Chapter 4

4

T he front door of the massive brick house in Brookline swings open, and just as I plaster on my professional smile, a tall, thin woman leaps out and practically tackles me to the ground. Her arms wrap around my neck, her legs around my waist, and her momentum forces me to take three steps back, and even then, I'm only saved by Jack putting his large hand on my back and stopping us.

"Oh my God! I can't believe you moved back to Boston and didn't tell me!" Wren screeches in my ear, hugging me fiercely.

A huge laugh catapults from my lips, and I squeeze her back just as staunchly. "Because last I talked to you, you were living in Seattle."

Wren pulls back and climbs off of me with a gleaming smile on her lips, all her pearly white teeth showing and reflecting off the afternoon sun. "I moved back here last year for medical school. I'm so fucking happy to see you. We're going to have to get coffee, or better yet drinks, and catch up. I missed you. And I can't believe you're going to be working for my older brother."

"Same. I missed—" I pause and tilt my head. " Wait. What? Your older brother?" Come to think of it, what the hell is Wren doing here?

Wren belts out a don't be ridiculous laugh. "Yes. You're going to be the nanny for my niece, Rory."

"Huh?" Her brother? I squint at her and then turn to Jack. "You didn't tell me it was…" I trail off as a thousand sharp pieces cut into my brain so fast that I suddenly feel like I'm bleeding out all over the walkway. Owen Fritz. Wren's older brother is Owen Fritz. His name is freaking Owen .

"Didn't tell you what?" Jack asks.

"Uh." Only I can't answer him because suddenly, I'm locked in a standoff with the deep blue, wildly unhappy eyes of the man watching us from just inside the doorway. And yep, they're the same blue eyes—even if now they're covered by glasses—attached to the same man I shamelessly flirted with and then allowed to take me to a hotel and fuck me all night.

Jack goes in for a bro hug with Owen. "Good to see you, man. It's been too long." He slaps Owen's back, but neither Owen nor I can look away from each other.

My head spins, and a weird, almost hysterical laugh threatens. Because what are the freaking odds of this? My first one-night stand ever, and it was with my brother's best friend and my potential new boss. Life has a sense of irony, I'll give it that.

"Hi, Jack," Wren practically shouts at his back since he plowed right past her without even so much as acknowledging her.

"Hi, Wren," Jack replies in a barely polite, monotone way. Jack never liked Wren. I remember that now. He always thought she was childish and bratty. Then again, I believe Owen thought the same about me when I was twelve and he was twenty-four. Since that's how old I was the last time I saw him. Ten years ago. Well, if you're not counting last night, of course.

"You didn't tell me it was Owen Fritz I'd be the nanny for," I accuse, starting to shake as a steady dose of flight or fight—I'm definitely leaning toward flight—adrenaline surges through me.

"Yes, I did." Jack throws his arm over Owen's shoulder, all buddy-buddy.

I shake my head, positive he didn't. "No. You said it was a good friend of yours. You gave me no details beyond that other than about the little girl."

And I didn't ask because I didn't care all that much. I was busy packing and leaving the family I had lived with for the last seven months in London—the family who saved me when I needed to be saved.

So I didn't ask for details.

Knowing the single dad was good friends with Jack was good enough for me because Jack would never have me live in a situation that wasn't safe or a good fit for me.

"Is that a problem for you?" Owen asks, his voice low and cool. Possibly a bit angry or resentful. "That I'm Owen Fritz?"

I laugh. It's awkward as hell. "No. Just that you're Owen when I didn't know you were going to be Owen." I laugh again and scrub my hands up and down my face. I need to pull myself together before people catch on that I'm acting weird. Well, weirder than I normally do. "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out sounding the way it did. I just didn't know it was going to be you is all, and I was surprised."

He doesn't respond. He just turns and heads into his house, and Wren glares daggers into her brother's back before giving me a sheepish grin. "Sorry. He's… well, he can be a bit grumpy. Come in and meet Rory, since she's the important one."

Before I can protest, Wren grabs my hand and hauls me inside the enormous mansion without allowing me to take in any of the gorgeous details like the dark hardwood floors, arched doorways, abundance of windows and light, and crown moldings. Oh, or the piano in the sprawling formal living room.

Nope. Wren's grip is no joke. To the point where she whisks us past Owen and Jack, only to have my arm grabbed by a strong hand, bringing me to an abrupt stop.

"I was thinking you and I should talk a bit in private first. Before you meet my daughter."

Wren slays him a pointed look, her eyes wide as if she's trying to convey something Owen isn't the least bit interested in acknowledging.

I nod because I'd like a word with him too.

Reluctantly, Wren releases my hand. "Be nice," she warns Owen, and then marches off for the kitchen, leaving Jack behind.

