Page 5 of Secrets, Lies and Love

I remember the reports I read about the man I need to get closer to. In fact, I remember what I read about the entire family.

Ruthless businessmen. Billionaires. Inaccessible.

I could attest to that last part myself. The man remains inside a fortress. I've been coming every day for a week now, and I can't wait any longer. The money I used to pay for the hotel stay has run out, which is why I have my suitcase with me today.

If I don't achieve my goal, I'll have to go back to Kansas and start all over again.

God, help me not fail.

The Kostanidis are a kind of Royal Family—not only very rich but powerful as well.

I have no doubt that if Mr. Dionysus finds out who I am and why I'm in New York, even without knowing the full story, he'll send me away. He'll make sure I never come near him again, and then I'll have failed hopelessly, because once he finds out everything, I won't get a second chance.

I nod to the security guard in a kind of farewell. He is the nicest person I've met in New York since I arrived. Or rather, the least rude.

I take a few deep breaths, and little by little, my heartbeat begins to return to normal, but the false feeling of peace doesn'tlast at all, because as soon as I arrive at the back of the building, where the garage entrance is, I see the car that picks up Mr. Kostanidis every day.

It's now or never.

I'm going to need one of those eight remaining lives, God.

Don't abandon me.

Dionysus

CHAPTER THREE

“Are we going straight home,Mr. Kostanidis?” my driver asks as soon as I get into the car.

“Yes, Anderson. I need to interview the night nanny candidate.”

It would be better to say another nanny, one of so many who have already failed in their role.

I look in the rearview mirror when he purses his lips, and I know why: Anderson is practically family, and he was as mad as my brothers that my ex-employee left my son alone, crying in his crib, to have sex downstairs.

None of her replacements have stayed long.

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling a headache coming and wondering whether I shouldn’t accept Zeus’s suggestion and put Joseph in day care, swapping the nanny who stays until two in the afternoon for a night shift.

The problem is that Mrs. Nuttle has already announced that she won’t be able to stay every night, because her husband doesn’t like her being away for long.

“For our Joseph’s sake, I hope this one works out, sir.”

I nod my head in agreement, although I have my doubts.

As he drives away, I look out the tinted window, but my head is miles away.

I know I’ll have to hire Miss Pain.

Jesus, even the woman’s name is wrong. How can a nanny have the word “pain” as a last name?

I also know that she won’t last in the role, and it has nothing to do with her eccentric last name but everything to do with the fact that she didn’t try to touch my son during the interview.

In fact, she didn’t even look at him.

I purposely left the stroller containing my boy nearby, but the woman seemed much more focused on proving her professional qualifications to me—which are many, I don’t deny—than understanding that the main element of this equation is her good relationship with my son.

Contrary to what most websites for solo parents state as requirements, I don’t give a shit whether she went to college or speaks more languages besides English. If she can’t have a genuine connection with Joseph, it won’t work for me.

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