The Bear's Nanny: A Shifter Romance

Chapter 1-3

APPLEGATE ROAD WAS one of the streets in the older section of New York City. Mallory had learned some of the history of the city in the time she’d lived here. Hard to own an apartment anywhere in Manhattan or Harlem and not pick up some of the history. The city took a lot of trouble to make sure there were plaques and signs and statues everywhere. The Dutch used to own this area as part of their territory, back in the 1600s, and the older parts of the city still reflected that heritage. Grand houses, odd street names, gentile society. Supposedly the oldest standing house in the city had been built in 1652.

Mallory had never seen that house but she was standing in front of the one at 542 Applegate Road, and all she could do was stare.

The cab driver had dropped her off, grumbling at his measly one dollar tip—all Mallory could afford to give him—and then driven away without looking back, leaving her on the sidewalk in front of the property. Through a wrought iron gate with spikes on top of a high arch, a winding cobblestone drive made its way up to a sprawling building that was more mansion than house.

The fence was in the middle of a high, stone wall that stretched out to the left and the right and then turned a ninety degree corner at both ends. Did it go around the entire property, she wondered? How could anyone own this much property in the middle of New York City?

Green, manicured lawns sat perfectly still in the summer heat. Dwarf trees had been sculpted by masterful shears into the shapes of elephants and flamingos, even a wolf. Flowers of all different colors lined the path leading up to the house.

Two stories tall, with pillars supporting a sloping roof over a wide porch, the house was white with a green trim. Windows stared out from the walls. Her mother’s house back in Oklahoma could have fit into it three times over with space to spare. It was one of those homes you saw on television shows where rich people did nothing but lounge by the pool all day and you just knew that it wasn’t a real home, it was just a Hollywood prop.

Yet, here she stood. This was no prop. Someone actually lived here.

Set into the stone columns beside the gate was a speaker box with a red and black button and a number pad under a circular screen. She tried to push open the gate but it wouldn’t budge. Apparently, a person had to announce their presence here before they could be let in.

What was she getting herself into? Rolling her eyes, Mallory leaned down to the slim metal box. Which button was it? She tried the red one, jabbing it with her thumb.

“Um, hello?”

There was no response. Was it the black button? She pressed that one, too, repeating “hello” a few more times and getting the same response. When she let go of the button a loud squeal spiked into her ears.

“You have to let go of the button when you are done speaking, miss.”

Mallory jumped back, taking a moment to catch her breath. “Oh, you scared me,” she told the man speaking to her. One hand over her heart, she gathered her wits and tried to at least look presentable. “I’m here about the ad in the paper. The nanny position—”

“Now you have to press the button,” the uptight voice informed her, “if you wish me to hear anything you’re saying.”

Swallowing, feeling like a student being chastised by her teacher, Mallory stepped closer to the speaker box again, and pressed the black button to say, “My name is Mallory Rose. I’m here to see about the position of a nanny.” Very carefully, she took her finger off the button.

“That’s much better, thank you,” the voice said. Mallory pictured a tall, thin, balding British man in an immaculate butler’s uniform, the kind with those long tails at the back. “Now then. If you’ll stay where you are, a member of the staff shall be there to collect you and bring you to the main house.”

“Main house?” Mallory asked herself. “There’s more than one house?”

“You need to press the button, please,” the voice admonished her.

Thumb out, she pressed the damned button and managed a thin smile. “I said I’ll wait here.” She took her thumb away again.

“Thank you, Miss Rose. Welcome to the Millieur estate.”

Mallory knew she was on camera, even though she couldn’t see any. The smarmy man talking to her through the speaker had known everything she was doing. So she stood there very still, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, until she saw a small four wheeled contraption like a golf cart coming across the lawn. It angled right for the gate and stopped. A young Spanish man stepped out, smiling at her, tipping his blue New York Yankees cap. He wore a loose-fitted white shirt and jeans with dirt smeared across the knees. A gardener, Mallory decided.

“Hola, Señorita,” the man said to her. “Señor Sherman me pidió que le llevara a la casa.”

“Huh?” She felt stupid having to ask, but she knew exactly three words in Spanish and only one of them had been in that sentence. New York City had a large Spanish population but most of them spoke English and she’d never bothered to learn the other language herself.

The gardener removed heavy work gloves from his hands and smiled at her in a patient way. “Senor Sherman has asked me to bring you to the house,” he translated for her, his accent thick and his words clipped. “You are here for the job, si?”

“Yes,” Mallory said sheepishly. At least one of them had bothered to learn a second language. “Thank you.”

He helped her into the little cart and then took his place behind the wheel again, driving them up to the front steps of the Millieur Estate.

“I’m confused,” she told him as they were stopping. “You said Mister Sherman asked you to bring me. Well, then who is the estate named after? Who is this Millieur?”

Her driver chuckled softly. “Senor Millieur is the master of the estate, Senorita. Mister Sherman is simply the man who runs the place.”

“Ahem.” A throat being cleared, loudly, brought their attention to the front door where a tall man in a black butler’s uniform complete with tails stood. His balding scalp reflected the sunlight. His thin mustache was immaculately trimmed and his eyes registered boredom.

