Page 16 of The Hitman
Chapter Five
Callie
Jaxon makes himself scarce the week after our interaction in the tent. He’s gone later every night, exhausted when he comes home, and he’s been ominously distant.
Now, more than ever, I get the sense he’s hiding something, but Leo’s smiling again and excited about his studies. I don’t want to lose all the progress we’ve made just because my boss is acting weird, so I tuck my curiosity away for the time being and focus on being the best nanny I can be for them both.
After finishing a sad excuse for a late-night snack—avocado toast and a clementine—I mindlessly spray the counter with a lemon-scented cleaner.
Technically, I’m not supposed to be in this part of the house when I’m not working. But my little kitchenette feels cold and isolating, and tonight… Well, I was hoping for some adult interaction. To feel like Jaxon’s equal in this empty palace in the sky instead of just another hired hand.
I want to ask if I can join him and Leo for dinner sometime instead of eating alone at my desk every night. But it’s aftereleven, and he hasn’t emerged from his office since he got home four hours ago.
It’s difficult not to be bothered that he’s never even brought it up. Then again, I guess it makes sense. I’m thenanny, not family or even a friend.
I’m here to fill a temporary role.
Yet despite knowing this, every night, I find myself lingering in the hallways longer than necessary. Waiting for an invitation that never comes. Wanting something I’ve never really had before, and something I have no business yearning for now.
The worst part? I think about Jaxon too much to be considered professional. About the undeniable attraction or the intensity that sharpens when it’s just the two of us breathing the same air.
Given the whole palm kiss thing, I know he felt it, too. And yet, he continues to avoid me. He keeps our conversations short, cordial at best, and then disappears.
I duck under the sink to put the cleaner back, and when I stand, my thin sleep shirt snags on the drawer beside it.
The rip of cheap fabric tears through the silence.
“Seriously,” I mutter while wrestling it free.
When I go to shove the drawer shut, something inside makes me pause.
A small black button inside the lip of the drawer, just visible under the edge, catches my attention. My heart stutters as I glance around to see if anyone’s watching, but there’s no sound or movement. Just the hum of the fridge behind me and my own fraying nerves.
The tip of my finger grazes the button, and my reckless curiosity wins out. I press it, hearing a soft mechanicalclickbefore the bottom of the drawer splits open like a mouth.
I stumble back, a strangled yelp escaping before I can choke it down.
“What the hell?” I breathe.
Eyes wide, I slowly approach the open case, where a black gun and a full clip are neatly tucked inside a bed of velvet.
Before I can process what I’m seeing, footsteps approach from down the hall.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
In a panic, I slam the drawer closed. The secret mechanism locks seamlessly, swallowing the evidence like it never appeared in the first place.
I quickly tuck the torn bottom of my shirt inside the waistband of my pajama pants, ready to bolt.
The steps halt abruptly, and when I spin for the exit, I come face to face with a shadow blocking my way out.
Jaxon.
He doesn’t speak, and in his silence, the weight of him fills the space, heavy and unrelenting. The buttons at the top of his shirt are undone and his hair is ruffled on one side, like he’s been tugging on it.
Even still, swathed in darkness and suspicion, he’s devastatingly handsome.
“Nothing,” I blurt, even though he didn’t say a word. “I was doing nothing. And now I’m going to domorenothing in my room. Where I belong.”
