Page 8 of Redeem Me

‘I haven’t given it much thought.’ I step away from my brother and turn to the car.

‘Well, I’m asking you to think about it now, Ivy. Do you even know anything about this family? You’re literally moving in with strangers. Again.’ Dermot winces, throwing an exasperated hand into the air.

The only family that makes me feel like a stranger is my own. Not that I voice it out loud. I had a twin, Katie. She died of an asthma attack when we were five. Since then, my parents prefer to love me from a distance. It’s almost like looking at me is too painful. Unfortunately, my brother went the other way, smothering me. The eleven-year age gap between us means I’ll always be a baby to him, which is one of the reasons I put an ocean between us the second I turned eighteen.

‘It’s a job, Dermot. One I’ve been doing pretty damn well for years. It’s perfectly safe. The agency does all the checks. Stop worrying about me.’

‘You have a knack for attracting trouble.’ Dermot shakes his head.

What I have is a knack for attracting troublesome men, unfortunately. Which is why my last position didn’t work out. My previous employer’s husband thought his wife was paying me to take care of his dick, as well as his children. It got uglywhen I refused his advances. Which is when I got this mad notion about coming back to Ireland.

I’m regretting it already.

‘How much trouble can I get into nannying in a mansion in Malahide?’ I open the car door and hop in.

‘Call me later. Let me know you’re okay,’ he urges.

‘I’ll call you at the weekend. Stop mollycoddling me.’ I swat my hand in front of his face. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’ He smooths out the frown on his face. ‘Be careful.’

I exhale a sigh of relief as the driver starts the engine.

Forty minutes later, we pull up outside my new home. High sand-coloured stone walls surround the property. A motorised gate prevents us from entering, but a security guard, wearing a smart black suit and stoic expression, approaches the car. He’s in his thirties. Not bad looking. He’s no Tall, Dark and Tortured, but he might be up for the craic.

The driver winds down the window.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m the new nanny.’ I pluck my phone from my pocket and tap into the email from the agency, holding the phone out to him.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Damon, head of security. He’s expecting you.’ His nostrils flare. ‘Good luck.’ He nods and steps back from the car.

He?

Doeshehave a name?

The agency sent me the kids’ names, ages, and said the father works away a lot. I scanned the details all too quickly in my rush to escape Dermot’s eagle eyes.

And good luck? Something in Damon’s voice makes methink I’m going to need it. A shiver of apprehension streaks down my spine.

Who even has security in Dublin?

I don’t have time to contemplate it as we crawl up the tree-lined driveway and the house comes into view. It is breathtaking. Built out of the same sand-coloured stone as the wall, it’s modern, luxurious, with ginormous floor-to-ceiling windows that scream sophistication.

There’s an elaborate water feature, row upon row of colourful planters lining the perimeter, an industrial-sized firepit, and best of all, a huge outdoor pool with thick, plush cushioned sunloungers flanking it. I’ve worked for some wealthy families, but this is something else.

The driver slows to a stop at the front steps. A solid sage-coloured front door swings open and a man appears. I’d put him in his mid-forties. His dark hair is peppered grey and he’s wearing a suit almost identical to the guy at the gate. He descends the steps with speed and stealth.

He doesn’t seem too intimidating. The apprehension eases a fraction as his thin lips stretch into a smile. ‘Miss Winters, welcome.’ He shakes my hand firmly, then heads to the trunk to fetch my luggage. ‘I’m Samuel. It’s a pleasure.’

My new boss is a gentleman.

Phew. Despite my bravado in front of Dermot, after my last boss put his hands on me, I admit, I was slightly apprehensive coming here today.

‘I can do that.’ I motion to my tightly packed suitcase. It contains pretty much everything I own, which is why it’s almost ready to burst at the seams.

‘It’s my job,’ Samuel says.

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