A LITTLE ACCIDENT

I wake up to the ringing sound of the alarm beside my bed. It’s six in the morning, and another week is smoothly coming to an end.

Life here is amazingly sweet, especially when you have a boss like mine. Andy is a good boss and a terrific daddy to Angel. He is a workaholic, yes, but I idolize how he creates time to spend with his daughter. I admire how involved he is in his daughter’s activities and life in general. Even when he arrives home late after the little girl has gone to bed, his first stop is always her room. For instance, he came home very late last night and wasn’t able to chat with his daughter. To make up for that, after we shared our coffee—which has become a ritual, by the way—he told me he would be the one to take Angel to school. He even wanted to prepare her himself, but I insisted on doing it. I’m delighted that he’s such a kind boss, but there’s no way I’ll take advantage of that. I came here to work, and I intend to do just that, no matter how good my boss is.

I throw my warm duvet aside and get out of the very comfortable bed to wake Angel for school. After brushing my teeth and changing, I walk to her room. Breakfast is usually delivered by seven at the latest, so I have enough time to prepare her.

“Good morning to the most gorgeous princess!” I greet her, gently caressing her back to wake her up. She snorts.

“Mmhh… morning, Auntie Ania!” That’s the nickname she gave me the very day her father brought me to this house. I remember when she first called me Ania—Andy thought she was struggling to pronounce the name Tania. But the little girl snickered at her father and told him Ania was her nickname for me. She’s such a sweet, jovial, bubbly doll.

“Morning, sweetie. Sorry to cut your sweet sleep, baby, but it’s time for school,” I say.

“Okay!” She sits up on the bed and stretches. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Sure. Call me when you’re done, okay?” I throw the duvet off her and lift her from the bed. While she’s in the bathroom, I make her bed and take out her uniform from the closet.

Taking care of Angel is no pressure at all. She’s disciplined and compliant. About twenty minutes later, I’m done bathing and dressing her. After combing her hair, she stands in front of the mirror as she always does, admiring herself. I pick up her bag just as I hear the doorbell ring. That must be the breakfast delivery.

“Are you okay?” I ask when I notice she’s been staring at herself for far too long without saying a word. That’s unlike her.

“Yes.” She turns to me.

“Are you sure, sweetie? Why do you look sad?” I kneel in front of her. She smiles weakly.

“Auntie Ania, why don’t I have a mother?” she asks, and I’m thunderstruck.

What?

This question shouldn’t be directed at me, but I can’t brush it off either. She looks genuinely bothered.

“What? Why do you ask that, princess?”

“Because kids in my class always ask me where my mother is. Why don’t I have a mother like them?”

“And what do you tell them?”

“That I don’t know. That I have Daddy instead. But they say I should have both parents.”

“Have you told Daddy about this, princess?” She shakes her head. “Well, this is what I can tell you,” I say, cupping her beautiful face in my palms. “Those kids have no right to ask you something like that, okay? Don’t tell them anything. And if they bother you again, tell Daddy, alright? I’m sure he’ll know what to do. Or better yet, report them to your teacher, okay?”

“Okay, Auntie. But Daddy doesn’t tell me why I don’t have a mother either.”

“Then don’t insist on it too much, princess. Maybe Daddy thinks you’re too young to understand his explanation—which you are, kiddo. You know Daddy loves you very much, right?” She nods. “And you know he would never say or do anything to hurt you, right?”

“Yes. Daddy loves me so much.”

“Then that’s all you need to know, dear. If those kids tease you again, tell Daddy immediately—or tell me, okay?”

“Sure, Auntie Ania!” she says with a smile.

“Promise?” I smile back and raise my hand for a high-five.

“Promise.” She high-fives me.

“Come here.” I pull her into a hug, and she wraps her little arms around my back. After a moment, we pull apart. “Now let’s hurry downstairs for a quick breakfast so you won’t be late for school, okay?”

“Yes,” she replies happily. I scoop her up and carry her out, one arm wrapped around my neck.

As we head downstairs, I notice Andy seated in the dining area with a tray on the table. He must have received the breakfast. Crossing the sitting room, I climb the small steps to the dining area. Hearing my footsteps, he looks up from his phone, and a huge smile spreads across his face when his eyes land on his smiling daughter.

“Hey, princess! Did you sleep well?” he asks, standing up and taking Angel from me, wrapping her in a tight hug. The love he has for his daughter is incredible—it’s as if she’s his entire world.

Wait a minute.

On a cold, snowy morning like this, Adrian Ashton, how are you this warm in just shorts and a T-shirt? Our skin brushes when he takes Angel, and I feel the heat radiating from him. Ooh, man!

“Morning, Daddy! Yes, I slept well,” Angel replies as they slip into their usual father-and-daughter chatter while I set the table and serve breakfast.

“Why did it take you so long to get ready today? Did you trouble your auntie?” Andy asks as he settles her into the chair beside him.

“No, Daddy. We were just talking.”

“Talking? About what?” I can tell he’s anxious to know, but I plan to tell him after Angel goes to school. If she decides to tell him now, then so be it.

“Aah… just stories, Daddy,” she says. Clearly, she doesn’t want to tell him yet. I don’t know why, but I can’t keep it from him forever. The little kiddo will have to forgive me.

“Okay…” Andy says, unconvinced. He glances at me, sensing something’s off. Since Angel—a not-yet-four-year-old—is a better liar than twenty-year-old me, I manage only a forced smile.

After breakfast, Andy drives Angel to school, and I’m left to start my chores—not that there are many.

Once I’ve cleaned the dining room and sitting room, I move on to Andy’s study. I wipe his desk, swivel chair, window, computer, and files, organize everything, and mop the floor. Then I decide to wipe the shelves and pull over the stool I usually stand on. In my rush to finish—knowing Andy will come straight here when he returns—I forget the floor is still wet. As I lift my second leg onto the stool, I lose my balance. My attempt to grab the shelves is futile.

“Aahhh!” I scream, bracing for the impact—but instead, I fall into Andy’s strong arms.

Damn. I didn’t notice him come in, but thank God he was there.

Unfortunately, as the stool falls, it hits the bucket of soapy water. The slippery floor does us no favors—Andy slips and goes down with me still in his arms. He lands hard on his butt, and foolish me ends up on top of him. As if that isn’t embarrassing enough, my arms are around his neck, his around my waist, our faces touching, my lips brushing his. For a moment, I forget how to breathe—maybe because of the heat radiating from his body beneath me, or the awkwardness of our position.

I understand the awkwardness—I’ve never been in a situation like this with a man—but this electric shock coursing through me, this strange feeling… why am I melting?

My eyes drop to his, and his are fixed on mine. There’s a spark gluing us together in this sin-screaming position. Neither of us moves. Time stands still. I don’t know about him, but I’m intoxicated by his scent, which has stolen my ability to breathe altogether.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, right under my nose.