"I'll just follow after Wren and say hi to Rory. And what Wren said. Be nice. That goes for both of you." Jack raises an eyebrow at me, and I give him my I'll be on my best behavior smile that I'm pretty sure he can read through, but excuses himself regardless, clearly aware that there's already tension, but wisely choosing not to engage in it.

The moment they're out of sight, Owen uses the unrelenting hand he has on my arm to lead me back toward the front of the house and into that open living room I was initially eyeing. He has a painting over the large, stone fireplace that I instantly recognize as my mother's. I walk over to it and peer up, taking in the strong brushstrokes and use of color.

"Your mom gave it to me as a gift when Rory was born," he says from behind me.

Of course she did. That's how my mother operates. Something that should have been so easy—such a no-brainer of a situation—is now impossibly complicated.

"It's beautiful," I murmur because all of my mother's work is. I've spent my life trying to crawl out from beneath her shadow and forge a name of my own in the art world, only to have my ex fill my head with years of professional and personal self-doubt. Now I finally feel like I've put his ghost to rest, and I wonder if I truly set myself free, if I'm capable of creating something as beautiful.

It's been too long since I attempted it because what happened in Paris with Claude destroyed me and my confidence. It was easier to hide behind the two small children I was nannying for than to force myself to paint when painting felt impossible. I'm hoping that's changed. I'm hoping I can find this part of myself again.

I turn around and face Owen, his hard eyes on me. He pushes up the nose of his glasses, and why does he have to wear glasses? They're nerdy and stupidly sexy.

"I didn't know it was you, and Jack never said a thing to me about you coming out last night. I was supposed to meet him there, and when he texted to say he wasn't going to be able to make it, I texted back and told him I was going to head home and that I'd see him this morning."

He sighs, his gaze shifting to the rug. "He didn't tell me you were going to be there either. My guess is he was trying to arrange a more casual meet and greet since he knows I'm on edge about hiring a nanny." His voice is so cold, so detached. So unlike the man I met last night. But that was Owen, and this is Owen Fritz, and I'm starting to realize that distinction is everything.

I nod and walk over to the piano, running my hand along the smooth, black wood. My fingers press in on a couple of the keys, happy to find it perfectly in tune. Anything to distract myself from the man watching my every move like he can't quite decide what he wants to do with me. I'm in his house, in his space, and this was never supposed to happen.

Hell, I was never supposed to see him again. I liked that about him. What I don't like is pairing this Owen—the one who comes with my brother and his sister and my entire fucking family—with memories I was anxious to keep while wiping out others .

His hands meet his hips, and I can feel his frustration. It's practically seeping from his pores. "I knew you as Eddie, not Estlin."

"And I haven't thought about you since I was a kid, and even then, not a lot," I admit, turning back to him with an indifferent shrug. "Back then, I didn't care about Jack's friends. You were all a lot older than me and didn't exactly pay me much attention. We didn't know who the other was last night, and there's nothing we can do about that now."

He takes a deliberate step forward. "Except I can't hire you to be Rory's nanny."

Even though I already figured he'd say that, it hurts that he's so quick to dismiss me just because we slept together.

I wanted this job.

Badly.

I don't want to live at home—my parents will be all over me, checking on me, analyzing my every move and word, treating me like the child they still view me as. And while I know it comes from a place of love, in the five days I've been back, it's already too much. I've been living on my own for the last five years, so moving back in with my parents is the farthest thing from ideal. My art— please, dear God —will take up the majority of the mornings and early afternoons, which makes finding a job other than waitressing or bartending difficult, and even those jobs wouldn't be enough to afford a safe place in the city. Plus, I love being a nanny. I love being around children and helping to care for them.

It's what got me through the last seven months.

My parents already paid for me to attend college abroad, and I swore after that, I'd never take another cent from them again. More than that, I need to prove to them and myself that I've got this. That I can do this on my own. Room and board as a nanny were a perfect situation .

I close my eyes for a moment and swallow a heavy breath. "Why not?"

He gives me a don't be ridiculous look. "You know why not. You can't move in here. You can't sleep down the hall."

"It didn't mean anything," I find myself protesting with a deeply annoyed scowl now marring my face.

"That doesn't matter. Sleeping together was an undeniably forbidden line that never should have been crossed. One that will always sit between us."

I shake my head, aggravated by that. I was counting on this.

"If Jack ever found out?—"

"He wouldn't," I interject. "I'd never tell him. Or Wren."

He sighs plaintively. "I'm sorry, but I don't see how this will work."

The way he says that, so pompous and arrogant, so proud and hastily harsh—it rips at me. It fills me with a helplessness I can't handle.

"So that's it?" I snap. "I thought this was supposed to be about your daughter, not you."

His eyes narrow, and he takes another sharp step in my direction, watching me with a guarded expression. "This is about my daughter?—"

I snort derisively. "Oh, right. I can see that." I cut our distance by half, ready to strangle him where he stands. "Since I haven't even met her yet."

