Page 16 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
I wheel a bit closer, enough to assert presence but not threaten. My hands hover over the armrests, keeping me grounded, ready to react. “I’ve reviewed the references and background you provided,” I start slowly, deliberately, “and while everything looks spotless, I need to know why it feels like you’re hiding something.”
Her eyes flicker—for a second, maybe a microsecond too long. I lean back slightly, arms crossing over my chest. “If you’ve lied to me, Sienna, or if there’s information you’ve withheld, I need to know now. Because if I find out later…” My voice drops just a fraction, carrying the weight of both threat and promise. “…there will be consequences. Legal consequences. And I won’t hesitate.”
Her lips press together. She swallows, then leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “I’m here to do a job, not to be interrogated.”
So that’s how she wants to play it?
“I’m the boss here,” I say, voice low but commanding. “And this is my home. My family’s safety. And if there’s even a shred of deception, I need to know now. Because I can call the cops, Sienna. And I will.”
The tension in the room spikes, thick enough to taste. She exhales slowly, her posture stiff but defiant. “You can call them. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m here to work.”
I tilt my head, studying her. The defiance is real, but so is the fear behind it. I can see it in the slight tremble in her fingers, the flicker of unease in her eyes.
“You’re playing a game,” I continue, voice steady, deliberate. “And I don’t like games. Especially not when it involves my family’s legacy.”
Her gaze sharpens. “I’m not playing anything.”
“You’re telling me you just showed up here?” I ask, voice tight, deliberate. “No one sent you? No one’s backing you? You’re just here for the job?”
Her hands tighten in her lap. Her pink hair catches the last light, almost mocking me with how out of place she looks in Wrangler Creek. “Yes,” she says quickly. “I’m here for the job. That’s it.”
Too quick. Too precise. I know the tells.
I roll closer, letting the creak of my chair mark every deliberate inch I cover. “You expect me to believe that? You just happenedto land at my ranch? Six months after Washington? And what, you didn’t think to warn me?”
At the mention of Washington, her face shows she knows she’s been caught.
She flinches, just slightly, but I see it. “It’s a coincidence,” she says, voice pitched firm. “I’m not—“
“Not what?” I cut her off, leaning forward, letting the small space between us feel like a cage. “Don’t try the innocent act with me. You’re either hiding something or you’re the dumbest spy I’ve ever seen.”
Her jaw tightens. There’s fire in her eyes, rebelliousness, but I can also feel the tension rolling off her in waves. I can smell the faint sweet vanilla on her, the heat of her pulse racing under her skin. Damn it. She’s distracting me. Not now.
“I’m not a spy,” she says, voice low, almost daring. “I’m here to work. That’s all.”
I snort, leaning in even closer, the wheels of my chair squeaking as I angle deliberately. “You think I’d let just anyone near my family? My business? My secrets?” My hand taps the armrest like a metronome of warning.
Her lips press together, tight and sharp, and I know she’s biting back something. I can see it in her eyes—she doesn’t fear me, and if she does, there is something she fears more. She doesn’t even flinch much, and that pisses me off.
“I gave you a week, thinking you’d come clean yourself, but my patience has run out.”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m not—“
“Not what?” I cut her off, my voice low and sharp, rolling through the room like a whip. “Not a liar? Not a traitor? Not the kind of person who would sneak in under someone else’s name to steal company secrets? You lied,” I say, voice cutting. “Your references? Perfect. Too perfect. Your history? Clean as a whistle. Your name? Fake as they come. The company you came from? Burned to the ground. All the people who knew you? Either scared or gone. And you expect me to believe you’re just here for a job?”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She’s cornered. Good.
“Since you won’t give me the answers I need, I’m not taking chances. Not with my family, or my ranch, not with the people who rely on me.” I push myself slightly forward, letting my presence fill the room. “You’re fired. Effective immediately.”
Her eyes widen. There’s a flash of panic, but she recovers quickly, still trying to hold her poker face. “You must be joking. You can’t fire me. The job is not done.”
“I’m serious,” I growl. “I’ll find someone else to do it. You have one hour to pack and leave. If I catch a single thing out of place, don’t think I won’t call the cops. Consider this your one and only warning. Leave my ranch, or I swear you’ll regret it.”
She swallows hard, the color draining from her face, and for a moment, I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. But then I remember the stakes. My family. My livelihood. My trust.
“Mr. Morgan—“
“Out. Now!”
