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It’s too much, and so incredibly generous on top of my salary and benefits, that I can’t make sense of it.

I try telling myself that Tucker isn’t doing this for me, Sunny, specifically.

He would do the same for any nanny he’d hired.

That’s what I spend the next five hours reminding myself of. It’s easy to forget about him when I’m eating lunch with the boys, or when we step out onto the sidewalk with Johnny to go over the first rule of walking around, as I like to call them, and of course later, at the park, when I get to watch a gaggle of children being adorably clumsy with a soccer ball.

But when the clock strikes five and we make our way through the paths of the park to the house, it hits me again.

I shouldn’t want to be special. Knowing, logically at least, that Tucker is a generous man and would treat any employee well should be a relief.

But when I walk into the house behind the boys—who loved getting to use the key to unlock the front door—and see him standing by the entrance, smiling wide and spreading his arms, demanding a hug from the boys, I know I’m only fooling myself.

11

TUCKER

“They’re asleep.” I sigh the words and fall back unceremoniously on the couch right across from where Sunny’s sitting with a lot more decorum, even though the couch he’s on is the same as mine, one that feels like it’s pulling you under until you’re sinking into the cloudlike cushions.

It’s just us now.

The boys are down for the night, Angelo, Wes, and Johnny are upstairs doing whatever it is they do once they’re off the clock, and Sunny has been right here for the past half an hour or so since the boys said goodbye to him after their bath, waiting for me like I asked him to.

As far as I’ve been able to tell since they got home from the park, the boys are absolutely enthralled with Sunny, but I want to hear his impressions of the day. I want to make sure he has everything he needs, because just from the way he handled the situation this morning, I know that I want to keep Sunny as happy as I can for as long as I can.

Fuck, that sounded suggestive, even if only in my head, and the pictures the words conjure up—lovely, lovely pictures—are more than likely not the way to go about making him happy.

Though I wouldn’t complain if it was . . .

Fucking focus, Tucker, I mentally berate myself, and sit up, like a professional.

That should help with the whole talking to your new employee thing, right?

“So, how was your day? Is your room all right? Do you have any questions or worries? Did you have any problems with the tracking devices?”

That one is actually the most important question, so I let it be the last. Sunny’s already smiling in a way that looks like he’s thinking I’m a bit too much, so I also take a fucking breath.

I definitely don’t want to do anything to drive him away.

One day into the job and I already know the only way I’m going to find anyone better when he eventually moves on to his dream job is by using dark magic or some shit.

“The software works great,” he starts, and I’m thankful he got that out of the way fast. “I checked when I first set it up, while I was here and the boys were at daycare, then again when we were on the drive back after picking them up, and I made sure they took the same bags again for soccer practice.”

“Oh.” I don’t know why that surprises me. I guess . . . well, he made an educated guess while I didn’t tell him the extent to which the boys are closely monitored. I don’t know if I should tell him that every bag has a tracking device, and they activate when they’re on the move or away from my place—a little tweak Eli made for me in the software.

I should tell him, though, shouldn’t I?

I should.

“Every bag of theirs has one, and you’ll be able to check locations of all of them when they’re out of the house and moving, so they can use different backpacks.”

“That’s . . .” He trails off, and I get it, okay?

“It’s a lot.” I voice what’s probably going through his mind. “I know it’s a lot, but it is kind of necessary⁠—”

“No, no,” he interrupts, even holding out his palms to me, silently asking me to stop. “Whatever’s necessary for their safety is fine by me.” He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say more but then seems to decide against it.

I don’t know why exactly, but it makes me relax. It feels like this isn’t simply a . . . work conversation, or professional, but that we’re just talking.