Fury bubbles beneath his surface, but he quickly reins it in. "Fine. You're right. This is about me. I don't want you living here. I don't want you working here. Last night was… well, it was a mistake, and it never should have happened. But it's not something we can undo, and you living here will be a constant reminder of that."

Hurt flashes through my chest at him calling it a mistake, but I shove that aside and press on. "It's not something that will happen again. It was sex, Owen. Just sex. We're both adults, and since it was such a mistake , we won't have to worry about a repeat."

That hits something in him, and suddenly he's right in front of me, grabbing my shoulders and forcing my neck to crane until I meet his flustered eyes. "What do you want me to say? That I enjoyed it?"

I squint at him. "Oh, I know you did. Hell, you stole my fucking panties, didn't you?" I bluster out a breath, trying to calm myself down. "I don't care if you did steal them or even if you enjoyed it. For me, it was merely scratching an itch."

He smirks tauntingly. "Christ, you're so young."

His eyes rove over me, and then his face dips until it's inches from mine. My belly hiccups into my chest, and I fight the urge to bite my lip to cut this tension swirling between us. What is it about this man that makes my heart race and my knees weak? I can't handle how intense this is, how I react so quickly to him when all we did was spend one night together.

"Yes, I enjoyed it," he whispers, practically against my lips. "I enjoyed every second of it, as I know you did. That's the problem. We enjoyed it. A lot. Fucking you was incredible, but it was also a mistake because now here you are, standing in my living room, and we're forced to have this conversation."

My breath hitches, and I clear it, only I know he heard it. I press on. "You're the one making more out of this than we need to."

"Am I? What do you want me to do?" He flexes his strong, irritated jaw before he blows out a silent breath. As if coming to his senses, he straightens and releases me. It doesn't matter. I feel the imprint of his hands on my skin. That should be a warning, but I won't allow it to be.

I meant what I said. It won't happen again.

"Hire me," I throw back at him.

"How can I hire you after what happened between us? How can we go from that beginning to anything else? I don't bring complications or drama into my daughter's life because her life has been nothing but that, and you are a fucking complication and a hell of a lot of drama I cannot afford."

His breath comes out in rushed pants, his chest practically against mine. He's pleading with me to see his side of this, but his side is not a luxury I have at the moment.

"I won't be a complication, and I tend to be very little drama. I don't want that either. I'm not looking to start anything with you or anyone else. We can put it behind us and act like it never happened. Last night we were two different people, but last night is over." He may look the same and, well, smell the same. His whole house smells like him, actually, and it's just as heavenly as it was last night, but the man standing before me is different, and that's what I'll focus on.

Not the way he's breathing fire down at me or the heat and size of his body when he stands this close. Not how when I woke up alone in those twisted sheets this morning, I had to make myself come because I couldn't get the flashbacks from the night before out of my head.

Last night was everything I wanted and needed it to be, and it seriously sucks that the one who gave it to me would be my new boss. It'll be impossible to forget how he kissed me like he was dying for it. Like he couldn't get enough. But I'll deal with it like I deal with everything else that I have to.

"If it weren't for last night, is there one real reason why you wouldn't hire me?"

It's the last card I've got. Because the truth is, he's all but painted into a corner with this, and I have no issues throwing that in his face.

"Jack is your friend. Wren is mine. You know my parents and my family as I know yours. Ultimately, you can do whatever you want. She's your daughter. But you'll need to come up with a damn good reason for not hiring me."

"Fuck," he bites out, running his hands up his face and through his hair. He knows I'm right. "This is a bad idea, Estlin. A seriously bad idea. Nothing good will come of this."

I put my hand on his arm and immediately retract it when I feel his hot, smooth skin over strong, perfectly honed muscles. That wasn't a good idea. Not at all.

Note to self, don't touch my new boss. Anywhere.

"Listen, just let me meet Rory. That's all I'm asking for. If it's not a good fit after that, then fine. I'll go and you'll never have to see me again. But if it is, if she likes me…" I trail off, letting that hang in the air between us.

He licks his lips, his gaze hot and locked on mine. "You really want this job?"

I stare straight back up at him. "I really want this job. You notwithstanding."

"I don't like this."

"Get over it."

His eyebrows hit his hairline, and an incredulous chuckle bursts from his chest. "Get over it?"

I shrug. "I mean, I realize I'm incredible in bed, but yeah. Get over it. You were just okay, by the way. In case you were curious."

His lips twitch, and he shakes his head. "I'll make your life hell. I'll make you want to quit."

"Meeting you again today, I have no doubt that's true. I don't like you all that much right now either. That doesn't mean I'll let you succeed."

After an endless minute of inner conflict, he loses the battle with himself and grunts. "Fine. Come meet Rory, and then we'll see. No promises."