Elizabeth Morris was officially at rock bottom.

Not the fun kind of rock bottom where you wake up after a bad night out with a headache and a blurry memory of dancing on a bar, but the kind where your phone buzzes with another FINAL NOTICE email from your landlord, your bank account balance mocks you with two digits, and the casting director at your latest audition actually asked, "Are you joking?" when you delivered your monologue. The kind of rock bottom where you stare at a bag of dry pasta and wonder if you could will it into a meal without a single sauce packet left in your kitchen.

So, naturally, when she stumbled across the live-in nanny listing while doom-scrolling job sites, she clicked on it out of sheer desperation.

The listing was suspiciously vague. High-profile single parent seeks live-in nanny for six-year-old child. Competitive salary, room and board included. Must start immediately. No experience necessary. It was the "no experience necessary" part that raised a red flag. That, and the ridiculous salary attached. She'd worked as a barista, a failed actress, a retail worker who got fired for hiding in the stockroom when customers were too much, and a dog walker who once accidentally lost a chihuahua and had to chase it four blocks in heels. But a nanny? She had no clue what the hell she was doing.

Still, the rent wasn't going to pay itself.

Her fingers hovered over the Apply Now button, hesitating for exactly three seconds before she reminded herself that she had $18.57 to her name and sent in her application.

To her surprise, she got a response within the hour.

Come for an interview. Tonight.

She stared at the message, reread it three times, then checked the address. Upper West Side. That explained the salary. Only obscenely rich people could afford live-in nannies these days. If this was some creepy guy looking for a "nanny" with quotation marks around the word, she'd be out of there in a heartbeat, but if it was real? If some mysterious rich parent was willing to pay her actual money to hang out with a six-year-old and live in a nice apartment? Well. She was already shoving her feet into her least scuffed pair of boots before she could overthink it.

By the time she arrived at the address, she was deeply out of her depth.

The building was not an apartment—it was a townhouse. A massive, black-bricked, iron-gated townhouse with security cameras and a front door that looked like it cost more than her entire student loan debt. She stood outside for a full minute, debating whether to turn around and pretend she got lost, but then the door swung open before she could even knock.

And there he was.

The man who was definitely not some frazzled single dad desperately looking for a last-minute nanny.

No, the man standing in the doorway was 6'4" of pure, imposing presence. Dark hair, streaks of silver at his temples. Sharp, brooding hazel eyes that raked over her from head to toe with a look so disapproving, she half-expected him to tell her to leave before she even spoke. Broad shoulders stretching a black, fitted t-shirt, muscular arms crossed over his chest like he already regretted opening the door. Everything about him radiated control—the kind of controlled, disciplined, dangerous energy that sent a warning straight down her spine.

And he was staring at her like she was a problem.

"Who are you?" His voice was low, rough.

Lizzy blinked, clearing her throat. "Uh. Elizabeth Morris. I, um—" She pulled out her phone, reading off the message. "I got an interview request? For the nanny position?"

Silence.

His jaw clenched. Something flickered in his eyes—annoyance, irritation, something darker she couldn't quite place. Then he exhaled, slow and sharp, and stepped back.

"Come in."

She had the strongest instinct not to.

But she had $18.57 in her bank account.

So she stepped inside.

The inside of the townhouse was exactly what she expected—modern, sleek, expensive. The kind of expensive where you just knew the walls were insulated with money. Dark wood floors, high ceilings, minimalist furniture that looked like it was never used. The air smelled faintly of leather and something distinctly masculine, a scent that made her pulse do a very inappropriate thing.

Focus.

Lizzy forced herself to move past the fact that the man looked like sin wrapped in a cold, brooding package and straightened her posture. Job interview. Money. Focus.

He led her into a sleek, open-concept kitchen, and she barely had time to admire the massive marble island before he turned to face her, arms still crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.

"You're not what I expected," he said flatly.

Lizzy blinked. "Uh... thanks?"

"I didn't mean that as a compliment."

Jesus. Okay. Asshole.

She crossed her arms to match his stance. "Well, to be fair, your job listing was so vague it could've been for a hitman. So I guess we're both surprised."

His brows lifted—a flicker of amusement. Barely there, but she caught it.

Then, before she could say anything else, another voice cut through the room.

"Is she the new nanny?"

Lizzy turned toward the voice and immediately softened.

A little girl—big brown eyes, shy stance, curly dark hair—stood in the doorway, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest. She looked at Lizzy, then at the man, then back at Lizzy, hopeful and hesitant all at once.

Something in Lizzy's chest tightened.

