Mine To Claim

Chapter 2

Anna

I picked up the envelop and walked into the apartment, though, honestly, calling it an apartment is an overstatement. It’s more like a shoebox with a window that opens halfway if you bribe it. I share it with my roommate, Clare, who went from total stranger to my closest friend in the city within weeks.

We bonded over our mutual state of brokenness. She dropped out of college last year when she couldn’t afford tuition anymore and now works full-time as a waitress. I, on the other hand, am clinging to my degree by a thread, praying I can pay next semester’s fees before the college gods smite me.

Which makes what I did earlier, storming out of the interview like I own the company, borderline suicidal. I mean, who walks out of a potential job when they can barely afford takeout?

Apparently, I do.

But the thing is, I can’t regret it. It was so satisfying.

I’ve dealt with arrogant rich people before, but David Walton is something else entirely. And worse, he’s the kind of handsome that should come with a public safety warning. I wanted to kiss him and strangle him simultaneously. Probably good I didn’t get the job. I don't think my brain and hormones can’t be trusted around him.

It’s for the best. I’ll find another job. I’ll survive. Somehow.

My spiral of self-pity was interrupted by raised voices. Clare and her boyfriend, Mark, were at it again. Their fights had become as regular as my caffeine intake.

I stepped into our tiny kitchen-s***h-living-room and found them mid-shout. The second they noticed me, both went quiet.

“Hey, guys,” I said, dropping my purse on the couch. “What’s going on?”

“Anna, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Mark started, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked serious, which immediately made me nervous. “But Clare didn’t want to upset you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Clare said quickly, her tone somewhere between guilty and nervous.

I frowned. “What’s going on?”

Mark looked at her, then at me. “Okay, I’ll just say it. My lease ended last week, and I’ve been staying here most nights anyway. So… I thought maybe I could move in properly. Clare said she was worried you might feel uncomfortable or hurt if she asked you to move out.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

For a second, I just stood there blinking, waiting for the punchline.

Then it hit me, they were serious.

I sat down slowly, my heart sinking even though I forced a smile. “Oh.”

Clare reached for my hand, her eyes soft. “Anna, you know how much I love you, right? This isn’t about you. It’s just… things between me and Mark are getting serious, and, well—” She bit her lip. “We kind of need more privacy. You know?”

Ah. Privacy.

The most polite word for we want to live together and not have a roommate hearing every creak of the bed or every argument about laundry.

I nodded quickly, trying to seem okay. “Of course. No problem. I get it.”

Clare’s eyes filled with guilt. “You’ve been the best roommate, and I hate doing this, but we both just… need our own space now.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and smiled brighter. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m really happy for you guys.”

And I meant it, at least the happy-for-them part.

The rest? I was quietly panicking on the inside. No job, no savings, and soon, no place to live.

Mark grinned, clearly relieved. “That means a lot, Anna. Seriously, thank you.”

Clare hugged me tight, and I hugged her back, forcing my voice to sound cheerful. “Let’s celebrate then!”

Because why not? If my life’s falling apart, I might as well toast to it.

We ended up celebrating with cheap wine, greasy Chinese takeout, and Titanic, because nothing says fun girls’ night like watching true love sink into icy waters.

By the time Jack was dying (again), my phone started ringing. It was nearly 9:30 p.m., and I didn’t recognize the number.

Private call.

I frowned, half-drunk, and picked up. “Hello?”

“Ms. Styles,” said a deep, smooth voice I recognized instantly, the one that had been echoing in my head all day.

I straightened up. “Who is this?”

“It’s David Walton. You interviewed for the nanny position.”

I blinked. “Yes, Mr. Walton. But you didn’t need to personally call to tell me I didn’t get the job.”

A pause, and then a low chuckle. A shiver ran down my spine hearing it.

“You’re quite something, Ms. Styles. Anyway, if you’re still interested, you’ll report to the address I just emailed you. Ten a.m. sharp tomorrow.”

I froze. “Wait, seriously? This isn’t a prank?”

“No, it isn’t. And I expect you to take it seriously this time. Be on time, and maybe behave like an adult instead of walking out like a child throwing a tantrum.”

Was that… teasing? Was David Walton actually teasing me?

“Of course, sir,” I said quickly. “I’ll be there.”

The line went dead.

He really doesn’t believe in goodbyes, does he?

I stared at my phone, half-laughing, half-panicking.

I might actually get this job. And since I’d soon be homeless, it couldn’t have come at a better time.

I spent the next hour prepping for all the questions he might throw at me and laid out my favorite outfit, a white silk blouse and a fitted black pencil skirt. Professional but confident. My lucky combo.

At 11 p.m., his email came through. The address was in one of the fanciest parts of Westchester. I Googled it and blinked. Not a house. A mansion.

Of course.

As I stared at the photo on my screen, my nerves twisted into cautious excitement.

I need this job to survive another month.

When I finally lay down, my mind replayed the image of the little boy I’d met earlier. His wide eyes, that trembling lip…

One thing I’ve learned as a nanny is that the richer the parents, the lonelier the children often are.

Or maybe I just met him at the wrong moment.

With that thought, I set my alarm and closed my eyes.

Tomorrow was a new beginning, whether I was ready or not.