The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“No.” He turns onto a street and into a driveway with huge sandstone gates. “I drive a Porsche,” he replies casually.

“Oh.”

The driveway goes on and on and on. I look around at the perfectly kept grounds and rolling green hills. With every meter we pass, I feel my heart beat just that bit faster. As if it isn’t bad enough that I can’t do the whole nanny thing . . . I really can’t do the rich thing. I have no idea what to do with polite company. I don’t even know what fork to use at dinner. I’ve got myself into a right mess here. The house comes into focus, and the blood drains from my face.

It’s not a house, not even close. It’s a mansion, white and sandstone with a castle kind of feel to it, with six garages to the left.

He pulls into the large circular driveway, stopping under the awning.

“Your house is beautiful,” I whisper.

He nods, as his eyes stay fixed out front. “We are fortunate.”

He gets out of the car and opens my door for me. I climb out as I grip my handbag with white-knuckle force. My eyes rise to the luxurious building in front of me. This is an insane amount of money. He retrieves my suitcase and wheels it around to the side of the building. “Your entrance is around to the side,” he says. I follow him up a path until we get to a door, which he opens and lets me walk through. There is a foyer and a living area in front of me. “The kitchen is this way.” He points to the kitchen. “And your bedroom is in the back-left corner.”

I nod and walk past him, into the apartment.

He stands at the door but doesn’t come in. “The bathroom is to the right,” he continues.

Why isn’t he coming in here? “Okay, thanks,” I reply.

“Order any groceries you want on the family shopping order and . . .” He pauses, as if collecting his thoughts. “If there is anything else you need, please talk to me first.”

I frown. “First?”

He shrugs. “I don’t want to be told about a problem for the first time when reading a resignation letter.”

“Oh.” Did that happen before? “Of course,” I mutter.

“If you would like to come and meet the children . . .” He gestures to a hallway.

“Yes, please.” Oh God, here we go. I follow him out into a corridor with glass walls that looks out onto the main house, which is about four meters away. A garden sits between the two buildings creating an atrium, and I smile as I look up in wonder. There is a large window in the main house that looks into the kitchen. I can see beyond that into the living area, where a young girl and small boy are watching television together. We continue to the end of the glass corridor, where a staircase with six steps leads up to the main house. I blow out a breath, and I follow Mr. Masters up the stairs. “Children, come and meet your new nanny.”

The little boy jumps down and rushes over to me, clearly excited, while the girl just looks up and rolls her eyes. I smile to myself, remembering what it’s like to be a typical teenager.

“Hello, I’m Samuel.” The little boy smiles as he wraps his arms around my legs. He has dark hair, wears glasses, and is so damn cute.

“Hello, Samuel.” I smile.

“This is Willow,” he introduces.

I smile at the teenage girl. “Hello.”

She folds her arms across her chest defiantly. “Hi,” she grumbles.

Mr. Masters holds her gaze for a moment, saying so much with just one look. Willow eventually holds her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Willow.”

I smile as my eyes flash up to Mr. Masters. He can keep her under control with just a simple glare.

Samuel runs back to the lounge, grabs something, and then comes straight back. I see a flash. Click, click.

What the hell?

He has a small instant Polaroid camera. He watches my face appear on the piece of paper in front of him before he looks back up at me. “You’re pretty.” He smiles. “I’m putting this on the fridge.” He carefully affixes it to the fridge with a magnet. Mr. Masters seems to become flustered for some reason. “Bedtime for you two,” he instructs, and they both complain. He turns his attention back to me. “Your kitchen is stocked with groceries, and I’m sure you’re tired.”

I fake a smile. Oh, I’m being dismissed. “Yes, of course.” I go to walk back down to my apartment, and then turn back to him. “What time do I start tomorrow?”

His eyes hold mine. “When you hear Samuel wake up.”