Chapter 1
ONE
Jeremy
The carousel of beauties slides across my screen. They all bore me. Every last one. I’d blame a flaw in the code, but the code is flawless. I should know—I wrote it.
No, my app isn’t broken. I am.
Thank fuck I’m testing an update, not looking for love. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite, but I didn’t make my fortune by making the same mistakes twice—nor by believing in the bullshit promises behind Twinge.
Jared sells the dream. I just write the code.
When I’m confident that the update is ready to roll out, I send instructions to the dev team. The changes we’ve made are substantial—and unprecedented. It will take the competition months to catch up, and by then Twinge will be another twelve steps ahead.
So why do I feel no satisfaction? Oh, right, because I’m fucking broken.
For a week now, I’ve had to face the fact of exactly how broken I am. It’s been undeniable ever since I pulled up my nanny’s online transaction history and lost my mind over two little words.
Eden Exotics.
Seeing the company’s name awakened the monster. A monster I’ve kept caged for years. A monster that’s now threatening to break free.
Lust. Desire. Obsession. Jealousy.
Emotions I have no right to feel. Anna Petrakova isn’t my wife. She isn’t my girlfriend. Hell, she isn’t even my mistress. The details of my nanny’s personal life are none of my Goddamn business.
Except everything about Anna has become my business—more so than Twinge. Every detail I’ve studied, memorized. Every movement I’ve tracked. I’ve watched over her. Protected her.
I have every right.
Because Anna is mine. My obsession. My addiction. The love of my life.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
Does that make me sick, twisted? Definitely.
If she were any other woman, I’d have simply asked her out. But as much as it kills me, it would simply be wrong for me to pursue her while she’s still my employee.
Plus, I can’t risk Elijah losing her. And I can’t exploit the power dynamic. I want Anna to choose me, not feel coerced because I’m her employer.
What can I say? I’m an ethical stalker.
I didn’t always think of it in those terms. But that’s what I’m doing—stalking her. I can’t let her out of my sight. I have tracking software installed on both her car and her phone.
Then there are the cameras. Cameras that see her undress. Cameras on which I watch her failed attempts to pleasure herself, longing to lick that sweet little cunt and end her frustration. Because no other man will ever get near my darling girl. I won’t allow it.
I know that sounds crazy. It is crazy. I’m crazy. But it isn’t just that I’m obsessed with watching Anna. That isn’t why I installed the cameras.
No, it’s because I have to know she’s safe. And if I can’t see her, can’t visually verify that she’s okay, then how can I ever really know for sure?
Not knowing would drive me mad.
Hell, maybe I’m already mad. While I could almost rationalize the stalking as being for her own good, I’m losing my goddamn mind over her fucking credit card statement.
But I can’t help it. Eden fucking Exotics. One visit to their seedy website showed that they primarily sell apparel to exotic dancers. But I know my innocent nanny, and the still-sane part of my brain insists there must be a mistake. It’s so out of character—maybe her card was stolen?
Anna’s purchases have always been modest. Gas. Lattes. The occasional bubble tea. It’s rare that she buys anything over ten dollars for herself, at least with the credit card, which I’ve encouraged her to use more liberally.
Well, now it seems she has. Or someone has...
The monster isn’t buying that theory. Still, it’s the only online purchase she’s made in months, and the website is shady as fuck. A stolen card is the logical explanation.
I’ve been trying to convince myself of that all week, knowing how crazy I’ll look if I confront Anna about the charge. Still, I can’t just ignore it, can I? Not if her card really was stolen.
But at that moment I receive an alert from my doorbell camera. Package delivered. I zoom in on the box. The return address tells me nothing—a PO box in Nevada. But it’s addressed to Anna, which means...
Not a mistake. Not a stolen credit card.
Because I have no doubt that whatever was just delivered came from Eden Exotics. And whatever it was—Anna ordered it.
Pressing the intercom, I instruct the receptionist to cancel my afternoon meetings and route all calls to my assistant, Heather. I need to know what’s in that box. And I needed to know yesterday.
As I’m pulling into traffic, the insanity of my behavior hits me. How the hell did I get here—racing home to intercept a parcel addressed to my nanny?
But whatever this sickness is, it started nearly the moment that she started living under my roof. I tried to deny it at first until I couldn’t. Until I had to admit the uncomfortable truth: Anna is the one great love of my life. More than that even, she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. I know that now.
Oh, it’s tempting to claim my love for my ex-wife died when she cheated. But part of me knew our marriage was dead when Elijah was born. Knew when his chubby hand grasped mine. Knew when I realized how indifferent Sarah was to the amazing gift we’d received.But even before that, even when I fancied myself head over heels in love with Sarah, that emotion was a pale shadow of what I feel for Anna.
Loving Anna shifted my priorities. She made me realize how crappy a dad I was. The empire I built was for him, but that was no excuse.So, yes, I have regrets.
But my hard work paid off. He’ll never experience the poverty of my youth. He’ll never work a job he hates while hustling on the side.He’ll never want for a single thing—and neither will Anna.
I want to spoil her. It’s hypocritical to be upset that she finally bought something for herself. But as I pull into my garage, I am upset. I can’t help it. Because when I checked for the package, the front step was bare.
I turn off the car, hoping that the housekeeper brought the package in. The thought of Anna’s innocent hands touching anything from such a sleazy company has me too upset to think straight. It’s that, not the expense, that has me so upset. Right?
Because I really do want to spoil my gorgeous nanny, but Anna makes it difficult. Her salary is high, and I cover her tuition and living expenses. But she’s always reluctant to use the Amex Black Card.
“Hey, Sylvia, did any packages come today?” I catch the housekeeper just as she’s about to start dinner.
Sylvia nods. “Just one—for Anna. I put it in her room.”
“Perfect.” I shove down my impatience. “The place looks great. Why don’t you knock off early, get a head start on your weekend off?”
Sylvia looks uncertain. “I haven’t made dinner yet, and this is the Friday that Anna gets home late because Elijah has soccer practice.”
“I’ll deal with dinner. Get out of here and enjoy yourself while it’s still light out.”
I take a hundred from my wallet. When she starts to protest, I wave my hand. “Seriously, Sylvia, you work too hard. You deserve some fun. Now go.”
Thankfully, she does just that, although it’s clear that she thinks I’ve lost my mind. And well, maybe I have. Because the moment she leaves, I retrieve the package from Anna’s room. Taking it into my home office, I carefully cut through the packing tape and discover another box. Luckily, this one is labeled.
Confirming the contents should soothe the monster. She didn’t buy lingerie to wear for another man—not that I ever really believed my innocent girl would do that. But the thing about jealousy is that it’s irrational. So the monster isn’t soothed, not at all.
Head pounding, I reseal the box, then stow it in the safe room attached to my office. Not that I use the windowless room for its intended purpose. No, that room is the monster’s lair where I coordinate my surveillance operation.
Anna will open the box eventually—but on my terms. Once I decide what those are. Needing to get my head straight, I change into shorts and a T-shirt. It’s a damp, foggy fifty degrees outside, typical January weather for this city, but I don’t bother with any additional layers, determined to work up a sweat, to outrun the monster clawing at my chest.
And sure enough, I start out at an easy enough pace, but before I know it, I’m running as if the hounds of hell are chasing me. Maybe they are. Or maybe I’ve just finally lost it.