She crouched slightly, offering a small smile. "Hey, kiddo. What's your name?"

The little girl hesitated, glancing at her father like she was waiting for permission. He gave a small, stiff nod, and she turned back to Lizzy.

"Sophie," she said quietly.

Lizzy's smile widened. "Nice to meet you, Sophie. I'm Lizzy."

Sophie's tiny fingers tightened around the rabbit. "Are you staying?"

The question knocked the air out of Lizzy's lungs. It wasn't just a question—it was hope. Like this kid had been waiting for someone to stay.

Lizzy glanced up at Dominic, who was watching the exchange with a clenched jaw and something unreadable in his gaze.

And in that moment, she realized exactly why he looked at her like she was a problem.

Because Sophie liked her.

And he wasn't happy about that.

Dominic didn't say anything right away, but his silence was louder than words. His gaze flickered between Lizzy and Sophie, a muscle ticking in his jaw like he was mentally calculating all the ways this was a bad idea. And maybe it was. Maybe Lizzy should take the hint that he clearly did not want her here and politely excuse herself.

But Sophie was still staring at her, waiting, and Lizzy had never been good at letting kids down.

So she smiled and nodded. "I mean, that's up to your dad, kiddo."

Sophie immediately turned to Dominic, her big brown eyes widening with expert-level puppy-dog pleading. Lizzy almost laughed—this kid knew how to work a room.

Dominic exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "It's late," he muttered, voice gruff. "You should be in bed."

Sophie didn't budge. "But—"

"Bed, Sophie." His tone softened slightly, but it was still firm.

Lizzy watched as the little girl sighed dramatically, hugged her stuffed rabbit tighter, and shuffled away toward the stairs. She stopped at the bottom step, casting one last glance at Lizzy before whispering, "Goodnight."

Lizzy's chest did that stupid aching thing again. "Goodnight, Soph."

Sophie disappeared upstairs, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

Lizzy turned back to Dominic, who was already looking at her like she was some insufferable inconvenience. She rolled her eyes. "Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel welcome."

He didn't even blink. "I don't want you here."

Oof. Okay. Direct.

She let out a low whistle, raising a brow. "Is this your idea of an interview? Because I gotta say, it sucks."

His jaw tightened. "You don't have experience."

She shrugged. "True."

"You don't seem responsible."

"Also true," she admitted, tilting her head. "But Sophie seems to like me."

His lips pressed into a thin line, like that was exactly the problem.

Lizzy crossed her arms. "Look, I get it. You probably want someone older, someone with a degree in child psychology or whatever, but I need a job and you need a nanny. So unless you've got someone better lined up, I'm your best option."

He didn't respond.

That tick in his jaw was back, but he didn't argue.

Lizzy seized the opening. "I'll be good at it," she said, her voice softer now. "I know I don't have a degree in childcare, but I've got a lot of practice taking care of people. And I promise, I'll take care of her."

Something in his expression shifted—just for a second. Something like hesitation.

Then he exhaled, short and sharp, and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine."

Lizzy blinked. "Wait. Seriously?"

"I don't repeat myself."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

She huffed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Great. So... where do I sleep?"

Dominic turned, heading toward the hallway. "I'll show you."

She followed him up the stairs, trying very hard not to stare at the way his muscles shifted under his t-shirt. Or the way he moved—calculated, controlled, like a man who never lost his balance. It was deeply unfair. Why did emotionally unavailable men always have to be so hot?

They reached a door at the end of the hall, and Dominic pushed it open, revealing a shockingly nice bedroom. A huge bed, a window overlooking the city, and—holy shit—an en suite bathroom.

Her mouth nearly dropped open. "This is mine?"

"It's the guest room," he said flatly. "You're a guest."

She huffed a laugh. "Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He ignored that. "You start at seven. Sophie has school. You'll drop her off, pick her up, handle meals when I'm not home."

Lizzy blinked. "Wait, you're trusting me to drive your kid?"

His jaw clenched again. "I'll have a driver take you."

Of course. Because God forbid he trusts her with a steering wheel.

She nodded, still fighting a smirk. "Anything else, boss?"

His eyes darkened slightly at that. "Don't call me that."

Her smirk widened. "Whatever you say... boss."

He inhaled sharply, like he was physically restraining himself from strangling her, then turned and walked out without another word.

Lizzy waited until the door shut before flopping onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Well. That was... something.

She had no clue what she'd just walked into, but one thing was clear—this was going to be a problem.

A very, very attractive, brooding, forbidden problem.

And Lizzy had never been good at staying out of trouble.