Page 3 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Maid (My Grumpy Werewolf Boss #6)

NINA

The alarm on my phone went off, its tinkling melody pulling me out of my dreams. I stretched, wincing at the faint ache in my muscles from yesterday's cleaning marathon. It was now day four, and I was still here. Still alive and standing. And, if the faint hum of Jenkins's system was any indication, I was starting to win over the penthouse's resident snarky AI.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jenkins' voice echoed from the ceiling, dripping with his usual sarcasm. "Ready for another day of futile attempts to domesticate the beast?"

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips. "Good morning to you, too, Jenkins. And for the record, I'm not trying to domesticate anyone. Just civilize him a little."

"Good luck with that," he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

I padded into the kitchen, the cool tile floor soothing against my bare feet. The faint scent of coffee grounds lingered in the air, and I breathed it in, letting it ground me. One step at a time, Nina. Jenkins turned on the overhead lights as I walked in, the soft glow of the recessed lighting making the stainless steel appliances in the room gleam. Pausing, I held my breath as I listened for noise from the direction of Mr. Nightfang's bedroom or his office. Nothing. He was still asleep. By the typing sounds coming from behind his office door last night, he was probably exhausted from his late-night coding session.

I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, letting the rich smoky fragrance rise around me in a warm embrace. As I sipped at my cup, I leaned against the concrete kitchen island and watched as the sun began to rise over the top of Huntington Harbor's skyline. After I finished my coffee, I pulled out his mug from the cupboard. It was a sleek black cup which I had found buried under a mountain of technical manuals and dusty discarded circuit boards. The thing was stylish and foreboding, just like its owner. I set the cup on the counter next to the pot of coffee. Next to it, I placed a small sticky note, the neon yellow paper stark against the gray concrete counter.

Grabbing a pen, I scribbled a short note. "Good morning. Don't forget to eat something other than coffee." I added a smiley face for good measure. My pen paused over the paper for a moment before I decided it wasn't too much. He could learn to lighten up a little.

"You're going to make him choke on his coffee," Jenkins quipped. "He's not used to kindness."

I rolled my eyes, setting the note beside the mug. "Maybe he just needs a little reminder that he's human."

"Debatable," Jenkins muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

I moved on to the living area, where it seemed like Mr. Nightfang had a late-night tinkering session. After tidying up the scattered tech manuals, I organized the tangled wires on the ground into neat coils. The penthouse was still unconventional, a mad scientist's lab, but it was starting to resemble a home more than a disaster zone. I cheerfully hummed a tune as I worked, letting the rhythm guide my body.

When he emerged from his office, I was in the middle of dusting the bookshelves. He looked as though he'd wrestled with sleep and lost. His dark hair stuck up in unruly tufts, as if he'd spent the night running his hands through it in frustration. His T-shirt was wrinkled, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders in a way that suggested he'd slept or tossed around in it. Dark shadows hung under his eyes, which were dulled by exhaustion. Still, he swept his gaze across the room like a predator assessing the situation. It made me feel like he was cataloging every change I had made. He paused on the pile of manuals. Something flickered across his face, maybe annoyance, but it could have been appreciation. It was hard to tell with him.

"Morning," I said, keeping my tone light and cheerful. "Coffee's ready."

He grunted in response, his gaze sweeping across the living area to the kitchen before landing on the mug and the note for a moment. He grabbed it and retreated back to his office. The door clicked shut behind him, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Charming as ever," Jenkins said dryly.

I shrugged, turning back to the bookshelves. "Baby steps."

But as I dusted, I couldn't help the small pang of disappointment in my chest. Why does he have to make everything so hard? Would it kill him to simply be civil? I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. Patience, Nina. He's not going to change overnight.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of cleaning and organizing. Jenkins kept up a steady stream of commentary, his sarcasm oddly comforting in its familiarity. By midday, I was just finishing up in the kitchen when I heard the soft creak of Dean's office door.

He stepped out, his expression unreadable. I wiped my hands on a towel, offering him a smile. "Lunch?"

He shook his head, his gaze flicking to the kitchen counter where I'd left a plate of BLT sandwiches. "I'm not hungry."

"You should eat," I said, my tone gentle but firm. "You can't live on coffee and takeout."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might snap at me. But then he sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. "Fine."

He grabbed a sandwich, his movements quick and deliberate, and turned to leave. But I wasn't ready to let him retreat just yet.

"So," I said, leaning against the counter. "What are you working on? Anything exciting?"

He paused, his back to me. "Just work."

"Cryptic," I teased, my smile widening. "Must be top secret."

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Something like that."

I laughed. "Well, if you ever need a test subject, let me know. I'm great at breaking things."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly, like he was trying to decipher a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to solve. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, a ghost of a smile that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. My heart skipped a beat, the small surge of victory warming me like a sudden burst of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

He actually smiled. It wasn't much, but it felt like a crack in the armor he wore so tightly around himself. Progress. Real progress.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. His voice carried a flicker of something I hadn't heard before. Amusement. There was a lightness to them that hadn't been there before.

Before I could respond, he turned and disappeared back into his office. I stood there for a moment, my cheeks warm and my pulse racing. Did he just joke with me?

I stared at the closed door, listening to the faint click-clack sound of him typing on the keyboard audible through the wood. Why does he shut me out like this? I wondered. It wasn't just the coldness, it was the way he seemed to carry this weight, this unspoken burden that made the air around him feel heavy. I wanted to ask, to dig deeper, but the fear of overstepping kept me rooted to the spot.

Patience, I reminded myself. You can't force someone to open up.

