Page 4 of The Jealous Boss

Anna will always,alwaysbe safe with me. Even if resisting her drives me mad.

ChapterOne

Drew

Eden Exotics.

Seeing the company’s name on her online transaction history awakens the monster. A monster I’ve kept caged for three years. A monster threatening to break free.

Lust. Desire. Obsession. Jealousy.

Emotions I have no right to feel. Anna Petrakova isn’t my wife. She isn’t my girlfriend. Hell, she isn’t even my mistress. The details of my nanny’s personal life are none of my goddamn business.

Except everything about Anna has become my business—more so than Twinge. Every detail I’ve studied, memorized. Every movement I’ve tracked. I’ve watched over her. Protected her.

I haveeveryright.

Because Anna is mine. My obsession. My addiction. The love of my life.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

Does that make me sick, twisted? Definitely.

But I’ve had no choice. We signed a contract when her initial au pair gig ended—before I was divorced, before I fell in love. I have to honor that contract. And much as it kills me, it would simply bewrongfor me to pursue her while she’s still my employee.

Plus, I can’t risk Elijah losing her. And I can’t exploit the power dynamic. I want Anna to choose me, not feel coerced because I’m her employer.

What can I say? I’m an ethical stalker.

I didn’t always think of it in those terms. But that’s what I’m doing—stalking her. I can’t let her out of my sight, not after what happened with George.So now I don’t just have a tracker installed on her phone but her car, too.

Then there are the cameras. Cameras that see her undress. Cameras on which I watch her failed attempts to pleasure herself, longing to lick that sweet little cunt and end her frustration. Because no other man will ever get near my darling girl. I won’t allow it.

I know that sounds crazy. Itiscrazy. But after that bastard nearly raped her, I lost it. It isn’t just that I’m now obsessed with watching Anna. That isn’t why I installed the cameras.

No, it’s because I have to know she’s safe. And if I can’t see her, can’t visually verify that she’s okay, then how can I ever really know for sure?

Not knowing would drive me mad.

I still feel sick when I recall that afternoon. Had I arrived even five minutes later… But I did arrive on time, and I kept my word. I removed her from that house, and she hasn’t entered it since. I hate that she even parks in its driveway. But when I offered to take off one afternoon a month and drive Elijah myself, she called me “an anxious American.”

She’s right. My concern is overblown. George is too spineless to try anything in public, and the facial reconstruction surgeries after the last time he tried to touch her should make him think twice.

I wish she’d pressed charges, but she feared he’d file his own. I still think the courts would have seen it my way, but she was adamant. And I can’t refuse her anything.

So why the fuck has her credit card statement gotten me so worked up?

Eden fucking Exotics. One visit to their seedy website showed that they primarily sell apparel to exotic dancers. But I know my innocent nanny, and the still-sane part of my brain insists there must be a mistake. It’s so out of character—maybe her card was stolen?

Anna’s purchases have always been modest. Gas. Lattes. The occasional bubble tea. It’s rare that she buys anything over ten dollars for herself, at least with the credit card, which I’ve encouraged her to use more liberally.

Well, now it seems she has. Orsomeonehas…

The monster isn’t buying that theory. Still, it’s the only online purchase she’s made in months, and the website is shady as fuck. A stolen card is the logical explanation.

I almost have myself convinced when I get an alert from my doorbell camera. Package delivered. I zoom in on the box. The return address tells me nothing—a PO box in Nevada. But it’s addressed to Anna, which means…

Not a mistake. Not a stolen credit card.

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