Page 1 of Nanny for the Don

Chapter 1

Willow

I’m naked in my billionaire boss’s tub, about five seconds away from losing my job.

Not exactly how I pictured my first day ending.

I sink deeper into the warm water, letting lavender-scented bubbles rise to my chin, trying to convince myself that I’m not out of my goddamn mind.

Honestly, it's like I completely forgot whoownsthis place. Mr. Conti’s twins wore me down to the bone, and somewhere between bath time and bedtime, logic made a run for it, leaving me here in his absurdly luxurious bathroom like I have a right to it.

A soft smile tugs at my lips as I remember the girls’ antics from earlier. They’re trouble, but the cute kind, with wide eyes and endless energy. It’s only day one, and they’ve already wormed their way into my heart. I already feel like I’d do just about anything for them.

That is, of course, assuming I don’t get fired for turning my boss’s sacred tub into my own personal spa day.

I close my eyes, letting exhaustion wrap around me like a warm blanket.

Just a few minutes, I think.

Just to pretend I belong here, soaking in marble-covered, bubbly bliss like a pampered rich kid.Just me, and the glorious silence.

But then… I hear it.

Footsteps. Heavy, unmistakable, and—oh, hell—coming closer.

My eyes fly open, and panic bolts through me like a shot of espresso.

No, no, no.

He’s supposed to be gone.

Out of town.

Off doing whatever intimidating billionaires do. But those footsteps are real, closing in, echoing through his private sanctuary, and I’m naked as the day I was born.

Move, Willow.Move!

But my body’s frozen, clinging to the last shred of hope that maybe he’s just walking by, maybe he won’t actually come in here.

Please, universe, help me out here.

And then, miraculously, he doesn’t storm in to throw me out or fire me on the spot. No, Mr. Conti—the man whose pristine bathroom I’m currently defiling—heads straight for the shower instead.

I release a shaky breath, clinging to the tiny scrap of sanity I have left.

I know I should get out now, quietly sneak back to the guest room, and act like none of this ever happened. But then I hear the water start, and just like that, curiosity kicks in, silencing the voice of reason in my head.

Just one little peek…

After all, I’ve already seriously crossed the line—what’s one more tiny step?

I slide my gaze through the smallest crack in the curtain—and nearly forget how to breathe.

Holy shit.

Nico Conti stands under the spray, water cascading down his sculpted back, tracing every ridge and dip of muscle. His shoulders are broad, his stance powerful. The man looks like he was crafted out of stone, every inch of him honed to perfection. Like something out of my deepest, most shameful fantasies—a walking, dripping masterpiece of a man who probably doesn’t even realize he’s this unfairly hot.

The way the water runs down his sculpted back, tracing every hard line of muscle, all the way down to that perfect, firm ass.

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