Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

“I write novels. I’m my own boss,” Daisy said. “So, joke about me all you want.”

“And my boss is technically a board of people, so go for it. I was into group things, once.”

I nearly spit out my drink, I laughed so hard, and a warmth settled deep in my chest. “I love you both,” I said, sighing. “Even if you are wholly inappropriate.”

Maddie clucked her tongue at me. “You know we’re just teasing you, Fiona,” she said. “When we’re together—outside of our professional workspaces—we’re just three friends chatting honestly. And you honestly can’t tell me that you haven’t thought about that man in a non-professional capacity.”

I hadn’t, really. Was he attractive? Yes. Did I fantasize about him in the shower or any other place? No. Definitely not. “It’s kind of hard to have a sex drive when you’re sleeping less than two hours consecutively a night,” I admitted. “Besides, the minute I agreed to be his nanny, I flipped the switch in my head.”

Daisy furrowed her brow at me. “What switch?”

“You know,” I said, playing with my half-empty glass on the bar. Chatter echoed behind me as the bar filled up, creating this soft sort of lull that begged me to sleep. Fuck, I needed a bed quick. “The forbidden switch,” I explained. “The off-limits, never-can-I-ever-think-about-this-person-sexually switch.”

“That’s a thing?” Maddie asked, and I laughed.

“No,” Daisy said. “That’s totally not a thing.”

“Well, it is for me,” I chided. “It has to be. I’m taking care of the man’s child,” I said. “I live in his house. If I was attracted to him? It would bring on a whole set of complications neither of us needs. So, hence, switch flipped.” I finished off my drink, then ordered a water. I was too exhausted to have another and had already resigned myself to calling it a night early and catching up on a few hours’ sleep at my apartment. Brogan had told me not to come back till morning, but I still worried about him. Not that he wasn’t capable, but that everything was still so new for him.

“Well,” Maddie said, shrugging. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt you to partake. You haven’t had any fun since Greg. And I personally wouldn’t be able to ignore it if someone who looked like him worked with me day in and day out.” She tilted her head. “But I like my men a little more…cheerful,” she said, and I laughed.

Brogan definitely was a broody male. Scowling was his signature look, but he made it look effortless. Still, when he looked at Skye? He couldn’t help but smile, even if it was laced with exhaustion and worry.

“That’s why I’m a nanny, and you’re not,” I teased.

“You’re not a nanny,” Maddie argued. “You have a doctorate in children’s psychology. This is just a job.”

There was nothing malicious in her words at all. Nothing but support and love and pride at all I’d accomplished in college. But for some reason I couldn’t name, her words stung. As if I didn’t like her calling Skye just a job, even though that’s not at all what she meant.

I sucked in a deep breath, pushing away from the bar. If I was getting emotional over a job, it definitely was time to get some sleep. Any time I was overtired, I leaned toward the overly sensitive side.

“I need sleep,” I declared, and my friends hopped up to hug me. They didn’t argue or try to get me to stay, just told me to get the rest I needed, which was another reason why I loved them, even if they were insufferable when it came to pointing out my boss’s…assets.

I bounced around the kitchen, Brogan’s in-house speakers spilling out the pop-piano playlist I selected earlier. Skye was a sucker for some good piano, and I’d made a fine mess a couple of hours ago while prepping a week’s worth of lunches and dinners for the days ahead.

Skye was tucked nicely into the wrap around my chest, but the little toot still wouldn’t shut her eyes. Her belly was full, but her eyes were wide open—content, but fully awake as I shuffled to and from the kitchen island, the fridge, and the sink. Doing my best to return the kitchen to the spotless kind of clean Brogan usually liked.

The front door to the house opened and shut, and I turned down the music from my phone as Brogan rounded the corner—

Shirtless.

Holy. Fucking. Muscles.

Sweat beaded over his broad chest, gliding down the dips and curves of his muscles, which were chiseled to absolute perfection. Damn, it was like he’d been carved out of wood and inked by an artist. His tattoos covered the length of his arms and scattered over his chest. I had the absolute ridiculous desire to trace my fingers along the whorls of ink.