Page 9 of Puck Your Nanny

"Thank you." She licks her lips, drawing my gaze to them and how full they are. "That’s very generous."

I clear my throat and force my gaze back to hers. "Food. We usually order in, or Calvin cooks; he's good at that. But you canmake whatever you and William need. You aren't expected to cook for us or anything, only if you want to."

"Of course." Daisy nods, her gaze steady. "And my schedule?"

"Well," I exhale. "I and one of my pack mates are hockey players. My schedule is unpredictable with games, practice, and travel. I need you to be flexible."

"I understand." She holds up a hand. " Not a problem. I’m used to adapting."

Relief washes over me. "Good." A silence falls between us, just long enough to feel awkward.

I clear my throat. "I think we’ve covered the important parts for now. Peter is the one who figures out payments. He'll be in touch with a contract, and if it's all up to your standards, we'll get started tomorrow. Don't hesitate to call him out on his bullshit if he low balls you. You should've gotten my number in the request for in-person interview email. Feel free to use it if you need backup." Standing, I extend a hand. "We can go over the smaller details—days off and everything else—once you've settled in."

She rises and takes my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. "That sounds good, Mr. Blake."

I walk her to the door. Just as she steps outside, she pauses, turning back.

"Thank you, Mr. Blake. For trusting me."

I run a hand over my hair. It's getting shaggy, but I haven't had time to get it cut. "Nate. Please, call me Nate."

She smiles. "Nate," she repeats, and something about the way she says it sends a shiver down my spine.

Then she’s gone, walking down the driveway and leaving me standing in the doorway, unsettled. My inner Alpha doesn’t want her to leave.It wants to protect her?The thought is absurd. She’s a Beta, and she smells like nothing. It makes no sense.

I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to reality. I have a nanny. I got one fast considering shit hit the fan three daysago. A good one, too, it seems. William likes her. That’s all that matters.

Closing the door, I lean my forehead against the cool wood and heave a sigh. I need to focus—on William, on getting through this next two weeks: the funeral, cleaning out my dad's house. At least with Daisy here to help us through this transition, it feels mildly doable. She understands his emotions better than I do. At the very least, she can offer the female presence he needs right now.

Chapter 3

Istare at the mountain of boxes and suitcases stacked in my tiny room, now my former tiny room. I sigh and run a hand through my hair, which promptly comes loose from its messy ponytail.

It's not going to get done if I don't start. I pick up the suitcases first. Bit by bit, I take everything downstairs. As I pass the living room, Brent is sprawled in my armchair, feet up on the coffee table, laptop balanced on his knees. He doesn’t offer to help, just keeps typing. Freda’s at work. There’s no way my favorite armchair will fit into a rideshare, not even the large one I asked for. I'm not asking Brent for help, not even if he has a pickup truck and could make my life easier. I'm sure that would beasking far too much of him. Even though he asked me to get out and I did it two days. Good riddance. It’s just a chair anyway. I’ll get another one someday.

By the time I get everything to the curb, I’m sweating. The rideshare pulls up just in time. An older Alpha, judging by his size, doesn’t look thrilled as he eyes the boxes and then me. "You said 'extra luggage.'"

I offer a sheepish smile. "It is extra luggage. Technically, if you squint. I'll offer a nice tip." Please don't let him ditch me.

He grunts but pops the trunk. I start loading everything in the back, ignoring his impatient sighs. He doesn’t get out to help, just watches from the rearview mirror. When I finally cram everything in, I slam the trunk shut and nod to him as I get in the back seat.

When we pull away, I glance back at the house, my chest tightens. Things shouldn’t have ended so badly between Freda and me, but Brent can fuck off for all I care. The thought of proving I can do better than him fuels me. This is for the best. A fresh start.

Settling into the worn leather seat of the SUV, I pull out my phone. The email from Peter is still open on the contract I signed this morning. I guess he handles all the business for the pack. We’ve only communicated through email, and he comes across as efficient but cold. Maybe that’s just his writing style.

My eyes linger on the salary as I scroll through again. Triple what the Millers paid me, and that's without negotiation. With that kind of money and no rent or utilities to worry about, I can actually save. Maybe even buy a condo in a few years when they might not need me anymore. A small one, but it would be mine. A place where no one can kick me out. The thought sends a thrill of hope through me.

My mind drifts back to yesterday, the interview with Nate, William. Such a tiny, precious little thing, already carrying sucha heavy loss. My heart aches for him and Nate. He’d looked so lost, so overwhelmed, standing in that nursery when I decided to see if I could help.

A shiver racks my shoulders as last night’s dream resurfaces.

I'd been touching myself, something I rarely do, when my door opened. Nate stood in the doorway of my room at Freda’s, shirtless. The moonlight hit his muscular, broad chest, highlighting the muscles of his shoulders and defined biceps. His dark blond hair curled into a ducktail at the nape of his neck. His green eyes locked onto mine. "You look like you're in need of some help, Daisy."

The rumble in his tone still makes me shiver. I shake my head. I can’t be thinking of him that way. He’s an Alpha, and I’m a Beta. We’re anatomically incompatible. It’s for the best. Keeps things simple.

I still can’t get over that whole "What's your presentation?" conversation.He couldn’t smell me?I didn’t even know Betas had scents. I thought that was just an Alpha and Omega thing.Is it possible to be a super late presenter?I’m twenty-six, for crying out loud. That’s ridiculous.Isn’t it?I shake my head again. I’m not going to think about it now.

I pull up the address and double-check it against the GPS. We’re headed in the right direction. Yesterday, the house seemed huge, practically one step below a mansion, but I’d been too nervous to take it in. Now, knowing I’ll actually be living there, it’s overwhelming to think about.

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