Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

A trace of a smile crosses his face “My apologies.”

I drain the rest of my glass and I hold it out for a top up. I have no idea what I’m doing here, but sweetening him up while drinking scotch seems to be a perfect plan.

He refills my glass, and then I sip my drink, simply watching him for a moment. “Do you always do this?”

“Do I always drink scotch with my nannies and get reprimanded for answering their questions? No.”

“So, you’re a scotch nanny virgin?”

This time it’s him who chokes on his drink as he laughs. “Most definitely. A nanny virgin, anyway. Not so much a scotch virgin.”

I smile broadly. For some reason I like that answer. “See? We’re getting along fine now. This is all going to work out.”

“This is not working out. This is a pleasant distraction.”

My face falls. “Oh.”

His brows furrow. “Please don’t take this personally, but you’re just not what I expected, Brielle.”

“What did you expect?”

He shrugs. “Someone older, experienced, more professional.”

I think for a moment. “The ad didn’t request any of that.”

He sips his scotch and rolls his eyes. “My mother put the ad in with the agency.”

“Your mother?” I frown.

He smirks around his glass. “You seem surprised.”

“Well, I didn’t take you as a mummy’s boy.”

He laughs that velvety laugh again, and I feel it deep in the pit of my stomach. “Not by any means. But she is concerned about Willow, and she wanted to take care of this placement and for us to try something different.”

I smile goofily. “Well…I am different.”

“That you are.”

“Just give me another chance, please?” I plead. “We got off on the wrong foot, sure, but I promise you I will turn this around.”

His eyes hold mine.

“If, in three weeks, you’re still not happy, I’ll get another job in a bar or something, but please don’t get me deported before I have a chance to find another job. I’ve been saving for this trip for twelve months.”

He watches me.

“Please…”

He inhales sharply. “Fine, you have twenty one days. But next time I fire you, don’t beg me to stay.”

I shake my head. “I won’t.”

“Because next time I won’t be pushed over so easily.”

I nod. “Fine, but you have to promise not to give me this truth serum again.” I hold up my glass of scotch.

“Truth serum?”