Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

He raises his eyebrows. “No offence, but I’m not calling you Brelly. You’re not an umbrella.”

I bite my bottom lip to stifle my smile. I feel like I am in the principle’s office about to be expelled from school. He’s wearing an expensive navy suit with a white shirt. His dark hair is longer on the top, with a curl running through it, and he has the squarest jaw I think I’ve ever seen. His eyes are big and brown, and… he really is very good looking.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” he says calmly, slicing my thoughts in two.

“What?” I whisper.

He gives a subtle shake of his head. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Is this about this morning?” I interrupt.

“Brielle, I deal with liars and thieves all day at work. I don’t have the energy to have someone living under my roof who I don’t trust.”

“You… you can trust me,” I stammer. “I’m the most honest person you could ever meet. Too honest, in fact. Ask anybody.”

He sips his drink, and his cold eyes hold mine.

“Ask me anything. Ask me anything right now and I will tell you the whole truth, I promise.”

He lifts his chin. “All right then, what did you say to Willow this morning?”

My face falls. Oh, he had to ask that, didn’t he?

I swallow the lump in my throat. That little snitch. If I wasn’t already getting fired, I definitely am now.

“I think it went something like…” I readjust my position in my seat, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting. My heart begins to beat fast.

“I asked her if that was what her game was? To be an evil little bitch until the nanny’s run away. And then I asked her if she tries and makes their lives a living hell.”

He narrows his eyes.

"And then I asked her if her daddy comes to her rescue every time."

He glares at me and bites his bottom lip, as if he’s stopping himself from snapping or yelling.

I cringe openly. “And then she said something along the lines of ‘fuck you, stay out of my fucking way.’ So I warned her not to fucking speak to me like that in front of Samuel ever again. I don’t give a fuck if she doesn’t like me, but I will not put up with her upsetting him.” I shrug. “Give or take a few insults.”

He tips his head and drains his glass, clearly disgusted.

My heart begins to hammer so hard, I feel like I can literally hear the blood pumping in my ears.

His eyes hold mine. “And what gives you the right to speak to my daughter like that?”

“I don’t have that right, and I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. She just got me so mad speaking to me like that in front of Samuel. He needs to be protected from her venom. He’s just a baby, and I know she’s troubled, but I needed her to know that it’s not okay and I won’t be putting up with it.”

He blows all the air from his cheeks and pours another scotch, glancing up mid pour, as if realizing he’s being rude by not offering me one. He tilts the bottle my way.

“Yes, please,” I say, grateful for the offer—I’ll try anything to calm my nerves. This is harrowing.

He fills my glass with ice and then pours me a scotch. Hell, where’s the mixer? Do I drink this straight?

He passes it over. “Thank you.” I take a sip and feel the heat go down and slowly warm my oesophagus. “Hmm.” I lift the glass and inspect the golden fluid. “This is… strong.”

A trace of a smile crosses his face as he sits back at his stool.

He watches me intently, and then finally responds. “Willow is a lot to handle, I know that.”

“I was a nightmare, too, at that age. I can handle her.”