Oh my gosh, Mallory thought to herself. He looks just like he sounded over the intercom! This had to be the same man. It had to be! She couldn’t help the smile that snuck over her when he spoke, his voice even more British in person.

“Miss Rose. Thank you for answering our help wanted advertisement.” He pronounced it ‘advert-tis-ment.’ “My name is Wilson Sherman. I am Mister Millieur’s manservant. You’ll find him just finishing his lunch with his son. Your timing could not be more perfect.”

“Lunch?” she had to ask. “At this hour?”

Mister Sherman held one hand out in front of him and began examining his fingernails closely, rubbing the tips together. “Mister Millieur takes his midday meal at one in the afternoon. Now, if you intend to work here, a good first rule to remember is not to question Mister Millieur’s habits. Come along.”

He turned on his heel and stepped back inside, expecting Mallory to follow.

She sat there for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. It was when the door started to close that she jumped up and out of her seat. “Um, thanks for the ride,” she said to her driver. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jorge,” he told her. “Jorge Sanchez. Call me George, Senorita.”

Quickly, she rushed after the butler. She made it two steps inside before she stopped in her tracks. The inside of the house was grander than the outside. Mallory hadn’t been prepared for that. The floors looked like they were made out of...marble. Patterns of black and white were swirled through the smooth surface that caught her eyes in infinite loops. The walls were some sort of wooden paneling that were carved in relief of trees, complete with leaves and several kinds of fruit. The entry hall was immense. She felt like shouting out something silly just to hear the echo.

Stairs at the far end of the hall led up in a gentle winding curve to the second level. Windows that went from floor to ceiling let in abundant natural sunlight. Statues of horses and Roman soldiers stood on pedestals around the room.

This place was incredible.

Doors led away in all directions. Looking around, she realized that she had no idea where Mister Sherman had gone. Down the hallway? Through that door? Maybe. She was turning around in circles when she noticed she wasn’t alone after all. It startled her to see a man standing near the top of the stairs. Not the butler; someone else.

“Oh,” she said. She was becoming the queen of witty one-liners today. “I’m sorry. I think I’m lost.”

“Were you expecting to be somewhere else besides my home?” he asked her.

His home. If this was his home then that made him... Oh, damn.

Her face burned and she wished she could melt through the floor tiles. Fantastic way to start a job interview, just get lost five steps through the front door and then spin around like a whirling dervish. Let your potential employer see you going crazy at how big his house is. Sure, great way to make an impression.

It didn’t help that this man descending the stairs was gorgeous. He was lean and strong. The white long-sleeved shirt he wore was tight across his broad chest and his upper arms. Black slacks hugged a tight ass and Mallory was almost embarrassed to find herself staring at his backside.

Snapping her gaze up, she caught the little smirk he didn’t even try to hide. His pale green eyes were lit with an inner amusement. Thick, wavy black hair was combed perfectly and neat, except for a little curl that fell roguishly out of place near his right temple. Gorgeous.

At the bottom stair, he stopped to lean against the banister. “Still feel like you’re lost?”

She kept herself from saying something stupid by taking three long, slow breaths. “I’m not lost. I’m here to apply for the job, as a nanny.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

She couldn’t help but blink at him. Had she said it wrong? Sure, she was stumbling over her words but it wasn’t every day a girl from a small town got to stand in a New York mansion in the glow of someone like him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, you think you’re just going to walk into my home and I’m going to, what, hire you on the spot?”

“Well, no. I mean, yes, but...”

“Perhaps you should stop deluding yourself,” he said to her, and then turned to go back up the stairs.

For one brief moment she stood where she was, rooted in place, staring at his back. Then her brain kicked into gear.

What a prick!

Mallory rushed up the first few steps before her resolve failed her completely. No way was she going to let this...this...spoiled rich man talk to her like that.

“I don’t know who you think I am, Mister Millieur, but I came here because you put a help wanted ad in the paper. You basically asked me to be here. Now I don’t expect us to become best friends but I came here for a job interview, and I expect that involves more than you dismissing me like a servant!”

She stopped to take a breath and only then did she realize how brazen she was being, how her voice was practically raised to a shout and how her heart was beating in her chest. What was she doing? This was supposed to win her a job with this guy? A job she wasn’t even sure she wanted?

There was no way he gave her so much as the time of day now. Not after that little performance. She gripped the banister tightly to keep her hand from shaking and forced herself to stand her ground. Maybe he would have her thrown off his property now. Either way, she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing how afraid she was of him.

He stared at her. He didn’t look upset. He looked...amused? Seriously?

“Well, well,” he said, leaning his hip against the curving wall that followed the staircase up. “It looks like you may be in the right place after all.”

He was making her head spin. Every time she stepped one way, he turned her the other. It was like he wanted her to be mad. That was it, wasn’t it? He was trying to goad her. Maybe. Damn, she just couldn’t tell.

His smile stayed set in place as he made his way down past her. Without looking back he stepped around the stairs and down the wide hallway. “Well, come on,” he said. “Follow me.”

Heart pounded in her chest as she rushed to follow him. Whatever had just happened, she must have done or said something right. Watching her footing as she went, not wanting to slip on the smooth floor tiles, she noticed a spot of red among the black and white pattern. Was that blood? No, It couldn’t be. She didn’t stop to look.

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