Page 1 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Maid (My Grumpy Werewolf Boss #6)

NINA

The bus hissed to a stop, and I stepped onto the bustling sidewalk, the strap of my duffel bag clutched in my fist like a lifeline. Up above, the towering steel and glass skyscrapers of downtown Huntington Harbor swallowed me whole. I coughed as the air was thick with exhaust fumes and the scent of grilled onions from the street food carts along the sidewalk. The crowd moved at a frenetic pace, everybody looking straight ahead or at their phones. They parted around me like a rushing river, in a rhythm that was disorienting to my small-town bones. In the distance, car horns blared as if in a shouting contest.

This is it, I thought. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. The city of dreams. Or at least, the city of second chances. The air of the bustling city was electric and overwhelming. It was alive in a way that my hometown could never be. I couldn't tell if the shiver running down my spine was from excitement or fear.

A man in a suit bumped into me, muttering an apology I barely heard. I clutched my bag tighter, my fingers digging into the worn fabric. You wanted this, I reminded myself.

In my jacket pocket, my phone rang. It was my sister, Maggie, whom I had been living with in Pine Falls while I arranged for a job in the city.

"You made it!" Maggie's voice crackled through the phone. "How's the big city treating you so far?"

"It's overwhelming," I admitted, craning my neck to look up at the buildings that seemed to touch the sky. "But amazing. I can't believe I'm actually here."

Maggie's chuckle was a comforting anchor. "You're going to kill it, Nina. Just don't let the city chew you up and spit you out." She paused. "Max drew you a superhero cape. Said you'll need it."

My chest ached as I thought of my little nephew. "Tell him I'm wearing it invisibly," I said. Blinking rapidly, I cleared the wetness in my eyes. "I'll call you later after the interview."

As I hung up, I glanced at the address on my phone. The Discreet Talent Connections Agency was just a few blocks away. It was the first step toward my dream. Even if it meant cleaning up after some grumpy billionaire.

The agency's sleek interior gleamed under the city's harsh light through endless rows of glass windows. Inside, the air was cool and sterile, carrying the faint scent of chemical disinfectant. The walls were a stark white, interrupted only by abstract art that looked like a monkey threw a bunch of paint at a canvas.

"Excuse me," I said. "I have an appointment with Gladys Harper."

The receptionist sat behind a polished steel desk, her nails clicking against the keyboard as she barely glanced up before jerking her chin to the right toward.

I wandered through the open office in the direction she indicated, past rows of cubicles. The sound of typing and ringing phones filled the office. Gladys sat behind a sleek desk, her sharp eyes narrowing as I entered. "Nina Sorenson," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.

I perched on the edge of the seat, spine straight, trying to ignore the way my palms were sweating.

"Pine Falls, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned back, arms folded. "Tell me, Nina. Why should I send you to someone like Dean Nightfang? Let's just say, he's not the easiest to work for."

The warning in her tone didn't scare me. "I'm not afraid of a challenge," I said, meeting her gaze. "And I've never met a mess I couldn't fix."

Gladys' lips twitched, like she was fighting a smile. "Fair enough." She leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. "But you should know, Dean Nightfang's gone through more housekeepers than I can count. And trust me, I've been counting."

Her tone was light, but there was an edge to it that made me sit up straighter. "How bad can he be?" I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.

"Let me put it this way," she said, her voice dry. "Mr. Nightfang is reclusive, messy, and has a temper that could scare off a grizzly bear. The last housekeeper we sent quit after he threw a coffee mug at the wall. Her head was inches away from where the cup landed. Don't worry. He missed her, but the wall wasn't so lucky."

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. "Why are you still working for him?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Because he pays triple what anyone else will. And because he's Dean Nightfang. You don't fire a client like him. You adapt and learn to survive."

Great. Just great.

As I stepped back onto the street, the keycard felt heavy in my hand, like it was weighted with more than just plastic and circuitry. A live-in job. No commuting. That's a good thing, right? It's just cleaning. How bad can it be?

But Gladys' warning words echoed in my mind as I waited for the bus to my new job and home. I squared my shoulders and gripped the keycard tighter. I'm not like the others. I'm not going to run. The city hummed around me, its energy pulsing through the pavement beneath my feet. This is my chance. I'm not going to blow it.

