Page 44 of Nanny and the Beast

I want this man.

We're crossing all the invisible lines with every interaction we have.

The scar on his face seems to glow under the sunlight. I can make out the amber striations in his dark eyes. I see him in vivid detail, and I've never been this fascinated by another person.

"Something is wrong with James," I say finally. "He doesn't remember anything about yesterday. Do you have something to do with that?"

"What is it that you're asking me, Emma?" His eyes darken once more.

"I saw you last night," I say. "I saw you in the kids’ bedroom.I saw you give something to James."

His eyes bore a hole into my face, daring me to speak another word.

"So you're spying on me now?" He doesn't seem even slightly surprised. He already knew.

"What did you give to James?" I ask, standing my ground.

"That's not really any of your business now, is it?"

"It's literally my job to take care of these kids."

"And you think I'm a threat to their well-being?" he asks.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," I say. "All I'm saying is that I saw you give James something, and now, he doesn't remember anything about yesterday."

He stares at me for a long moment.

"You excluded certain things from your résumé," he says.

"Sorry?"

"You're a security threat to the kids," he says.

I raise my eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"Why didn't you tell me you had a stalker, Emma?" he asks.

The blood drains from my face. My feet grow numb. I brace my hand against the wall to steady myself.

"Multiple break-ins into your house. Anonymous calls. Threatening text messages. You even suspect that he poisoned your grandmother, who is now hospitalized for a mysterious illness," he says.

"How do you know this?" I ask. "All of this is classified information."

"Answer my question first," he says. "Why didn't you mention this while applying for the job?"

My chest constricts. I feel like I'm in the middle of a marathon, and there's no end in sight. Every breath I take is labored. Too many thoughts race through my head.

"I didn't mention it because that's a part of my life I wish to keep separate," I say. "It's not something I like to think about, much less talk about."

Because every time I do, it consumes me. I become submerged in an ocean of fear, and there's no helping hand to pull me out.

"You never filed an official report with the police?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Why not?" His voice is as gentle as it can be.

"It'll get worse if I tell anyone," I say.

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