Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

“Why didn’t you tell me I had to? This is new to me, you know. I can’t be expected to remember all this shit,” I whisper angrily. “I forgot about the list, okay? And you should have called, emailed me, or whatever the hell you were meant to do, earlier.”

He stays silent on the other end of the phone, and I scrunch up my face. Oh God, just shut up, Brielle.

I’m totally blowing this job.

He stays silent for a moment longer before he speaks. “I’m putting this down to jetlag, Miss Brielle. Take the children to school and go back to bed yourself before you make any more...” he pauses, “bad judgements.”

I roll my eyes and feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Yes, sir.”

He stays on the line and awkward silence hangs between us.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I sigh.

The line clicks as he hangs up without another word.

Willow appears out of the bathroom and glares at me. “Get out of my room. Thanks a lot. I’m going to be late.” She sneers.

I stare at her, and suddenly, I’m feeling so overwhelmed that I don’t think I can take it. My eyes fill with tears. This isn’t how I imagined my exciting new job to be. I drop my head and leave her room quickly so she doesn’t see my tears.

Screw this.

I want to go home

Julian

I end the call and pinch the bridge of my nose.

Here we go again. Another catastrophe of a nanny, and this one seemed so promising according to her resume.

“Morning, your honor.” Marcy smiles as she walks in and holds out my morning coffee.

“Thank you,” I mouth as I take it from her. I won the jackpot seven years ago when I hired her as my personal assistant. Best thing in this damn courthouse.

“How did the new nanny go?” she asks as she slides into her seat at her desk and sips her coffee.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t ask. Nightmare,” I sigh as I pick up my phone. “I’m calling the agency now and requesting someone else.” I wait on as the call goes through.

I get a vision of Brielle in her white silk nightdress in my bedroom this morning. It wasn't light, and yet I could see her every curve, the way it hung over her hard nipples. Her caramel skin with her Australian tan. Her big brown eyes and red lips that looked like they belonged around me…

I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

Fuck me, if she isn’t every man’s wet dream, I don’t know who is.

I drag my hand down my face. I need to get out more. Drinking red wine and jerking off to a photo of my children’s nanny is unacceptable Thursday night behaviour.

I clench my jaw as I feel myself harden at the thought of her, and uneasiness sweeps over me. She’s the nanny.

Cut it out.

The sooner I get her out of my house, the better.

“Hello, Andersons Agency,” the receptionist answers.

“Hello, this is Julian Masters.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Masters. How can I help you, sir?’

“My new nanny arrived yesterday.”