The penthouse door slid open before I could knock. "Welcome to the disaster zone," drawled a voice from the ceiling. Smooth, slightly sarcastic, and entirely too amused. "I'm Jenkins, Mr. Nightfang's autonomous butler. Also known as, the one who actually runs this place. Or should I say, the one who tries to prevent it from collapsing in on itself."

I stepped inside and nearly tripped over a rogue robotic arm. Standing there, I stared in shock at the mess I had gotten myself into. The penthouse was chaos incarnate, a stark contrast to the gleaming, modern exterior of the building. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, but the glass was smudged with greasy fingerprints and dust. Half-finished tech gadgets littered every surface, their blinking lights and exposed wires giving the room a mad scientist's lab vibe. Towers of empty coffee cups teetered on the edges of minimalist designer furniture, their contents long since dried into sticky rings.

Carefully, I made my way through the field of junk. Tangled wires snaked across the floor like jungle vines waiting to trip me. The air smelled of burnt coffee and ozone, the sharp and metallic scent of electronics and computers. A robotic vacuum whirred past, bumping into a stack of engineering manuals and sending them crashing to the floor in an avalanche of paper.

"Let me guess," Jenkins continued, his tone dripping with mockery. "You're here to clean up this disaster zone."

I set my bag down, surveying the mess with a mix of determination and disbelief. "Something like that."

"Fresh optimism. Cute," he replied. "But don't say I didn't warn you when you find a robot head in the fridge."

Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work. Jenkins's commentary was relentless, but oddly endearing.

"That's a prototype, not trash."

"Mr. Nightfang is very particular about his collection of antique computers."

By late afternoon, the living area was almost livable. I had cleared the maze of electronics, clearing them into organized piles at the edge of the room. All of the empty takeout containers and paper cups had been put into the trash, and dirty dishes were now in the dishwasher. Maybe this won't be so bad, I thought as I wiped my hands on my jeans. If I managed to survive this madhouse, I could survive anything.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, the office door opened with a creak. The sound was sharp as a gunshot, cutting through the buzz of electronics that hummed throughout the penthouse. I froze. My breath caught in my throat as Dean Nightfang stepped into the room.

He was tall, so tall that he seemed to fill the doorway completely. His broad shoulders blocked out the light from the room behind him. He had rumpled dark hair that resembled a porcupine, probably from him endlessly raking his hands through it in frustration. The black T-shirt he wore was perfectly fitted, clinging to his frame to show the outline of his muscles. His jeans looked like they hadn't ever seen an iron. Still, I was willing to bet that his outfit cost many thousands of dollars and came from some bespoke shop that only took clients by invitation.

His hazel eyes met mine, pinning me in place from across the room. For a moment, I froze. Everything about him was overwhelming. Despite his rumpled appearance, power seemed to flow out from his form in waves, like pulses of electricity. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I had the overwhelming urge to take a step back.

"Who are you?" He spoke slowly and deliberately, forcing out each syllable with an edge of irritation.

I wiped my hands on my jeans, trying to ignore the way my heart was suddenly racing. "Nina. Your new housekeeper."

His gaze swept the room, starting from the tidied desk, then down to the vacuumed floor. He paused on the absence of coffee rings on the edges of the cleaned bookshelf. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"I know," I said, forcing a smile even as my pulse fluttered. "But I thought it might help."

For the next three seconds, which seemed like they went on forever, he just stared at me with an unreadable expression. I fought the urge to fidget or to fill the silence with nervous chatter, somehow, I had a feeling that would irritate him even more. My palms grew sweaty and slick, but I held his gaze.

Just when the silence grew unbearable, he turned without a word and slammed the door behind him.

I let out a breath of relief, and my shoulders sagged as the adrenaline faded. My hands trembled slightly as I wiped them on my jeans.

Jenkins let out a low, amused hum. "See? And that was just the greeting."

I rolled my eyes, wiping my palms down my thighs. "So he's not an afternoon person. I can work with that."

Jenkins's mechanical chuckle was drier than the abandoned coffee stains. "Oh, sunshine, Mr. Nightfang isn't an any-time-of-day person. And trust me, coffee won't fix that."

I blew a loose strand of hair out of my face, surveying the room.

Game on, Nightfang.

Because no messy billionaire, however intimidating he was, was going to scare me off that easily.