Page 23 of Single Mom's Daddies
“I said I have a friend who’s a single mom, works at a pediatric office, and has the patience of a saint.”
I narrow my eyes. “You mentioned I’m a single mom?”
“Well, yeah.”
I shift. “You think that’s a good idea?”
She shrugs. “Honestly? I think they’ll respect it.”
“And what about Ivy?”
“They’d never bring her to the compound unless it was safe. They’re very specific about the safety of kids.”
I run my hands through my hair. “Let me guess,” I say. “They have those same tattoos.”
Lolita tilts her head. “The ivy-covered cross? Yeah. All three of them.”
My stomach twists. “There’s a lot of Bratva in Milwaukee. Could’ve been anyone. It was dark. I was…distracted. Any of them could be Ivy’s dad. Doesn’t mean it’s the ones trying to hire me.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.
“Does it bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me,” I say. “But I’m broke. And Ivy’s sick. And I don’t exactly have a lot of options.”
She digs in her pocket and pulls out a small slip of paper. “Nikolai said to call him.”
I stare at the number for a long second. I sigh and pull out my phone.
Lolita grabs my arm before I dial. “Use your real voice, not yourbanana voice.”
I snort. “Shut up.” I dial and Nikolai answers on the second ring. “Hi,” I say, adjusting my tone. “My name’s Saffron Chase. I was told you’re looking for a nanny.”
There’s a pause. Then, “We might be. Who gave you my number?”
“Lolita.”
Another pause. “Okay. Can you meet?”
“I can.” And just like that, it’s real.
The beginning of something I probably shouldn’t walk into.
6
ROMAN
The secondshe walks into the interview room, I know she’s trouble.
Not the kind we’re used to, but the kind that walks in calm, beautiful, and completely unafraid.
Saffron Chase is not what I expected. Her hair’s pulled back in a way that says practical, not decorative. Her posture’s relaxed but alert. Her eyes mark everything—the security cameras in the corners, the distance to the door, the placement of the furniture—before she looks at me.
And when she does, it’s not with awe. It’s not with fear. It’s with clarity. “Mr. Orlov?”
“Roman,” I correct. “Have a seat.”
She sits without hesitation, folding her hands in her lap like she belongs in my office. She doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t glance at Nikolai, who’s watching her from the side like he’s trying to figure out if she’s a threat or a godsend.
“I understand you were referred by Lolita,” I say.
