by Alexa Hart
“A little,” I say. He smiles that wolfish smile again, he knows what I am really hungry for, but the smile vanishes quickly and the cold metal look returns to his stunning features. I wish I could read his thoughts the way he seems to be able to read mine.
“We can all eat together,” Lily says excitedly.
“Sorry, Lily,” Aster clears her throat, “Chef only made enough for you and your dad. I didn’t realize we’d have company. And I have a stack of paperwork as well as a very angry message from the mayor that I need to deal with. Dax, we should really get to work.”
The way Aster says we when she refers to the two of them makes me prickle with jealousy. And a quick glance at Lily says she doesn’t like it either. Maybe Dax and his assistant have a little more than a professional relationship.
“You’re right,” he says to Aster. “Hannah can have my dinner, just ask Chef to cook up a steak for me to be brought to my office.”
“Bloody?” Aster asks.
“Just the way a wolf boss likes it,” I say.
Dax smiles at me and my knees go jelly-like.
“Wolf boss?” Lily whispers.
“It’s a new nickname from work,” he winks at her. “Lily, can you give Hannah a quick tour before bed?”
“No problem, Daddy,” Lily says quietly.
“What about if I have…. I don’t know… a question?” I ask nervously. “Or... um... need the wifi password?” I blush at how dumb I sound, but I don’t want him to leave. I feel safer when he’s around, even if he’s impossible to read.
Before Dax can speak, Aster snaps out, “Mr. Hardin doesn’t need to be bothered with trivialities. Any questions you have, you can direct to me. You have no reason to interact directly with Mr. Hardin.”
“Oh... okay, roger that.” I say, giving her an awkward little salute.
Dax looks like he wants to say something, but he holds back. Instead, he nods once, coldly, and walks away, Aster’s heels clicking after him to keep up. Lily pets Samson happily and I am left to wonder what the hell kind of mess I have gotten myself into.
Chapter 10
Hannah
Dax’s personal chef, a middle-aged French woman who seems so rigid and tough, she could have worked at a Russian gulag just as easily as any fancy French restaurant, sets us up at the formal dining table with a dish of salmon and beans. The dining room is very formal and a bit stifling, and I decide right then that I’m going to figure out a warmer style of food consumption as soon as possible. When my mom moved us into our first apartment in the city, we hadn’t had a dining room table, we couldn’t even afford one. She’d spread a blanket out across the floor and we’d have picnics. I know now that we did it because she couldn’t afford a table, but at the time it just felt like an adventure. I have a feeling Lily could use some adventure way more than a dining room where you can hear your own voice echo when you talk.
From under the table, Samson whines like a spoiled baby, which isn’t too far from the truth, and I wink at Lily as I sneak Samson a few bits of salmon when the chef isn’t looking. Lily erupts in a fit of giggles.
After dinner, Lily gives me a tour of her room, or more accurately, she gives Samson one. She still seems too shy to engage directly with me, but Samson proves a useful companion, though she’s still practically whispering as she takes us into her room.
When I walk into Lily’s room the first thing I notice are the ballet posters. Not just ordinary posters, autographed posters!
“Whoa,” I say. “That’s Misty Copeland. And Natalia Osipova. You like ballet?” I ask, turning to her.
“I love it,” she says. “Do you?”
I nod and then do the best pirouette into an arabesque I can manage in a pair of skinny jeans. Lily applauds.
“That was awesome,” she says. Her voice is almost at normal volume and I realize this is my shot. I sit down next to Samson on the floor and pat the ground for Lily to sit next to me. She sits down. “Listen, Lily,” I say. “We have a teeny-tiny problem.”
She looks at me, eyes wide with concern. This kid is nine going on thirty.
“Don’t worry! It’s not a big deal at all,” I promise. “But Samson is an old dog. He’s thirteen in human years which is like….” I start to count in my head.
“Ninety-one,” she says softly. “In dog years.”
