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CHAPTER

TWO

DELANEY

I f I actually cared what those two douchecanoes thought of me, I might be embarrassed.

Luckily, I don’t. Besides, it wasn’t all that embarrassing.

What are the odds that two people with the same year, make, model, and color of car would park in the same grocery store lot, two rows from each other, with the tops down?

Anyone would’ve done the same thing. Though maybe not with as much authority.

Whatever. Chances are, they’re assholes. As most men are. I don’t hate all men, just the vast majority—but they only have themselves to blame.

Growing up with an unfaithful, dismissive, and emotionally neglectful father may have skewed my opinion.

I could never understand why my mother put up with him.

Every man I’ve known has been awful—from my high school boyfriends to my college ones.

Cheaters, liars, gaslighters, narcissists—the lot of them.

Most days, I wish I could be a lesbian, but unfortunately, I’m only attracted to men.

There was a time in college, after a particularly bad breakup, when I walked in on my boyfriend, Derek, railing some girl over his kitchen counter, and I tried switching sides.

I mean, I don’t know if I have an invisible sign on my forehead that only men can read, flashing “Please cheat on me” in bright neon lights, but that’s how most of my relationships end.

So, after Derek, I decided to change my fate.

I got really drunk and went to a party. I figured if I could just pop my girl-on-girl cherry, it’d be smooth sailing from there.

I got as far as a kiss during a drunken game of spin the bottle.

I couldn’t do it. Her lips were too soft.

I like it rough. That’s the extent of my exploration.

As much as I despise men, I crave them. It’s a problem.

In fact, I wouldn’t mind a romp in the sack with that dark-haired, blue-eyed car twin of mine. I bet he likes it rough, too.

Despite the fact that he almost certainly falls into the asshole category, with that sexy-as-hell smirk, his mouth curling into a smile like he’s God’s gift to women—arrogance practically oozing off him—I can’t deny one thing: he’s probably damn good in bed. He exudes that kind of confidence, too.

I’m sure he would’ve been up for a one-night stand, but I’m already cutting it close.

There’s no time to stay and chat. The Newmeisters need to leave for the wedding in an hour, and I stopped at the store to replenish the fridge and stock up on snacks—that’s my job as their nanny.

Their boys can eat, all four of them, ranging from three to nine.

And, while I have an unfavorable bias toward men, I adore those boys.

They are four of the sweetest souls I’ve met.

Plus, I hope that, as the person who spends the most time with them, I can teach them to respect women.

I sort of stumbled into this career—it was never part of the plan.

I got my business degree in college, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

I love my job. One babysitting gig led to the next until I was introduced to the right people willing to pay a desirable salary.

I get to love on little humans and play all day while making excellent money.

I work for a CEO of a very big corporation, so he can afford to pay premium wages.

Despite birthing four children, his wife doesn’t seem to enjoy spending time with them and is always absent.

Where to? I’m not sure. I’d guess the spa, gym, or out with friends, but she doesn’t like me much and doesn’t share her whereabouts with me.

On the other hand, the husband might like me too much. I’ve noticed his wandering gaze and lust-filled expression, but as long as he keeps his hands to himself and the paychecks continue, I’ll ignore it.

Bronco parked, bags in hand, I hurry into the house. Four bright smiles greet me as the precious boys rush toward me, practically tackling me with hugs. I kiss each of them on the head. “I missed you, too. Was I gone that long?” I laugh as they squeeze me.

“Boys,” Mr. Newmeister says sternly. “Go play in the den. Delaney has to put the groceries away, and then she’ll be down to play with you.”

The two littlest ones don’t release my legs, so I reassure them, “It’ll only take a minute, okay? Then I’ll be down, and we’ll play pirates!”

“Pirates!” they shout in unison, releasing their hold on my legs.

The four of them scurry away, already arguing about who gets to wear what costume. I follow Mr. Newmeister into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I’m running late. The store was a madhouse. I hope I didn’t keep you.”

“No, you’re fine. The wife won’t be home for a while.” He leans against the counter and watches as I put away the food.

“Oh, I must’ve gotten the time wrong. I thought you had to leave for the wedding soon.”

“We have plenty of time,” he says.

I finish putting the groceries away in record time, eager to leave this space and join a more innocent, enjoyable one with the boys. I put the reusable bags under the sink and give Mr. Newmeister a quick wave. “Well, have a great time. I have some pirates to attend to.”

He holds out his hand, blocking my exit. Clearing his throat, he says, “Just a moment.”

“Okay,” I say hesitantly, backing up as he comes closer.

He approaches until my back is against the counter, and I have nowhere else to go. Extending his arms on either side of me, he grips the granite, caging me in. “So I’ve noticed the way you’ve been looking at me lately.”

“I’m sorry?” I croak.

“I’m not stupid, Delaney. I know you want me as much as I want you.”

Mr. Newmeister is a good-looking man, but there isn’t an ounce of me that would ever want him.

He may have been gifted with good looks, but he’s cursed with an evil heart.

He’s the worst kind of man. Not to mention, I would never be attracted to a married man.

There was a revolving door of home-wreckers in and out of my house growing up, and I’ll never be one of them.

“Mr. Newmeister…” I hedge gently. My usual spunk is gone because this isn’t just some douche in a parking lot. This is my boss—the man who funds my lifestyle and the father of the children I love. Turning men like this down is an art. It takes finesse. I can’t hurt his ego.

“Call me Kyle,” he whispers, his voice low and seductive.

A little bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down. “Kyle.” His name comes out lighter than I wanted.

“I knew it!” A shrill voice cuts through the air, and Mr. Newmeister jumps back from me. “Stay and have lunch with the girls, babe! We have time, babe! You were a little too eager to keep me away from the house. I knew something was going on between you two!”

I wave my hands in front of me, eyes wide. “No, Mrs. Newmeister. There isn’t anything going on, I promise.”

She closes in on me in record time, her finger jabbing into my chest, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you.”

“I swear, I would never?—”

“Get out!” she seethes. “You’re fired. Don’t you ever show your face here again.”

“Please,” I plead. “Let me explain.” My mind races toward the four little angels downstairs, waiting for me to play pirates, and my heart shatters. “I have never, and I would never?—”

She cuts me off again. “Get out! I know you’re a slut, but are you stupid, too?”

“Mrs. Newmeister.” I try one last time, but my efforts are in vain.

Her voice trembles with rage. “If you’re not out of my house in three seconds, I’m calling the police. Don’t ever show your face here again.”

I step around her and shoot her husband a glare filled with nothing but hatred. She may be swinging the fatal blow, but he gave her the axe. He’s to blame. He took my boys away from me, and that’s a heartache I will always carry.

Worst of all, I’m not allowed to say goodbye.