Dr. Stud

“The Worth brothers. They manage quite a fortune, most of it in hotels. Have you heard of them?”

I shake my head. The name might ring a bell… I think I’ve seen it on ads while I’m waiting for my YouTube videos to load or something. I think it’s a big, name brand. It never even occurred to me that Worth was a family name. I just thought it was a way of making the hotels sound deluxe.

“Well,” August continues, “there’s one heir, and she needs a nanny right away. You’ll be walking in with our recommendation, which should carry a lot of weight. But the rest is up to you. Can you handle it? Can you be ready to fly out tomorrow?”

“Tell me about the game face, August. What does that mean?”

August squints, and I can tell he is measuring his words carefully.

“The Worths are billionaires for generations. They’re not like other people, and they’re very proud of that. You’re going to have to do whatever it takes, Bunny. They’re not looking for your run-of-the-mill nanny. They’re going to want the very best.”

“So why aren’t they going through an agency?” Dahlia counters, looking up at him. “Wouldn’t an agency pre-screen the women for all the criteria?”

“That is exactly what an agency would do,” he replies. “But they called us.”

“Okay, they want the best weirdo they can find, so you naturally thought of me,” I say in a rush, suddenly eager to leave. “Got it. I’ll do you proud, boss.”

“You know what, you don’t have to do this,” Dahlia says, shaking her head tightly. “Don’t feel obligated, Bunny. You could say no.”

For some reason, I want to say something sarcastic right back to her. She’s got that sweet little baby between us, and I don’t want to get any sarcasm on him, so I bite my tongue.

I don’t know why her lack of confidence in me irritates me so damn much right now, but it really does. Dahlia used to be on my side, even when nobody else was. Now that she’s got a baby of her own

, she’s not on my side anymore. I don’t know whose side she’s on.

“Just have the ticket paid for, okay? And not coach. First class, all right?”

August bends over and places a kiss on top of Dahlia’s head, even as she’s trying to tell me something in Morse code with her eyes.

“See?” he says gently. “It’s all going to be fine.”

Dahlia takes a deep breath and then sighs, smiling and giving up at the same time.

“It will be fine, I’m sure,” she finally agrees, and I sort of want to kick her in the shins.

“I think it’ll be terrific!” I chirp enthusiastically. “Any friends of yours are friends of mine. Networking and schmoozing are my life! Thanks for the intro, guys. Just text me the deets!”

I turn on my heel, struggling not to wince as these boots dig against my flesh.

Stubbornly, I stalk back out the building, refusing to acknowledge that I do not have a ride, that my feet are killing me, and that I really don’t know what I’ve gotten into.

I really don’t know what I’m getting myself into at all.

Chapter 3

Trey

I really cannot stand flying commercial airlines. The entire reason we have four private jets is so that I never have to fly commercial. I never have to wait in line with noisy, smelly Midwesterners. I never have to eat substandard food.

I never have to do anything I don’t want to do. What is the point of being rich if you’re stuck doing this bullshit?

But somehow, here I am. My brother decided to leave DC a day early and took the jet with him without bothering to send it back. This morning, a courier arrived at my penthouse door with an envelope and a boarding pass inside. The scribbled note read, “Have a great flight, bro!”

I am going to kick Brock’s ass when I see him.

I don’t even speak to Jasper, the driver, as we head for the airport. I’m irritated beyond what I should be. I should at least show a little appreciation for Brock’s gamesmanship. It’s pretty good prank, I have to admit. But it’s a prank that involves me going through TSA security in a public fucking airport.

Like, they’re going to ask me to take off my goddamn shoes. My goddamn, handmade, Italian leather shoes are supposed to go in a scruffy plastic bin where two hundred thousand pairs of other, lesser shoes have also been.