“That’s right. Samson, take note, Lily is kind, loves ballet, and is a complete math whiz. A powerful trifecta of awesomeness. So back to the problem. My ninety-one-year-old dog may act like a baby, but he’s got some old dog issues. Flatulence, for one, unfortunately.” I hold my nose exaggeratedly and Lily giggles. Samson cocks his head at me as if I’ve offended him. “You know it’s true, Samson. Don’t deny it!” I turn back to Lily. “And, also, he can’t hear that well. So, when you talk to him, or us, you’re going to have to talk just a little louder. Do you think you can do that?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
Samson snorts and shakes his head. “I agree, Samson,” I say. “She needs to be a little louder. Nothing drastic. Just maybe we could go from a whisper to a stage whisper. Want to try again?”
“O-kay,” Lily says, a little louder.
“Better,” I reach out my hand and give her a high-five. “We’ll keep practicing.”
I fish around in my purse and pull out a dog treat. I hand it to Lily. “These are some of his favorites,” I say. “But you have to tell him to sing before he can have one.”
“Sing? Lily asks, quizzically.
“Hm-hmm.” I nod. “Samson always dreamed of being a singer. Watch,” I hold out a treat. “Samson, sing,” I say. Samson raises his head and lets out a small out-of-tune howl. Lily bursts out laughing. I give Samson the treat and scratch him on the head. “I never said he was good at it,” I shake my head.
I hand Lily a treat. “You try. But you have to say it like a command. Stand up, shoulders back, no whispering.”
She nods and stands up, clearing her throat. “Samson, sing!” she says. Samson lets out another howl and Lily giggles and gives him the treat. “That’s so amazing,” she says.
“And that was some awesome commanding!”
“You’re not like any of my other nannies,” she says.
“Have you had a lot of nannies?”
She frowns. “Aster is super picky, and they’re usually old and kind of, I don’t know, crusty.”
“Yeah, that’s the way someone should be describing stale bread, not a friend. I can promise you that I am still pretty young, and nobody has ever described me as crusty. At least not to my face.” I stick out my tongue. “Truthfully, I’m not a nanny. Or at least this is my first nanny gig.”
“I can tell,” Lily says.
“Ouch. What gave it away?” I laugh.
“You’re too nice, you said we were friends, and you don’t wear glasses. You do speak French though, so that was confusing.”
“Ahh, well, actually, until very recently, I was a ballet dancer,” I say. “And I learned French in school. Every good dancer should know some French!”
Lily’s face freezes in happy shock. “Really? Like a real ballet dancer. On stage? I love it!”
“Yeah, I’m guessing that’s why your daddy hired me despite my excellent vision.” I hear a knock on the door and turn to find Aster frowning down at both of us.
“I heard howling,” she says testily. “And Lily, you’re supposed to be in bed. It’s fifteen minutes past nine.”
“Sorry,” I stand up. “That was my fault. The howling too. I got... um... distracted. It’s only fifteen minutes though.”
Aster shakes her head at me like I am the biggest idiot she’s ever met. “Mr. Hardin does not tolerate incompetence. Or a distraction as an excuse.”
“Howling’s probably out too then,” I wink at Lily. “So, right. Okay,” I turn to Lily. “Let’s get you to bed. How do we do that?”
Lily laughs again. “Wait here while I get my pajamas on and brush my teeth. Do you know any good st
ories?”
“Um, I know the plots of tons of ballets,” I say.
“Perfect. Tell me Swan Lake!”
Lily goes into a small bathroom off of her room and Aster walks over to me. “You can cut the charade, Ms. Gibbons. You don’t have to go overboard with Lily. Dax has informed me of who you really are and why you’re here. How very lucky you are.”
“Yeah? Having my apartment destroyed doesn’t feel that lucky,” I counter.
“Unless it got you just what you wanted,” she says. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to try to trick her way into Dax’s life.”
I suddenly feel like I am back at the ballet company, only Aster is way more intimidating than the girls I used to have to compete against. “What is it you want, Aster?” I ask. “It might make things easier if we just get that out of the way now.”
Aster straightens her suit coat. “Carl should be back with the rest of your luggage shortly. And you’ll need this.” Aster hands me a phone.
