Mine To Claim

Chapter 1

Anna

Sitting on this luxurious sofa for the past half hour hasn’t done much to calm me down. My palms are clammy, and I keep tapping my foot on the marble floor, trying to look more confident than I feel. Interviews always make me nervous, even though I’ve done plenty by now.

I’m studying child psychology at Columbia and work as a nanny for well-off families around the city. Most of them have all the money in the world but not nearly enough time for their kids. I try not to judge; it’s easy to get lost in fast lives and big jobs, but it still breaks my heart sometimes.

I grew up with parents who were completely hands-on. They were always there, bedtime stories, weekend pancakes, even silly backyard picnics. That’s the best part of my childhood, and I wish every child could have that same feeling of being loved and seen. Maybe that’s why I do this work. It’s not just a job for me; it’s a way to give a little bit of that warmth to someone else.

Still, being surrounded by luxury doesn’t make these interviews any easier. I look around the waiting area, polished marble floors, velvet chairs, a sparkling chandelier overhead, and take a deep breath.

The other candidates are chatting quietly. Most of them are dressed up, some a little too much. Tight dresses, high heels, perfect hair. I know they’re trying to make a good impression. Today’s client isn’t just any family, he’s David Walton, the bachelor billionaire.

The man the media can’t get enough of.

I may or may not have Googled him last night, and I’ll admit, his pictures don’t lie. The man is gorgeous. Apparently, I’m not the only one who noticed.

When the receptionist calls my name, I smooth my skirt, wipe my palms on the fabric, and head toward the office door.

I knock once. No answer.

I wait a second, then knock again. Still nothing.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself, and slowly open the door.

The office is empty.

I’m about to step back into the hallway when I notice a small boy, maybe three years old, sitting on the floor in the corner. He’s holding a shiny coin and, before I can even process it, he puts it in his mouth.

My heart leaps into my throat.

“Hey, no, no—”

I rush toward him, drop to my knees, and gently remove the coin before he can choke. He starts crying immediately, his little face scrunched and red.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe,” I whisper, rubbing his back. “You’re okay now, sweetheart. I’m Anna. I’m here for you.”

He clings to my shoulder, sobbing softly, when a deep, angry voice cuts through the air.

“What the hell did you do?”

I cover the child’s ears and turn toward the voice.

And there he is.

David Walton, in the flesh.

Even if I hadn’t seen his photos online, I’d have recognized him instantly. His presence fills the room, broad shoulders under a perfectly cut blue suit, dark eyes sharp and assessing. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running a hand through it.

I stare for half a second too long, then realize what I’m doing and quickly look away, cheeks burning.

He strides toward me, every step measured and controlled, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Then he stops, looking down at the child in my arms.

Before I can explain, the boy wriggles free and runs straight to him, grabbing his hand. David crouches down and murmurs something soft to him. They disappear through a side door I hadn’t noticed before.

I stand there awkwardly, my pulse still racing, wondering if I should just leave. Before I can make up my mind, he returns. Alone.

“Is he okay now?” I ask, my voice smaller than I’d like.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, intense, unreadable. “What exactly did you do to make him cry?”

I blink, taken aback. “I didn’t do anything. He was choking on a coin when I came in.”

He exhales sharply, mutters something under his breath, and walks over to the enormous desk that dominates the room. The chair creaks softly as he sits, and I can feel his gaze on me even from across the room.

He gestures for me to sit.

I lower myself into the chair, smoothing my skirt again. My nerves are everywhere.

“What’s your name?” he asks, flipping through a folder, my résumé, I realize.

“Anna. Anna Styles.”

He glances up briefly. “Ms. Styles.” There’s a pause before he continues, “Let’s get straight to the point. There are several more qualified candidates waiting outside. Why should I hire you? From what I just saw, you made the child cry in your first two minutes here.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “I was trying to save him—”

“You entered my office without permission,” he cuts in smoothly. “That doesn’t give me much confidence in your professionalism.”

I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I knocked. Twice. There was no response, and I didn’t want to waste time when a child was—”

He interrupts again. “You’re a student, not a professional nanny.”

That one stings.

For a moment, I sit there, staring at him. Then something inside me clicks. I rise slowly from the chair, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Mr. Walton,” I begin, keeping my voice even but firm, “I came here because I’m qualified and because I’m good at what I do. You left a three-year-old alone in your office. If I hadn’t ignored the rules for a moment, he could’ve choked. I didn’t come here to impress you, I came here to make sure he’s safe.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I raise a hand before he can.

And to my surprise, instead of getting angry, his lips twitch slightly, as if he’s fighting a smile.

Or maybe it was a figment of my imagination.

I continue, “I care deeply about children. For me, this isn’t just a paycheck or a title. I grew up in a home where my parents were always present, and that’s something I wish every child could have. When I take care of a kid, I try to give them that same feeling, of being seen, of being cared for. I may not look like everyone else outside that door, but I know how to make a child feel loved and safe. And if that’s not what you’re looking for, then I won’t waste any more of your time.”

I pick up my bag, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone who fits what you need, someone polished, confident, maybe even perfect on paper.” I smile faintly. “But I think what you need is someone who actually cares.”

And with that, I turn to leave.

My heels click against the marble floor, and I don’t look back.

By the time I step outside, the clouds have burst open. Rain pours down, soaking through my clothes within seconds.

Perfect. Just perfect.

I stand there, drenched and exhausted, watching cabs whiz past the curb. My reflection in the glass doors looks like a mess, hair plastered, mascara smudged, blouse sticking to my skin.

“Could this day get any worse?” I mutter, half-laughing.

But even as I shiver, a strange calm settles over me. At least I stood my ground.

I call for a cab, slide into the back seat, and watch the city lights blur through the rain-streaked window.

When I finally reach my tiny apartment, all I can think about is a hot shower and dry clothes. But as soon as I step inside, I see the envelope waiting on the counter, and I know the day isn’t done testing me.