CHAPTER 2
1343 Words
Riley Monroe had never stepped into a bedroom that smelled like money before, but the Carter guest suite gave her a clear idea of what it must cost.
The sheets were softer than anything she’d ever owned. The bathroom had a rainfall shower and a mirror that lit up when she leaned in. The closet could fit her entire apartment, plus Caleb’s bike and probably a golden retriever. She didn’t even want to touch the robes folded at the edge of the bed, like they came with a price tag she couldn’t afford to look at.
Still, here she was.
Employed. In Manhattan. Living with a billionaire.
And somehow, she hadn’t choked during the interview unless you counted the part where she almost laughed at the clause about not sleeping with her boss.
She dropped her duffel bag onto the cream-colored rug and sighed. Her nerves were still dancing from last night. Nathaniel Carter wasn’t just richhe was built like a Greek tragedy, all cold lines and hidden depths. And something about the way he looked at her like she was both a puzzle and a problem it had her nerves tripping over themselves.
Don’t get attached, she reminded herself. Don’t get curious. Don’t be stupid.
Her phone buzzed. Caleb.
> You settled?
> Yes. No. This place is ridiculous. You’d hate it.
> Pics or I don’t believe you.
She snapped a photo of the view from her window of Central Park glowing in the golden morning light and sent it with a one-word caption: Surreal.
A soft knock interrupted her.
She opened the door to find a woman in her fifties wearing a navy uniform and an expression that could curdle milk.
“You’re the new nanny,” the woman said, not asked.
Riley nodded. “Riley Monroe. And you must be?”
“Martha Gallagher. Housekeeper. I’ve been here since Mr. Carter was barely older than the girl.”
Riley smiled. “Pleasure. I promise not to make a mess.”
“Too late,” Martha said dryly. “You’re breathing.”
Riley blinked.
Martha’s lips twitched just barely. “Kidding. Mostly. Breakfast is at eight. Miss Emma eats toast cut into triangles, not squares, and don’t even try to switch it. Juice must be pink. Not orange. You’ll find her in the den with her astronaut. If she doesn’t talk, don’t push. If she does, listen.”
Riley gave a mock salute. “Got it. No toast errors. Juice diplomacy. Space exploration.”
Martha narrowed her eyes like she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified. “You’re not like the others.”
“Thank you?” Riley offered.
“We’ll see.” Martha turned. “Good luck.”
Emma was in the den, sitting on a beanbag shaped like a moon crater, flipping through a book about constellations. The stuffed astronaut sat beside her, buckled in with a toy seatbelt Riley didn’t know existed.
“Good morning, Commander Emma,” Riley said gently, stepping inside with a tray of breakfast.
Emma peeked up, glasses slightly askew. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did.” Riley set the tray down. “Triangle toast. Pink juice. Zero gravity behavior is optional.”
Emma eyed the tray, then gave a tiny nod. Progress.
They sat in comfortable silence as Emma ate. Riley leaned back on her hands, letting the quiet wrap around them. No pressure. No questions. Just presence.
“Do you like stars?” Emma asked suddenly.
“I love stars,” Riley said. “They remind me that even the dark has light in it.”
Emma chewed slowly, then whispered, “Most people don’t stay.”
Riley’s heart caught. “I’m not most people.”
Emma didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away, either.
Later that morning, Riley took a tour of the house or, as she called it, the Carter wing of the planet. It had three floors, a rooftop garden, a private library, and a gym Riley promised herself she’d never set foot in unless absolutely necessary.
She was standing in the kitchen sipping coffee when a man in a white apron walked in.
“New face,” he said, grinning. “You must be the unicorn who got Emma to talk.”
“Riley,” she said, shaking his hand. “And you are?”
“Marcus. Chef, smoothie god, and occasionally, caffeine dealer.” He handed her a second cup. “Mr. Carter likes his espresso dark and unforgiving.”
“Fitting,” Riley muttered.
Marcus laughed. “He’s not that bad.”
“You’re just saying that because he signs your paycheck.”
“True,” Marcus said. “But also he’s loyal. Fair. Intense, yeah, but he takes care of his people.”
Riley sipped the coffee, watching Marcus through narrowed eyes. “You’re trying to warn me not to mess with him, aren’t you?”
Marcus smirked. “Not warning. Just saying don’t underestimate the man behind the marble walls.”
Behind them, a cough sounded.
Riley turned.
Nate stood in the doorway, suit sharp, tie half-done, jaw clenched.
“Is this a social hour?” he asked coolly.
Marcus held up his hands. “Just fueling your staff, sir.”
Nate’s eyes flicked to Riley. “How’s Emma?”
“Read me a paragraph about Orion. Ate two triangle toasts. Didn’t run screaming. I’d call it a win.”
His expression didn’t change, but something shifted like a subtle c***k in the ice.
“You’ll join us for dinner tonight,” he said. “Emma likes consistency.”
Riley blinked. “Join you? As in”
“Yes,” Nate said, already walking away. “You live here now. Act like it.”
Dinner was awkward.
The table was too long, the lighting too dim, and the silence too loaded.
Emma sat between them, munching on chicken nuggets shaped like planets. Riley tried to act normal, even as Nate asked questions like an interrogator disguised as a father.
“You taught third grade?”
“Fourth and fifth. Mostly inner city. I liked it.”
“Why’d you leave?”
Riley paused. “Parents didn’t love my habit of protecting kids more than reputations.”
Emma looked up sharply. Nate’s gaze darkened.
“Sounds messy,” he said.
“Kids usually are,” Riley replied.
Another beat of silence. Then unexpectedly Emma laughed. Quiet, but real.
Riley turned to her. “What’s funny?”
Emma pointed to Nate. “He looks like he’s trying not to explode.”
“I’m not,” Nate said.
“You are,” Riley and Emma said together.
And just like that, something shifted. Small. Delicate. But there.
Later, Riley walked to the library to grab a book, only to find Nate already there, tie undone, sleeves rolled, glass of scotch in hand.
She froze.
He didn’t.
“Relax, Monroe,” he said, not looking at her. “I’m not that scary.”
“I’ve seen scarier,” she said, stepping inside. “Middle school girls with glitter lip gloss and attitude.”
A smile ghosted his lips.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he said. “You’re good with her.”
“She makes it easy.”
“She doesn’t.”
They looked at each other. Silence stretched.
“Why me?” she asked softly. “You could’ve picked anyone. Someone with a clean, polished background. No baggage.”
“Because you didn’t flinch,” he said. “You saw her. You saw me. And you didn’t flinch.”
Riley’s breath caught.
“And the contract?” she asked.
He stepped closer. Not too close. But closer than before.
“Still in place,” he said, voice low. “Especially Clause Four.”
Riley arched a brow. “Terrified I’ll fall for you?”
His eyes darkened.
“No,” he said. “Terrified, I'll fall for you.”
Then he turned and walked out, leaving her breathless in a room full of books and one rule already cracking.
- Writer
