But I did what I always did when shit got too heavy to handle, I shoved it down deep and nodded, exhaling slowly. “Fine. I’ll start looking to replace Gina this week. The girls can handle her until then, right?”
Slate grinned, his eyes lit with a mixture of apology and mischief. “No worries, brother. I got you covered.” He slid a small stack of papers across the table. “Maverick and I narrowed the field down to three applicants. Our favorite is Eliana Moreno, a Ph.D. candidate with a master’s degree in child psychology and development. Dr. Saunders recommended her.”
I scanned Eliana’s qualifications. She was definitely qualified for the position, but it was all academic. My kid didn’t need a fucking genius to take care of her, just someone whowould let her have a normal life. “She’s not the right candidate. This is all school shit.”
“Wrong,” Maverick sighed. “Look at the second page, she was a babysitter as a kid and she nannied for two families previously, one was a visiting ambassador from Spain.”
Fuck.“She won’t last more than two days.” They all said they wanted to help but something about a silent child sent them running.
“Then interview all three candidates to see who you like. And who Zoya likes,” Slate advised.
“Fine,” I grunted and shoved the papers in my pocket, knowing if I didn’t commit to doing it, they would do it for me. “I’ll take care of it.”
Diesel nodded as he stood, satisfied. “Good. That’s your main priority right now. Do that and then go back to club shit. Got it?”
I nodded once and left the room.
Chapter Two
Eliana
Nerves were normal. Healthy, even. That’s what I told myself while I stood in front of my mirror, smoothing down the sleeves of the colorful sweater I’d chosen for my interview for the fourth time. It was one of my favorites because it was comfortable, cheerful, and not too serious. Jeans, sneakers, hair up in a loose bun. The perfect outfit that said I took myself and my job seriously, but nottooseriously.
Still, despite knowing I was perfect for the role, my stomach did backflips.
I woke up before sunrise to prepare for the interview and did a light stretch to clear my mind. The still quiet inside my apartment and the deliberate motions of stretching were just what I needed to get rid of some of the anxiety before it got the better of me. I wanted this job more than I let myself acknowledge until this morning. This interview was more than a paycheck, it was an opportunity to do something that mattered while I worked on my dissertation. I was passionate about the topic, using art therapy to treat selective mutism, and my mentor Dr. Denise Saunders thought this job would be the perfect fit to unofficially put my theory into practice. I would hopefully get to do some good while I tested, refined, and connected with my charge.
If I got the job with the Kerris family, it would be a nice distraction from researching, writing, and spending time alone.
So, let’s get this job. You can do it.
The mantra went through my head as I stepped from my little sedan and looked up at the three-bedroom ranch house tucked behind a pale blue fence on a quiet street. I’d arrived ten minutes early for the nine o’clock interview. Just enough time to straighten my clothes, calm my racing heart, and go over my answers before meeting the family.
I grabbed my bag of goodies, took a deep breath, and let it out as I walked the stone steps to the front door. I knocked twice and waited.
I didn’t have to wait long before the door swung open and there he was. The person who answered—who I assumed was Mr. Kerris—was a mountain of a man, carved from concrete. He was tall, broad, and tattooed, radiating something that felt dangerous. His dark hair wasn’t in any discernible style and his eyes bored into me with the intensity of a man who took nothing lightly. The faint scar that trailed from his left temple to his jaw only enhanced the sense of danger.
And curiosity.
But that scowl? It was intimidating as hell.
“You’re late,” he muttered instead of offering a polite, professional greeting.
I glanced down at my phone before shoving it into my back pocket. “The interview was scheduled for nine, so I’m actually early.”
He crossed his arms, and the muscles stretched out of the fabric of his black t-shirt. “I changed it to eight forty-five. If you can’t follow simple instructions this won’t work.” His jaw was clenched tight, his expression deadly serious but there was justthe tiniest hint of vulnerability in those eyes that almost made me want to forget that he was being an ass.
Almost. I snapped my mouth shut to lockdown the smartass comment on the tip of my lips. “Then I apologize for the miscommunication. We should be clearer about that going forward.Ifwe go forward.” I smiled, sticking out my hand. “Let’s start over, I’m Eliana Moreno.”
He stared at my hand like it was a foreign object, before finally taking it. His grip was firm, too firm, and brief. “Sledge.”
What the hell kind of name was Sledge? I didn’t know and I didn’t ask. He looked like he could knock down a wall with one solid swing. “Come in,” he said in a flat tone as he stepped back.
I stepped inside, ignoring the fresh, woody scent that wafted from his still damp skin in favor of taking in the details. A large leather jacket hung beside a small pink jacket right beside the door. The house itself was clean and far too masculine for a place that contained a little girl. The furniture was neat, but the place was… incredibly utilitarian and lacking any signs of personal details. There was a large pink and purple bin in the corner overflowing with toys. “Homey,” I said, more to myself than the quiet giant who led me into the living room.
He grunted in response and that was all.
That’s when my gaze landed on the one personal touch in the whole damn room, a photo of Mr. Kerris—Sledge and a bunch of other men with small kids perched on their shoulders. The photo was adorable, big, tattooed men wearing huge smiles while they were on daddy duty, but it was the finer details that gave me pause. The leather vests. The patches. The uniformity of it all.