I look at it in confusion. “What’s this?”
“Your new phone. And I’ll need your old one.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s probably a cheap piece of garbage and a very hackable security hazard. Now hand it over. Dax’s orders.”
I frown and pull my phone out of my purse, handing it to Aster, who smiles smugly. “You’ll get this back when you leave, which don’t fool yourself, will be very soon. For now, this phone,” she points to the new one, “has your daily itinerary already programmed into the calendar. Contact information for myself, Lily’s teachers, dietary notes, etc. You’ll need to go through the motions, but I’ll pick up the slack and make sure Lily is safe and taken care of. We expect excellence from any actual employee, but you can just do your best.”
“That’s all very thorough,” I say. “And I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Lily.”
“These are Mr. Hardin’s orders, not mine,” she says. “He’d like me to keep an eye on you.”
“I see,” I say. I try not to seem hurt, but I must not be a very good actress because I can feel the smug satisfaction basically radiating off of her. Thankfully, before Aster can get in any last digs, Lily comes out of the bathroom in PJs and a ponytail. She climbs into bed and pulls the blankets up to her chin.
“Five minutes,” Aster says.
“I’ll tell the fastest version of Swan Lake ever,” I nod.
“And she needs the door left open and the hall light on. She has nightmares.”
“You can go now, Aster,” Lily says, quietly but firmly.
“Text if you need me,” Aster says to Lily.
“You have a cell phone?” I ask Lily in amazement. “I didn’t get one until I was fifteen!”
“Only for emergencies,” Lily says. “No games.”
Aster leaves and I take a seat on the bed next to Lily. I tell the most abridged version of Swan Lake I can manage, and meanwhile, Samson jumps up on the bed and snuggles next to her.
“Oh my, it looks like you’ve made a friend,” I say as Samson snuggles up to Lily and slobbers on her pillow. “Slobber isn’t an old dog issue, but it is a bulldog issue.”
“I don’t mind,” Lily says as she scratches his ears.
“Lily, would you like Samson to sleep with you tonight?” I ask. “He’s already made himself quite at home.”
“Really?” Lily’s eyes light up. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“What makes Samson happy makes me happy. Plus, he’s a very good watchdog in one very useful way. If you’re having a bad dream, he loves to lick your face until you wake up and cuddle with you until you feel safe to go back to sleep. But! What is it Spiderman said? ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ If you keep him in here, then in the morning you’ll have to help me take him for a walk to pee. And help feed him. Dogs can be a good amount of work, even old grumps like Samson.”
“I would love to help!” Lily says. “I’m super responsible.”
“I believe it,” I say. “Then I’ll leave Samson with you for the night. But be warned, he snores.” Samson looks at me and whimpers. “What, buddy? You know it’s true.”
Lily giggles at Samson as I lean in to give him one last good rub on the head, and to my surprise, Lily leans up and hugs me.
“Goodnight, Hannah,” Lily whispers in my ear. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Goodnight, Lily,” I say. “I’m glad I’m here too.”
I stand up and turn off the light, then step quietly out of Lily’s bedroom, leaving the door ajar. I leave the hallway light on as I cross to the door nearest hers, my room. The door is open and I step inside. The room is sparse, colder than the rest of the penthouse and I wonder how long anyone has lasted here, under the difficult, cold gaze of Dax Hardin and his team of wolves. I wonder if I hadn’t seen his warmer side that night, how long I would last myself. The first thing I need to do, I decide, is get some twinkle lights.
Someone knocks on the door causing me to jump.
“Jeez, you scared me.”
“Sorry, Ms. Gibbons,” Carl says. He’s standing in the doorway holding two more suitcases. “Just the rest of your things.”
“Oh, thank you.” I hurry over to help him. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. I had hoped, like an idiot, that I might see Dax again tonight. I quickly take that hope and bury it deep down. He’s still a jerk who left with only a brief note and I don’t buy his whole ‘didn’t tell me who he was for my own good crap’. It’s not like he’s Lex Luther or anything. I should try to avoid him as much as possible and considering the size of this penthouse, that shouldn’t be hard. Yes, that’s my new plan. Avoid and deny the pesky feelings I know are starting to crop up. Carl looks up at me and gives a curt nod.
