Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 60131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
When the doors glided open, he rolled my luggage to the front door.
“Have a goodnight, Miss.”
Anxious, I pressed the doorbell and waited for Mr. Dawson.
No one came.
I pressed it again.
The door swung open, revealing a woman in all grey.
“Yes?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Dawson,” I said.
“At this hour?” She looked me up and down. “For what?”
“He hired me to be his new nanny.”
“Oh.” She snorted. “Come right in, Miss. I’m Mr. Dawson’s executive house manager. I’m assuming you start in the morning, so I’ll show you to your room.”
I followed her through a long hallway and past a spiral staircase, into a grey and white room three times the size of my entire apartment.
I looked from the panoramic windows to the king-sized bed to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.
“This entire room is mine?” I was in disbelief.
“It’s yours for as long as you last here.” She nodded. “You have a private shower and a clawfoot tub in the adjoining bathroom suite, but you’ll never get a chance to use the latter, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Is Mr. Dawson a good employer?” I asked. “Like, is he nice?”
“You will use the freight elevator whenever it’s raining and leave wet shoes in the hallway.” She ignored my question. “That’s so the housekeeping team doesn’t have to do a double-clean on the floors.”
“You’ll have access to a personal town car driver—usually Mr. Michael at all times, and if you ever need to call Mr. Dawson, don’t. Call his chief of staff, Mr. Jerry instead.”
“How long have you been working here?” I tried to engage her in another topic. “Months? Years?”
“The children have a list of contacts atop your desk that you’ll need to save to your cell phone,” She ignored me again. She spoke like she’d said these words a million times before, like she didn’t care whether I understood.
“There is a directory of staff numbers as well if you need any of us.”
“Did you hear any of my questions?” I asked. “I’m just trying to get to know a fellow coworker.”
“You don’t need to know me.” Her voice was terse. “Since you’re stupid enough to take this position, I don’t need to know you either. Clear?”
I swallowed.
“Do your job and do it well,” she said. “The only personal thing you need to know is that the children’s mother passed away while she was on the verge of marrying someone else, and that Mr. Dawson doesn’t date. He just fucks, although he hasn’t done any of that since bringing his children home.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“That’s your Bible while you’re employed here.” She pointed to a thick black binder marked “Mr. Dawson’s Guide for the Nanny.”
“There’s a debit card in there for anything you may need to spend while the children are in your care, and a list of doctors and dental appointments with dates. Try to last at least three weeks, so you can get some overtime, and make me feel like I haven’t wasted my breath.”
She walked away and slammed the door shut.
Shaking off her rudeness, I picked up the binder and plopped onto the softest bed I’d ever felt.
Oh my god… “I could get used to this,” I muttered, flipping through the pages. There was a tab for everything—down to how Mr. Dawson wanted the towels folded in the babies’ bathroom.
I passed out in the middle of reading his rules for car rides.
“And the winner of the Bon Apetit Pastry Chef of the Year is…Harlow Hawthorne!”
Applause filled the air as a video of my custom tiramisu cupcake appeared on all the big screens.
I smoothed my pink Chanel dress and approached the stage. The diamond whisky trophy glittered brighter with my every step, and then—
“Miss Hawthorne?” A deep voice said, ruining my moment. “Miss Hawthorne?”
“Not now.” I groaned. “This is my time to shine.”
I grabbed the award from the host, but I inhaled his scent instead of speaking into the mic for my speech.
It was sensual and woodsy, with a hint of amber, the type I’d want lingering on my skin after a day of hot and sweaty sex.
Intoxicated by it, I inhaled it again and again, vowing to take one last drag before addressing the crowd.
“Miss Hawthorne?” That deep voice intruded my moment again.
“Can’t you see I’m getting an award?” I opened my eyes and realized I wasn’t in a ballroom.
There was no standing ovation or trophy anywhere in sight.
I was sprawled on my brand-new bed, and Mr. Dawson was standing over me in a different custom three-piece suit. His cologne was so damn good it’d infiltrated my dreams.
“Are you ready to get to work, or should I let you continue sleeping?”
I knew better than to give him an honest answer.
Sitting up, I noticed it was still dark outside.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning.” He read my mind. “William typically wakes up for a warm bottle around six, and Charlotte will want to be held for a few minutes before she drinks one. You’ll also need to make sure Olivia is ready for school transport by six fifteen.”