Page 1 of Ruthless Daddies

1

ALICE

If my nerves had a volume setting, they’d be screaming right now.

“Relax, Alice! You’ve got this,” Jenna says through the phone, but I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “It’s just a nanny interview. You’ll charm them in no time, I swear.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter, biting my lip. “Easy for you to say. I don’t even know who these people are. Just a cryptic newspaper ad that said, ‘Discreet and experienced nanny needed for high-profile family. Generous pay.’ And, uh, I’m only discreet if I’m on my best behavior.” My laugh is a shaky attempt to calm myself down. “And I don’t think they’ll count the time I babysat my cousin when I was a teenager as experience either.”

Jenna scoffs. “So, you bend the truth a little. You’re great with kids, and you’re fresh out of college with a degree and no job offers. It’s a perfect fit.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “Besides, you need this, Ali. You don’t want to leave New York, right?”

The pit in my stomach deepens at the thought. “Yeah…I don’t. It’s just…if this doesn’t work out, I might not have a choice.” The city that’s been my home, my everything, is slipping from my grasp like sand through fingers. And if I don’t land a job, I’ll be packing up and saying goodbye.

The line goes quiet for a beat, then Jenna speaks up. “So, here’s the plan—go in, be that charming, brilliant Alice you always are, and don’t overthink it. Just—oh, and breathe.”

“Right. Breathing.” I take a long, deep inhale, exhale, and try to shake the jitters away. It doesn’t really work. “Thanks, Jenna. I’ll call you after, yeah?”

“You better.” She hangs up, and I slip my phone into my bag, eyes on the road as I approach the address in the posh, leafy suburb just outside the city.

But when I pull up to the place, for a moment I could swear I must have made a wrong turn. The house—no,mansion—is like something out of a luxury magazine. A sprawling estate with high, wrought-iron gates that gleam under the afternoon sun, and a garden that looks meticulously sculpted, like each shrub and flower was placed with precision and care. Beyond the gates, the driveway snakes up to a stately stone facade, complete with pillars, balconies, and windows so large they could probably double as doors.

I can barely make out the figure of a guard by the entrance. He’s tall, wearing a black suit and earpiece, his attention snapping to my car as I hesitate in the street. My pulse quickens as I roll down the window, trying to gather some sense of calm. I give him a tentative wave, which feels a little ridiculous.

“Miss Parker?” he asks as he approaches.

“Yes, um…Alice Parker. I’m here for the nanny interview.”

The guard’s gaze is steady, unreadable. “Pull in. Follow the drive to the main entrance.”

As I ease the car forward and the gates swing open, I feel like I’m crossing some invisible line into a world entirely unlike my own.

I take a shaky breath as I pull up to the entrance, my car dwarfed by the sheer size of the place. It’s a mansion built for a movie set, something grand and intimidating with the kind of old-world charm that makes you want to whisper and stand up straighter.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, smoothing down the wisps of dark hair that refuse to stay tucked back. Green eyes stare back at me, wide and slightly panicked. I need to pull it together. No one hires a nervous wreck.

Before I can psych myself out any further, a tall, slender woman in a fitted navy suit steps outside, waiting with perfect composure as I climb out of the car.

“Miss Parker?” Her voice is polite but crisp, like she’s used to people doing as she says.

I nod, trying to stand a little taller. “Yes, that’s me.”

She doesn’t waste any time. “I’m Marta, the household manager. I’ll be conducting the first part of your interview. If all goes well, you’ll meet the family.”

The family. I’m not sure why, but the way she says it makes my nerves prickle.

“Follow me,” she says, turning toward the front doors.

The entryway is even grander up close, with tall columns and double doors that look like they could withstand a battering ram.As we step inside, I catch a whiff of something faintly floral and impossibly expensive, mingling with polished wood and leather. The foyer opens up into a vast space with marble floors and an arched staircase that spirals upward, framed by iron railings. Art I can’t even guess the price of lines the walls, and a chandelier so massive I could probably sit in it hangs overhead.

I’m pulled back to the moment by Marta’s brisk voice. “The family keeps a low profile, but they are discerning about the people they employ. Their expectations are…high.” She glances at me, as if sizing me up.

I swallow, nodding. “I understand.”

We make our way down a long hall, passing rooms I can only glimpse through half-open doors—a dining room with a table big enough for a banquet, a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves, and a living room that looks cozy despite the grandeur. It’s all impeccably put together, as if no one has ever dared leave a book or a glass out of place.

Finally, we reach a smaller room, still elegant but less intimidating. There’s a polished mahogany desk, and Marta gestures for me to sit in the leather chair across from it. She takes her seat on the other side and opens a sleek tablet.

“So, Miss Parker,” she begins, her tone professional but watchful, “tell me about your experience with children. The position requires a certain level of discretion, loyalty, and patience. We’re looking for someone who can handle high-pressure situations and keep a calm demeanor, regardless of circumstance.”

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