Jenkins's voice interrupted my thoughts. "You're wasting your time, you know. He's not the type to let people in."

"Everyone needs someone," I said softly, more to myself than to him. "Even him."

Jenkins didn't reply, and the silence that followed felt almost like agreement.

Later that afternoon, I took a break to call Maggie. Her voice was a welcome comfort, grounding me in the chaos of the city.

"So, how's the grumpy billionaire?" she asked, her tone teasing.

"Still grumpy," I said with a laugh. "But I think I'm making progress. He almost smiled today."

"Almost?" Maggie echoed. "You're a miracle worker, Nina."

I smiled, leaning back against the couch. "I'm trying. How's Max?"

"He's good. He drew you another superhero cape. Said you're going to need it to fight off the evil coffee mugs."

I laughed, letting thoughts of my nephew chase away my worries. "Tell him I'll wear it proudly."

We chatted for a few more minutes, Maggie's encouragement giving me the boost I needed to finish the day strong.

"You're doing great, Nina," she said. "Just keep being you. That's all anyone can ask for."

I smiled, leaning back against the couch. "Thanks, Mags. I needed that."

"Anytime. And hey, if he's still a grump by the end of the week, I'll send Max over. He'll have Dean wrapped around his little finger in no time."

"I'll keep that in mind." By the time I hung up, I felt ready to tackle whatever the penthouse, or Dean, threw at me. One step at a time, I reminded myself. One smiley face at a time.

As the evening settled in, I finished my work, leaving the penthouse feeling more organized and welcoming than ever. Before I retreated to my room for the day, something came over me, spurring me to pull out the sticky note pad. I hesitated, the pen hovering over the bright paper.

What do I say this time? My mind raced through the possibilities. I wanted to remind him he wasn't alone, that I was there to lend a friendly ear if he wanted to talk to somebody, but the words felt too big and heavy.

In the end, I settled for simplicity.

"You're human, even if you try not to be."

As I stuck it to the fridge, I felt a strange mix of vulnerability and determination. This is me, reaching out. Whether you take it or not is up to you.

"You're relentless," Jenkins said, his tone a mix of admiration and exasperation.

"It's called persistence," I corrected, grabbing my bag. "Goodnight, Jenkins."

"Goodnight, sunshine."

Since I didn't feel like another meal of cold sandwiches for dinner, I made up my mind to scope out the neighborhood to see what interesting restaurants I could find. I was just about to leave Dean's apartment building when the elevator doors opened to an elderly woman who barely came up to my chin.

"Oh! You must be Dean's new housekeeper. What perfect timing!" The woman cornered me as I exited the elevator and hooked her arm in mine. "I'm Mrs. Abernathy, I live downstairs in 29C." Her silver hair was perfectly coiffed despite the late hour. She was wearing a floral housecoat that somehow managed to look elegant rather than frumpy. "I just pulled a batch of snickerdoodles from the oven. Won't you join me for tea?"

My first instinct was to politely decline. I was exhausted from wrestling Dean's chaos into submission all day. But there was something in her warm smile that made me pause. "I suppose I could spare a few minutes."

"Wonderful!" She ushered me into her apartment, which was the polar opposite of Dean's technological fortress. The walls were covered in soft floral wallpaper, delicate porcelain figurines decorated every table and shelf in the living room, and the heavenly scent of fresh-baked cookies created an atmosphere of cozy comfort.

"You know," Mrs. Abernathy said as she poured tea into delicate china cups. "That boy, Dean. He wasn't always so..." she waved her hand vaguely, searching for the right word.

"Antisocial?" I supplied.

She chuckled. "I was going to say prickly. But yes. Would you believe he once helped me catch Mr. Whiskers when he escaped onto the balcony?"

I nearly choked on my cookie. "Dean? Dean Nightfang?"

"Oh yes. It was quite the sight. This tall, serious young man was crawling on all fours, making little kissing sounds to lure my cat back inside." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Of course, he swore me to secrecy. Said it would ruin his reputation."

I couldn't help but giggle at the mental image. "I can't imagine him doing that now."

"He's still in there, dear. That kind boy who helps little old ladies rescue their cats." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Just last month, when my grocery delivery was mixed up with someone else's, he had that clever computer of his track down my proper order and had it delivered within the hour."

"Jenkins helped with that?"

"Oh no, dear. Dean did it himself. Showed up at my door with the groceries and everything." She smiled softly. "He tries so hard to pretend he doesn't care, but his actions betray him."

I sat back, processing this new information. It was like putting together a puzzle, but all the pieces showed a different picture than I'd expected.

"You know what I think?" Mrs. Abernathy continued, refilling my teacup. "I think he's lonely. All that success, all that money, but what good is it without someone to share it with?" She gave me a meaningful look that made me blush.

"Mrs. Abernathy, I'm just his housekeeper."

"Mmhmm," she hummed, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm just a nosy old woman who makes too many cookies." She pressed a paper bag full of snickerdoodles into my hands. "Take these to him, won't you? Tell him they're from his favorite neighbor."

As I left her apartment, clutching the warm bag of cookies, I couldn't help but smile. Dean Nightfang, grumpy tech billionaire, secretly had a soft spot for little old ladies and their cats. It was oddly endearing.

With my stomach full, I went back to Dean's apartment and left the cookies on the kitchen counter, as well as adding a new note.

"From your favorite neighbor. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about Mr. Whiskers."

When I checked the next morning, the cookies were gone, and there was a new note in Dean's precise handwriting: "Mrs. A talks too much." But underneath, in smaller letters: "The cookies were delicious. Thank you."

It wasn't much, but it was something. Another crack in the armor.