LÓVE BEYOND BOUNDARIES

🌺 CUTE NANNY MONROE 🌺

The Lancaster Estate was so big, Scarlett swore it had its own climate.

She stood at the iron gates, backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie half-zipped, and a scowl carved into her face. She didn’t want to be here. But rent didn’t pay itself, and this job—however weird—offered more money in a month than her other three combined.

"Personal assistant," the ad said.

They forgot to mention it was for Ryder Lancaster.

She knew the name. Who didn’t? Son of a tech giant, heir to a billion-dollar empire, and the kind of boy who looked like sin and smiled like he knew it. Social media practically bowed to him. Rumor was, he flirted for sport and kissed like it was his job.

Scarlett didn’t care.

The door swung open before she could knock. A tall, shirtless guy leaned lazily against the frame, tousled dark hair, tattoos peeking down his arm, and—yep, she recognized that face from every online scandal in the past year.

Ryder Lancaster.

He looked her up and down, slow and amused. “You’re the nanny?”

Scarlett didn’t flinch. “You’re the reason one’s needed?”

Ryder laughed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Feisty. I like it.”

“I wasn’t trying to impress you.” She shoved past him. “Where’s the adult I’m supposed to talk to?”

“Ouch,” he said, pretending to be wounded. “You're kind of mean. I think we’ll get along great.”

She stopped, turned, and gave him a look colder than a snowstorm. “I’m not here to get along. I’m here to do a job. So keep your shirt on—literally—and stay out of my way.”

Ryder blinked, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t been shut down that fast in years.

Scarlett smirked. “Yeah. Not so charming now, huh?”

He watched as she disappeared into the hallway, shaking his head with a grin.

“Well,” he muttered, tugging on a T-shirt. “This is going to be fun.”

---

Scarlett spent the next ten minutes trying to convince herself that Ryder Lancaster wasn’t going to get under her skin. Unfortunately, he seemed determined to do exactly that.

The estate was bigger than most schools, with a grand staircase, shining marble floors, and way too many doors. A maid pointed her toward the east wing, where the head housekeeper—Mrs. Gloria—waited with a clipboard, glasses perched on her nose, and a no-nonsense frown.

“You must be Scarlett Monroe,” Mrs. Gloria said, eyeing her outfit. “You’re younger than expected.”

Scarlett nodded, trying to keep her tone respectful. “Still capable.”

“Good.” Gloria handed her a simple binder. “You’ll find the weekly schedule in here. Breakfast is served at 7 AM. You’re to assist Mr. Ryder with his daily needs—waking him, managing his college class calendar, and making sure he’s not caught sneaking out past midnight in someone else’s car.”

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like babysitting.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Gloria said flatly. “You’re here to manage him because no one else can. Don’t let his charm fool you.”

Scarlett gave a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m immune.”

Just then, Ryder appeared in the hallway, fresh from the shower, towel around his neck and wearing a grin like he’d invented flirting.

“Gloria,” he said smoothly. “My schedule’s looking lonely. Can Scarlett pencil in some quality time with me?”

“Try ‘no,’” Scarlett muttered without looking up from the binder.

Ryder smirked. “You say that now, sweetheart.”

Mrs. Gloria cleared her throat. “Mr. Ryder, go get dressed. Scarlett, follow me. I’ll show you your room.”

As they walked away, Ryder called out, “Sweet dreams, Nanny Monroe.”

Scarlett didn’t turn around. “Sweet delusions, Lancaster.”

---

Later That Night

Her room was simple but elegant. Scarlett unpacked her things in silence, still wrapping her head around her situation. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. She’d thought she’d be managing a spoiled boy with no brain.

But Ryder… was dangerous in a different way.

Smart. Sharp. Too smooth for his own good. And somehow, he was even more annoying because he knew he was attractive.

Scarlett flopped onto the bed and sighed. “No crushing,” she told herself. “No flirting. No falling. I’m here for the money.”

Across the hall, Ryder lay in his own bed, staring at the ceiling.

“She’s different,” he said aloud.

And for the first time in a long time, Ryder Lancaster wasn’t bored.

---

~NEXT MORNING ~

Scarlett woke up at exactly 6:45 a.m. Her alarm had gone off twice, and her pillow was still too soft for comfort. But this wasn’t a normal job—and her boss wasn’t a normal guy.

She tied her hair into a loose ponytail, pulled on a hoodie, and walked barefoot to the kitchen, only to find…

Chaos.

Mrs. Gloria and Mr. Fredrick—the two estate cooks in their forties—stood frozen, staring at the stove. Ryder was shirtless (again), wearing checkered pajama pants, and holding a frying pan like it was a weapon.

“What,” Scarlett said slowly, “are you doing?”

Ryder grinned over his shoulder. “Cooking breakfast for my lovely nanny.”

Fredrick cleared his throat. “Mr. Ryder has... insisted on making his own eggs today.”

Scarlett crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Are the eggs still alive? Or did you murder them yet?”

Ryder held up the pan. “I call this masterpiece: ‘Scrambled Sadness.’”

He turned around—and promptly tripped on the edge of the rug.

The frying pan flew. So did the eggs.

Mrs. Gloria screamed. Fredrick ducked. Scarlett? She caught the pan midair like a ninja... but the eggs? They splattered all over Ryder’s chest.

For once, he looked completely stunned.

Scarlett blinked. Then burst out laughing.

“Wow,” she said between giggles. “You’re a walking rom-com. I should charge double.”

Ryder wiped yolk off his collarbone with a paper towel. “I was trying to be sweet.”

“And now you look like breakfast.”

Mrs. Gloria sighed, clearly regretting every life decision that led her here. “Scarlett, get him cleaned up. Fredrick, I need coffee. A lot of it.”

As Gloria and Fredrick exited, Scarlett turned to Ryder, still snickering. “You’re lucky you’re pretty. That’s the only thing keeping you from being arrested for crimes against eggs.”

Ryder leaned closer, playful. “You think I’m pretty?”

Scarlett rolled her eyes and tossed him a kitchen towel. “Clean yourself up, yolk boy.”

---

Later that morning, as Scarlett sat at the kitchen table scrolling through her class notes, Ryder walked by again—fully dressed this time, and smug.

“You laughed at me,” he said, pointing accusingly.

“You looked like an omelet,” she shot back.

Ryder grinned. “You’re dangerous.”

“And you’re allergic to common sense.”

He winked. “Yet here we are.”

Scarlett didn’t smile, but her lips twitched—just a little.