“Everything okay?” He asks.
“The room’s a little chilly. Is your room like this, Carl?”
“No, Ms. Gibbons. My room has a view of the airport and my walls are painted aubergine because my wife insisted on it.”
“Excuse me?”
“My room is at my house,” he says. “You’re the only live-in staff.”
“You mean, just me, Lily, and Dax? What about the chef?”
“She has her own suite on the 5th floor. And Aster likes to pretend she lives here, but even she needs sleep on occasion.”
He must think my wide eyes and obvious nerves are because of the break-in and not because of the very near, very solo proximity I just realized I’ll have to Dax. My avoid-and-deny scenario really relied on more people being around.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Gibbons. There is always someone just outside the entrance if you feel you need assistance. Tonight, it’s Hans. Security should be in your phone contacts. It goes to whoever is on call.”
“Hans. Security. Got it. Awesome.”
I remember when I used to be really nervous before a performance, I found the only thing that helped was keeping busy. I immediately unzip the first suitcase and pull out a dress. I open the closet to hang it up, but stop dead in my tracks. It looks like Banana Republic had vomited inside. The whole closet is full of grey and black women’s suits. I pull one out.
“What is this?” I ask Carl as he’s walking out of the room. “I thought you said Aster didn’t stay here.”
“These are your clothes,” he says. “Not hers.”
I laugh. “Um, no way are these mine.” I hold one up. To my surprise, it is my size.
“Mr. Hardin thought you might need some clothes appropriate for the work. He ordered them on the car ride over. Since you’ll be representing him….” Carl glances down at his feet. “He has preferred attire.”
“I see. Yeah, no business casual for Dax Hardin. Well, tell him hard pass on the Aster carbon-copy,” I laugh. I lift out all of the outfits and hand them to Carl. “I’m an adult woman and I can dress myself.”
“Yes, Ms. Gibbons,” Carl says.
“Oh, for God’s sake, call me Hannah!” I say. “Please?”
“Yes, Hannah. But Mr.
Hardin may have reservations. He’s particular about professional appearance ...”
“Well, you tell Mr. Hardin that if he trusts me with his daughter, even on a pretend basis, then he should trust me to know how to cloth myself professionally. And tell him I liked him better when he was injured and less bossy!”
Carl moves to leave. “I’ll relay the message,” he says. I can tell he is trying not to crack a smile.
“Wait.…” I go over and lift one of the suits from the pile he’s carrying. “This one I actually like. But don’t tell him that, okay? People who get everything they want all the time are no fun, right?”
Carl chuckles. “Right.”
Carl leaves and I busy myself putting away the rest of my clothes. When I can’t stand to hang one more item, I force myself to sit down on the bed and take the opportunity to turn on my new phone, flipping through tomorrow’s itinerary. Breakfast at 7 a.m. Then Lily has school, French lessons after, ballet class. Jeez. When does the kid just get to be a kid? That was one thing I loved my mom for. We didn’t have much, or at least she didn’t, since my dad only funded my education, but she always made sure I had space to just be - no matter how hard my father pushed her otherwise.
I know Dax Hardin likes his employees to follow orders and itineraries and dress in expensive business suits, but I’m not a real employee. I have a feeling that underneath the tattoos and muscles and tough upbringing and loss and pain is a warm lonely heart in desperate need of some twinkle lights. Then I remind myself that Dax Hardin is not my problem and I absolutely should not care about what he needs or how he feels … or how I feel when he’s touching me. Shit.
I lie back in bed and throw a pillow over my head. I’m starting to think I’d be in less danger back at my apartment than I am here, living so close to a man I desperately want, but can never have.
Chapter 11
Dax
I pour myself a glass of whiskey and stare out the window of my private office. So as not to disturb Lily with my work, I set up my office on the opposite side of the penthouse. Tonight, I am glad for the distance for a new reason. A seductive new problem I brought home with me named Hannah Gibbons.