Page 17 of Reputation (Tempt)

Our old nanny, Amalia, would’ve never done something like this. Something so fun and completely unrestrained.

And for all my fears of a new nanny disrupting Brooklyn’s stability, I’d been wrong. I’d seen a positive change in Brooklyn since Emerson had moved in. She seemed more confident, empowered even.

Emerson shimmied, her bedazzled leotard leaving little to the imagination. The neckline scooping low on her chest. Her nipples hard beneath the material.

A memory flitted through my mind—the first time I’d met her. It was long before she’d ever come to the house to interview to be Brooklyn’s nanny. Before I’d ever known she was a nanny.

Knox had been hosting a party on his yacht. Jude and some of his friends were there, including Emerson. And everyone had been drawn to her. Probably because she was confident as hell and didn’t seem to give a fuck what anyone thought.

That night, I’d discovered her and a few others playing a game of strip poker on the upper deck. I should’ve left, but I was entranced by her. Amused by the way she trash-talked and impressed by her poker skills.

She hadn’t known I was watching. And I shouldn’t have been. But I couldn’t look away—then or now.

At the time, I’d blamed it on the alcohol. On the ever-present loneliness I felt, despite often being surrounded by others. She seemed like a genuine person in a sea of fake.

And every time after that when our paths crossed, I’d been so damn tempted to flirt with her. Sleep with her. I knew she was interested—it was clear in the way she watched me. Hungrily.

But I’d always stopped myself. She was friends with my nephew. Her best friend was Knox’s personal assistant—and now his girlfriend as well. Everyone was too connected. I didn’t need to invite even more drama into my life.

It was more than that, though. As fun and flirtatious as Emerson was, she didn’t strike me as the type of woman who was into one-night stands. And I couldn’t bring myself to treat her like some meaningless fuck.

Brooklyn danced around Emerson, singing along at the top of her lungs. She had on the fluffiest dress I’d ever seen, the layers of tulle floating around her.

Now that Emerson was Brooklyn’s nanny, I was even more grateful I’d never acted on my impulses. Especially with how attached my daughter was to her. But despite knowing all that, it was fucking torture to see Emerson day in and day out and know that nothing more could ever come of this. Of my attraction to her. Of the way she made me feel.

Emerson spun to face me and stilled. Her eyes went wide, but she quickly recovered, singing as if nothing had happened.

“Dad!” Brooklyn called. “You’re home!” She frowned at my suit. “Go get changed.”

“I can’t believe you started without me.”

She gnawed on her lip. “It was Emerson’s idea.”

Emerson lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes a girl’s just gotta take matters into her own hands.”

I wasn’t sure if she’d intended for it to sound sexual, but that was where my head immediately went.

Was it really a surprise? The past few months since Emerson had started working for me, it felt as if she was everywhere I turned. Brooklyn was always gushing about Emerson. Or her scent lingered in the air. I couldn’t fucking escape her, not even in my sleep.

She haunted my dreams, my dirtiest fantasies come to life in lurid detail. And then I’d wake up, hard as fucking steel and completely unsatisfied. It had to stop.

And yet I found myself saying in a low voice so that only Emerson could hear, “I can be okay with that, as long as we finish together.”

Her cheeks flushed with color, though maybe that was from the dancing. I smirked and turned for my bedroom, but then the song changed and “22” came on.

Brooklyn grabbed my wrist. “Dad! It’s your song.”

I could feel Emerson’s curious gaze burning into the side of my head. I closed my eyes and wished I could go back in time. Wished I could tell myself to say no to a dance party. Because then I wouldn’t be accepting the microphone from Brooklyn and preparing to make a fool of myself in front of my daughter’s nanny. In front of Emerson, of all people.

Brooklyn gave me two thumbs up, and I started tentatively singing the lyrics.

During the chorus break, I turned to Emerson. “This better not end up on the internet,” I grumbled.

She held up her hands, biting her lip as if to fend off a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” And somehow, I believed her.

In all the months she’d been with us, I’d never once felt as if she was going to betray my privacy. In fact, she’d been determined to protect Brooklyn and me, going above and beyond on multiple occasions.

At the moment, she honestly seemed too amazed I’d played along to say much at all. Or too amused, if the smile playing at her lips was anything to go by. I liked that smile. I liked those lips even more.

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