Dangerous combination

Bree

The first thing I heard when I woke up was Leslie screaming my name.

"Bree!"

I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head.

"Bree, wake up!"

"I'm awake."

"You are not awake."

"I am. I'm just awake with my eyes closed."

"Open them."

I reluctantly lifted one eyelid. Leslie was standing beside my bed with both hands on her hips, still wearing the clothes she'd gone to work in the previous night. Her hair was slightly messy, and the exhaustion in her face told me she'd barely been home an hour.

I smiled sleepily. "You look terrible."

Her mouth fell open. "You have got to be kidding me."

"What?"

She grabbed my phone from beside my pillow and shoved it in front of my face. I squinted at the screen — 9:07 a.m. — and sat upright so fast the room spun.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

I looked at her, then at the clock, then back at her. "The interview."

"The interview."

I threw the blanket aside and practically fell out of bed. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I have been trying to wake you for the last ten minutes! You slept through three alarms."

I stared at my phone. Three alarms. I had apparently betrayed myself.

"I was tired."

"You stayed up reading again, didn't you?"

I grabbed my towel. "No."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, yes."

"You promised me."

"I know, and I am sorry, but I couldn't help it." 

I ran into the bathroom.

"And Bree?"

"What?"

"Don't spend an eternity in there."

I stopped. "I will be out in one hour, I promise"

"Bree!"

I laughed and shut the bathroom door.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of our tiny mirror while Leslie dug through the small collection of clothes we shared between us.

"This is hopeless," she muttered.

"What?"

"We don't have anything appropriate."

I looked at the clothes scattered across the bed. "We have clothes."

"We don't have interview clothes."

"What's wrong with my red dress?"

She lifted it. "Everything."

I took it from her. "It is a perfectly respectable dress."

"It has a V-neck."

"So?"

"It is fitted."

"So?"

"It is red."

I looked down at myself. "Red is a color."

"You know what I mean."

I turned toward the mirror. The dress hugged my curves, falling just below my knees — one of the few things in my wardrobe that made me feel pretty without feeling like I was trying too hard.

"I like it."

Leslie sighed. "You always like the wrong things."

"That is because I have excellent taste."

She looked at me. I smiled. She shook her head. "Fine. Wear it."

"What are you wearing?"

She held up a short black leather skirt.

I stared at her. "You're wearing that?"

"I don't have anything else."

I looked at her, then at myself, then back at her. "We look like we're going clubbing."

"We don't have time to change."

I laughed. "At least if we don't get the job, they'll remember us."

"That's the spirit."

We hurried out of the apartment.

By the time our cab pulled up outside the estate, I was regretting every decision that had led me there. The gates alone looked like they cost more than everything Leslie and I owned combined.

I leaned forward in my seat. "Are you sure this is the right address?"

Leslie checked her phone. "Yes."

I stared through the window. The estate stretched farther than I could see, surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges and enormous trees. A long driveway disappeared toward a mansion that looked less like a home and more like a luxury hotel, with several expensive cars parked near the entrance.

I swallowed. "This is not a house."

"What is it?"

"A small country."

Leslie laughed.

I stepped out of the cab and immediately felt underdressed. Then I saw the other women, and my confidence died. There were at least thirty candidates gathered around the entrance, maybe more — women in tailored suits, elegant dresses, expensive-looking shoes. Some looked like professional nannies. Others looked like they'd stepped straight out of a fashion magazine.

I looked down at my red dress, then at Leslie's leather skirt, then back at the women. I leaned toward her. "Did Harvard and a modeling agency secretly start producing nannies?"

Leslie covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing. "Stop."

"I'm serious. Look at them."

"Just act confident."

"I am confident."

"You're staring."

"I'm observing."

"You're panicking."

"I am absolutely panicking."

She laughed. I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders. Twenty thousand dollars. I could do this. Maybe. Probably not. But I could at least try.

We walked toward the reception area, where a woman behind a polished marble desk looked up.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," Leslie said politely. "We're here for the interview."

The receptionist smiled. "Names?"

"Leslie Brooks."

"Bree Carter."

The woman typed something into her computer, then stopped. Her eyes moved from the screen to me. "Bree Carter?"

I nodded. "Yes?"

Her face brightened. "Are you Bree from Bree Being Bree?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

She smiled. "I follow your page."

For a second I forgot about the mansion, the other candidates, the interview — everything.

"You know me?"

"Of course."

I looked at Leslie. She was already smiling. I turned back to the receptionist. "You actually watch my videos?"

"I do. I love your weight journey content."

My chest warmed. "Really?"

"Yes. You're hilarious."

I placed a hand over my heart. "I think I like you."

She laughed.

Leslie leaned closer to me. "Don't get carried away."

"I'm a celebrity now."

"You have four thousand followers."

"Four thousand and one, apparently."

The receptionist laughed again. "Please have a seat. Someone will come for you shortly."

"Thank you."

