Chapter 2 02

02 « Hey, Etta, » my boss, the aforementioned main senior editor, Lucifer King, sings from the other line. « What's my favorite editor doing? »

Sighing softly at the sound of my boss's voice, I round the block corner, heading straight for a ten-story office building in the middle of the street with Bloomsburg Publishing House written discreetly over the glass front doors in steel.

« I'm on the way back to the offices, » I reply, panting a little from the pressure of walking, talking, and carrying the thick stack of papers. « Is there something you need? »

Turning into the enormous – and still intimidating – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby, I briskly stride over to the bank of elevators, passing two security men, one of whom nods at me when I flash my security card.

The building hums with quiet professionalism, the kind that still makes my nerves tingle even after years of working here. Scanning my card to summon an elevator, the heavy steel doors slide open almost immediately, releasing a puff of chilled air from within.

I step inside, the stack of papers weighing down my arms, and jab the button for the ninth floor with my elbow.

« Wonderful, » Mr. King cheerfully responds down the line, the joy of hearing about my return practically palpable through the phone. « I have someone coming in to meet me, and I want you to be there. »

The elevator hums quietly as it ascends, my stomach knotting slightly. Mr. King's "plans" usually meant chaos in one form or another.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and I hang up, slipping my phone into my back pocket. Entering the office through the glass doors separating the elevator lobby and the bullpen area, I weave through the twenty-something desks facing two doors at the other end of the floor.

My assistant editors scramble at the sight of me, all suddenly finding things to look busy with as I walk past. It's almost funny, the way they jump to attention like I'm a drill sergeant. Almost.

Dumping my bag in my office, I roll my shoulders to relieve the tension before heading next door to Mr. King's office. Not bothering to knock, I push open the door and step inside.

« There she is! » he exclaims, throwing his arms out like he's greeting a long-lost friend rather than someone he saw just a few hours ago.

I blink at him in surprise. « Why do you always return fifteen minutes into your lunch break? Those poor junior editors... »

Giving a small laugh, I reply, « They don't have to resume work the second I step into the office... they just do. »

« Right, » he drones, as if only realizing it now, and I give him a small, knowing smile.

Lucifer King, for all his devilish name and mischievous tendencies, could be surprisingly clueless about the effect he had on the staff.

« I wonder how come they never do that for me... strange..! » he muses dramatically, rubbing his chin like a philosopher pondering life's mysteries.

I cross my arms, waiting for him to get to the point.

« Now, » he says, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, « I did some extreme thinking into this, and I have decided to 'lend' your wonderful nanny skills to a friend of mine. In fact, he's the one coming to meet me. »

I blink once. Then twice.

« Huh? » I tilt my head sideways in confusion. « Lend... nanny skills? »

He waves a hand dramatically. « Let me explain! »

Here we go.

While I was doing my internship here, Mr. King's wife, Elaine, had forced him to be 'responsible' by taking care of their three-month-old son, Leo, fearing he wouldn't recognize his own father with Mr. King being at work so often. With this irritating new arrangement, Mr. King had been struggling to juggle both his job and fatherhood.

That's where I had come in.

Naturally drawn to the baby, I had totally taken it upon myself, one fateful workday when Leo had been crying outside the meeting room, to comfort and take care of him while completing my own tasks. Somehow, it had just... worked. After that day, Mr. King happily let me watch over his son, nicknaming me his Nanny.

Thus, 'nanny skills.'

Mr. King leans back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear, completely oblivious to the panic starting to bubble up inside me.

« He's a really nice guy and he desperately needs a woman's help, » Mr. King continues, resting his chin on his palm in an exaggerated innocent gesture. « He's been divorced for about three months now and he's only recently started looking for a nanny because his kid is still very young and he needs to work. »

I shift uncomfortably, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my sweater.

« He hasn't been too successful in finding one, so I recommended you during a particular phone call, » he chirps, practically glowing with pride at his 'good deed'. « I mean, I'm sure you won't mind since you love babies. »

« What? » I squeak, my eyes widening. The thought of working for someone unknown terrifies me for more reasons than I can count.

« Mr. King... I... I- »

He waves me off, completely unconcerned by my horror.

« Relax, Etta. You're not getting sold off to the highest bidder or anything. Think of it as... helping out a fellow lost soul. Besides, » he smirks wickedly, « if it doesn't work out, you can just walk away. No chains attached. »

I stare at him, feeling like the floor just shifted beneath me.

Working under Mr. King was chaotic enough, but at least here, I had a system. A rhythm. An environment I knew.

Stepping into some stranger's life, caring for their child... that was a whole different universe of responsibility.

Mr. King seems to realize, belatedly, that I'm about two seconds away from bolting.

He softens his expression slightly, leaning forward across his cluttered desk.

« Look, Etta, you're amazing with kids. You basically saved my sanity when Leo was a newborn. And this guy... he's a good guy. He's just overwhelmed, you know? Not everyone's cut out for single parenting right off the bat. »

I bite my lip, heart hammering. His words settle somewhere uncomfortable in my chest. I know what it's like to be overwhelmed, to have no idea what you're doing and desperately need someone to just... be there.

Before I can reply, there's a knock at the office door.

Mr. King's eyes light up like Christmas came early.

« That's him! » he says brightly, standing up and straightening his jacket.

My stomach lurches.

Without waiting for permission, Mr. King calls out, « Come in! »

The door opens, and in steps a man who looks like he walked straight off a movie set.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair slightly tousled like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. His sharp jawline was dusted with a day's worth of stubble, and his stormy grey eyes immediately lock onto mine.

For a second, the world tilts again. Harder this time.

The man's gaze flicks briefly to Mr. King, who is grinning like he just orchestrated a Nobel Peace Prize-winning deal, before returning to me.

Something unreadable passes across his face. Tiredness. Hope. Fear.

Maybe even a flicker of relief.

« Etta, » Mr. King says, clapping me on the shoulder and jostling me forward a step. « Meet Alexander Hale. »

Alexander holds out a hand toward me, and though mine is clammy with nerves, I find myself stepping forward to take it.

His grip is warm and strong.

« Hi, » he says quietly, his voice deep and rich, a little rough like he hasn't been sleeping much.

« Hi, » I manage to breathe out.

And somehow, somewhere deep inside me, something clicks into place.

Oh no.