enough makeup to look put-together without seeming like I'm trying too hard.
When the door swings open, I nearly swallow my tongue.
Raphael stands there in nothing but low-hanging sweatpants, his chest and abs fully exposed and gleaming with sweat. A towel hangs around his neck, and his dark hair is damp at the temples.
"Morning workout," he explains, stepping aside to let me in. "Sorry, I thought I'd be finished before you arrived."
"No problem," I manage to say, keeping my eyes determinedly on his face rather than the defined muscles of his torso. The tattoos I glimpsed on his forearms yesterday extend across his chest and shoulders.
"Marco's still asleep," he says, closing the door behind me. "He usually wakes up around seven. I'll just grab a quick shower, then show you around properly."
I nod, hoping my face isn't as red as it feels. "Take your time."
As he walks away, it's impossible not to notice the way his back muscles flex with each movement, or the dimples just above the waistband of his sweatpants. I force myself to look away, setting my bag down on the entry bench.
The house is quiet in the early morning light.
I take the opportunity to look around more than I could yesterday.
The living room is stylish but comfortable, with a large sectional sofa and a wall-mounted TV.
Marco's toys are neatly organized in colorful bins.
The kitchen is sleek and modern, with high-end appliances and a large island.
Everything is tidy and well-maintained, not what I expected from a single father. There are even framed photos on the walls, mostly of Marco at different ages, but none that appear to include his mother. I wonder what happened there but know better than to ask.
I'm examining a bookshelf when Raphael returns, now dressed in dark slacks and a button-down shirt that does nothing to diminish his imposing presence. His hair is still damp from the shower, and the scent of his cologne, something woodsy and clearly expensive, fills the space between us.
"Coffee?" he offers, moving toward the kitchen.
"Please." I follow him, keeping my distance.
"How do you take it?"
"Just a little milk, if you have it."
He nods, adding a splash to my cup before handing it to me.
"So," he begins, leaning against the counter with his own black coffee, "Marco's routine is pretty straightforward.
Breakfast at 7:30, then he usually plays or watches cartoons until about 9.
I've enrolled him in a day camp three days a week—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—from 10 to 2. The other days are flexible."
I nod, committing the schedule to memory. "What about meals? Does he have any allergies or strong preferences?"
A small smile tugs at Raphael's lips. "No allergies. He'll eat almost anything except cooked carrots. Those are apparently 'yucky.' There's a meal planning calendar on the fridge, but feel free to adjust it if needed. I usually cook dinner when I'm home early enough."
The idea of this intimidating man cooking dinner for his son softens something inside me. "And bedtime routine?"
"Bath at 7:30, story time at 8, lights out by 8:30." He takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. "He'll try to negotiate for more stories or just 'five more minutes.' Don't fall for it."
I laugh. "I've been babysitting since I was fourteen. I know all the delay tactics."
His expression warms slightly. "I figured you did." He sets his cup down. "Now for the less standard parts of the job."
The atmosphere shifts subtly as Raphael straightens to his full height. "My work schedule is unpredictable. I might need to leave at odd hours or come back very late. Sometimes with no warning. I'll always text you, but there may be times when I'm unreachable for a few hours."
"I understand," I say calmly.
"You'll have your own key and the security code. The system is more... extensive than most homes." He gestures to a sleek panel on the wall. "I'll show you how it works. Don't ever disable it, even during the day."
"Is there something specific I should be concerned about?"
His dark eyes assess me for a moment. "No. It's just a precaution."
He's lying. I grew up with a cop for a father. I know what enhanced security means. It means someone thinks there might be a threat. But I also know better than to press the issue.
"Where will you be staying?" he asks, changing the subject.
"I have an apartment with my mother about twenty minutes from here."
He nods. "On days when I'm working late, I'd prefer if you stayed over. There's a guest room that's yours to use. I'll pay extra for overnight stays, of course."
"That's fine," I agree, though the thought of sleeping under the same roof as him makes my pulse quicken in ways it shouldn't.
A small voice interrupts us. "Daddy? Annie!"
Marco appears in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, clutching a stuffed dinosaur. His smile when he sees me is so genuine that my heart melts a little.
"Good morning, buddy," Raphael says, his whole demeanor softening. "Ready for breakfast?"
"Dinosaur pancakes?" Marco asks hopefully, looking between us.
Raphael glances at me with a raised eyebrow. "Think you're up for the challenge on your first day?"
"Absolutely," I say with more confidence than I feel. "But you might need to give me some pointers."
What follows is a surprisingly domestic scene: Raphael directing me around the kitchen, showing me where ingredients are kept while Marco perches on a stool at the island, chattering excitedly about his dinosaur collection.
Together, Raphael and I manage to create passable T-Rex shaped pancakes that delight Marco to no end.
As Marco eats, Raphael pulls me aside. "I need to leave in about fifteen minutes. Will you be okay on your own?"
"We'll be fine," I assure him. "Is there anything specific you'd like us to do today?"
"Just get to know each other," he says, his eyes lingering on mine a moment longer than necessary. "Marco has plenty of toys and books. There's a small backyard if you want to go outside. Just... stay on the property."
Another warning that raises questions I know I shouldn't ask. "We won't leave without texting you first."
He nods, apparently satisfied. "I'll be back by six, hopefully earlier."
While Raphael goes to gather his things, I sit with Marco, asking about his favorite dinosaurs and books. By the time Raphael returns, Marco is excitedly showing me his collection of plastic dinosaurs, explaining each one's characteristics with surprising detail for a five-year-old.
"I'm heading out," Raphael announces, now wearing a suit jacket that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. "Be good for Annie, Marco."
"I will, Daddy." Marco runs to hug his father's legs.
Raphael crouches down to Marco's level, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Love you, buddy."
"Love you too," Marco replies, planting a kiss on his father's cheek before returning to his dinosaurs.
As Raphael straightens, his eyes meet mine. "My number is programmed as the first contact in the house phone and on the fridge. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
"We'll be fine," I repeat softly. "Have a good day."
He hesitates for a moment, as if there's something more he wants to say. Instead, he simply nods and heads for the door. Before leaving, he pauses, looking back at Marco with an expression so full of love it makes my chest ache.
Then his eyes shift to me, squinting slightly. "Take care of him," he says, his voice low and serious.
"I will," I promise.
After he leaves, I stand for a moment in the sudden quiet of the house, broken only by Marco's happy chatter as he arranges his dinosaurs. Whatever Raphael Conti does for a living, whatever dangers might lurk outside these walls, my job is clear: keep this little boy safe and happy.
The rest, including the inappropriate attraction I feel toward my new employer, I'll just have to deal with one day at a time.