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Surely that’s not what’s happening here. Her guardians are literal billionaires.
Instantly, I know she is the reason I’m here for the nanny interview, and excitement replaces all my other emotions.
“Are you Lily?” I ask, stepping away from the car to crouch down, extending my hand toward her. Her dark eyes pop, and I grin at her. “My name’s Aspen.”
Her huge, fairytale eyes widen more, but before the doll-like four-year-old can speak a word, footsteps at my back turn my attention around again.
My jaw slacks as two men block the bright sunshine, their faces an identical expression of perplexity. The angle of their faces against the light blocks me from fully catching sight of their features properly, but that doesn’t stop my pulse from going haywire again as I struggle to stand on my feet.
A strong hand juts out to help me, and I take it gratefully, my entire body collapsing. A soft chuckle follows the assist.
“I would ask what you’re doing down there, but I’m almost afraid of the answer,” the other man sighs, glancing at his companion, who easily guides me to my feet.
My cheeks flush crimson, and I look back over my shoulder for evidence of the child, but Lily has vanished, leaving me looking foolish in front of my prospective new employers.
“Hi,” I offer breathlessly. “I’m Aspen… Palco.”
I now have a much better view of them both, and it’s no easier on me than when I was crouching. If the ground opens up to swallow me whole, I won’t mind a bit.
I would have recognized Flint Sterling anywhere, that million-dollar smile just as brilliant in real life as it is in the dozens, if not hundreds, of articles I’d read about him and his family’s real estate empire. He and his brother are in charge of his family’s company, the Sterling Group, now that his father has passed.
His steely blue-gray eyes bore into me, and he seems to hold on to my hand a second longer than necessary before letting me stand on my own two feet. I pray my legs don’t fail me under his gaze.
“I’m Flint,” he offers casually, as if he knows I know who he is. “This is?—”
“Pike Hartley,” I gush before I can stop myself. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”
Perhaps it’s the fact that the artist is so much more attractive than any post online could have possibly depicted, with his intense azure eyes and mop of russet curls. Or maybe it’s the fact that my nerves feel like they’re on the outside of my body and ready to snap, crackle, and pop like cereal in milk. Whatever the reason, I’m acting like a complete fool.
Pike grimaces as if my trite platitudes pain him, and my blush deepens. I wish I’d thought of something more profound to say to him—to both of them. It isn’t like I didn’t know who I was coming to meet. Why am I behaving like a stupid fangirl?
“Don’t mind Pike,” Flint tells me lightly, catching the expression of embarrassment on my face. “He doesn’t like to talk about his art.”
“We’re not here to talk about my art,” Pike cuts in curtly. “She’s here to discuss Lily’s care, isn’t she?”
I straighten my shoulders as Flint bobs his head in agreement, gesturing toward the front of the house.
“Indeed, we are,” he agrees with a cordial chuckle, but I can’t help but notice an underlying tension. Or maybe I’m just projecting.
“I think I just saw Lily,” I venture nervously. “Over by the tree?”
They both stop walking and glance at me, eyes narrowed.
“Dark hair in a braid? Big eyes? Likely missing a shoe?” I offer.
Flint grunts with disgust. “Are you kidding me?”
“When?” Pike demands, spinning around to look for himself.
“Just when I arrived,” I squeak, wondering if I’ve spoken out of turn.
“One of these days, I’m going to kill that guy,” Flint growls threateningly, abruptly changing direction.
I stand in my spot helplessly, unsure of what to do as they march toward the five-car garage.
“This way, Ms. Palco,” Flint calls back without looking over his shoulder. Inhaling and not understanding what’s going on, I hurry forward to catch up with them.
Banging and loud rock music meet my ears as I follow Flint and Pike into the building.