We moved away from the desk and sat down, and I was still smiling. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes."

"Someone recognized me."

"Yes, Bree."

"I might actually be famous."

"You're not famous."

"I am famous to at least one person."

She laughed. I looked around the room again, and the nervousness crept back in. Everyone looked so polished. I lowered my voice. "I really don't think we have a chance."

"You don't know that."

"Look at them."

"Stop comparing yourself."

"Easy for you to say."

She turned toward me. "Bree."

I looked at her.

"You are good enough."

I smiled. "Thank you."

"And don't embarrass me."

"I make no promises."

She rolled her eyes and let out a fake frustrated sigh.

We sat there for a few more minutes while the candidates around us quietly waited. Then I noticed the view through a large glass door — a garden, and not just any garden. It was beautiful, with fountains, flowers, winding paths, and enormous hedges trimmed so perfectly they looked unreal.

I stared. "Wow."

Leslie followed my gaze. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"I know that look."

"What look?"

"The look that says you're about to do something stupid."

I smiled. "I just want to look."

"Then look from here."

"But it's right there."

"Bree."

"I'll be back in two minutes."

"Don't wander."

"I won't."

"And don't record anything."

I placed a hand over my chest. "I dont record everywhere I go."

"You do, and it's annoying."

"That's hurtful."

"Bree."

"Fine."

I waited until she was distracted, then slipped through the glass doors.

The garden was even more beautiful up close. I walked along one of the paths, taking everything in. "This is ridiculous," I whispered. 

Then I remembered my phone. I pulled it from my bag. I had promised Leslie I wouldn't record — but technically, I wasn't going to record. I was just going to make a tiny video. There was a difference.

I turned on my camera. "Hi, guys." I lowered my voice dramatically. "Apparently, some people have so much money they can build themselves a private Garden of Eden." I turned the camera toward the fountain. "Look at this place." I walked slowly along the path. "Meanwhile, some of us are standing in the grocery store calculating whether buying chicken is financially responsible." I laughed. "But honestly, how much money does one person need?"

I paused beside a bed of roses. "Look at all this." I shook my head. "I know people work hard for their money, and I'm not saying rich people shouldn't enjoy what they've earned. But some people can't afford food, people who are struggling to pay rent, and someone out here has a garden bigger than my entire neighborhood." I turned the camera back toward myself. "Some people are just greedy. They collect everything they can get their hands on and forget there are people outside their gates struggling to survive." I glanced around. "And whoever owns this place?" I lowered my voice. "I already know they're probably the type who thinks they're better than everybody else."

A sound came from somewhere behind me. I froze, eyes wide. "Okay." I immediately switched off the camera. "Time to go."

I turned around and started walking, then stopped. I looked left, right, straight ahead. Nothing looked familiar.

"Oh, no."

I walked faster. The path curved around a tall hedge. I took it. Another hedge. I turned around. Another path.

"This cannot be happening."

I walked farther. The garden seemed to grow larger with every step. I stopped and looked around. "I am going to die in a billionaire's garden."

I started walking again, turned a corner, and collided with something hard. Very hard. I stumbled backward. "I'm so sorry." I looked up, and forgot what I was going to say.

The man standing in front of me was easily the most handsome man I had ever seen. 

He was tall, with broad shoulders stretched beneath a simple dark shirt, and an expensive watch around his wrist that probably cost more than everything in my closet. 

He wasn't dressed formally, but somehow every piece of clothing looked like it had been chosen specifically for him. 

His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his face — God, his face. It was the kind of face romance authors described when they'd run out of believable ways to explain how attractive a man was.

Then his scent reached me. Warm. Clean. Expensive. Almost intoxicating.

I stared at him. He stared at me. For one ridiculous second, my brain supplied the thought that if alphas were real, they'd probably look exactly like this. 

Not because he looked like a werewolf; he simply had that kind of presence. Powerful. Commanding. The kind of man who could walk into a room and make everyone else instinctively move aside.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and that was when I realized I was still staring.

"Oh." Very intelligent, Bree. "Sorry," I said quickly. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

His gaze moved over me, not in a way that made me uncomfortable — more like he was trying to figure out exactly what I was doing wandering around his garden.

Before he could say anything, I heard Leslie's voice in the distance.

"Bree!"

My eyes widened. "Oh, that's my friend." I took a step backward. "I should go. And I don't know if you heard any of the things I said earlier. I didn't mean it."

He didn't move. Neither did I. For some reason, I suddenly felt nervous.

"Sorry again."

Then I turned and hurried away.

"Bree!"

"Coming!"

I followed Leslie's voice, hoping I could somehow find my way out of the garden before the ridiculously handsome stranger decided to call security.

I had absolutely no idea that I had just insulted the owner of the estate to my phone. And I certainly had no idea that the man I had just run into was the billionaire whose nephew I had supposedly come to nanny.

All I knew was that he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. And somehow, I already found him irritating.

Which, as I would later discover, was a very dangerous combination.