Page 17 of Mr. Wolfe's Nanny

“This isn’t the school system or a corporation. I’m an individual working in another individual’s home. I don’t think he needs ‘grounds.’”

“Well, he won’t. He may want to fuck you again though so be careful,” Isa tells me, totally unfazed.

She’s the calm sea to my hurricane. Ever since I told her who Mr. Wolfe was, she’s been prepping me for the confrontation. She’d also urged me to call him and talk to him before he returned to Chicago. Naturally, I chickened out. Looking back, I wish I had called. The shock and then the anger in his face earlier… God, what have I done?

“How do you know he won’t fire me? You don’t know him. And what makes you think he’ll want to dothatwith me again?” My pussy clenches just thinking about it. Right or wrong, my traitorous body would be a-okay with Mr. Wolfe fucking me again.

“He’ll want to dothatbecause he’s a man and, from what you’ve shared, he enjoys sex, is good at it and particularly enjoyed it with you. So, why wouldn’t he want you again? You’re hot.”

“Isa…”

“Go and have your talk. Hash things out. I’ll bet you’ll be laughing together over the coincidence by the end of the night.”

I think Isa is being a little too optimistic. She didn’t see his face earlier. She didn’t hear the barely contained rage when he’d ordered me to meet with him tonight. And, God help me, I’d been turned on by that growly tone even while scared to death of losing this job.

Nervous over what’s to come, I go through the motions of helping see the kids off to bed. Ryder’s been reading those science learners at night by himself so I just make sure he brushes his teeth and tell him goodnight.

But, tonight, for the first time, he lets me hug him. This clever, loving and talented but angry and emotionally bruised little boy needs all the hugs he can get.Please, don’t let this be the last time I get to hug this kid.

Jill, unlike her brother, still wants the full tuck-in package. We’ve developed a good routine after bath time even with Lady Duck’s departure.

“Ms. Quinn!” Jill says, already sitting on her princess pink bedding when I come to her room. “Daddy’s reading to me tonight!” Then, she sits up on her knees, giving me twinkle-fingers, beckoning me in for a hug.

I can’t let Jill down but I cross the room so aware of Mr. Wolfe’s eyes on me. Those eyes are cold and still angry. Shit.

I go to the far side of the bed, away from where he’s seated and sit down to give Jill her goodnight hug. “Say the things,” Jill whispers.

I dart an apologetic look towards her father and begin. “Sleepy, sleepy, Little Duck. Just one more gentle tuck.” I cover her with the comforter and push her hair back from her forehead. “Pretty, pretty, Baby Kitty. I’ll see you in Dreamland City.” I give her a kiss on the forehead. Jill giggles but the silence from the other side of the bed is deafening. My hands start to tremble. “Eyes closed, Playful Pup. I’ll wake you when it’s time for up.”

Jill sighs happily. “Goodnight, Ms. Quinn. Daddy,read.”

I can’t help but smirk at her commanding tone but, when I dare glance at Mr. Wolfe to see if he’s amused, I can’t tell what to make of his expression. There’s a smile hovering around his full lips but also… pain.

I swallow hard and rise to leave. I can feel his eyes watching me as I walk away. He doesn’t let me escape without a final word.

“Ms. Quinn, we’ll speak in my office at 9 o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe,” I murmur before fleeing to my room. A half hour from now, my doom awaits.

∞∞∞

I wasn’t sure if I should be waiting for him in his own office so I stay in my room until 8:58 then hurry down the two floors to walk in just as the clock over the mantle is chiming the hour.

He’s seated at his desk and holding a crystal tumbler half full of some amber-colored liquid. He looks very much like a wealthy, powerful businessman after hours. He’s still in his button-down shirt and dress slacks with that fancy-pants wristwatch on but his tie is long gone.

It looks as though he’s been raking his fingers through his hair quite recently. There’s a lock of it hanging over his forehead. I remember how soft it felt slipping through my fingers that night, like coarse silk. His head had been between my thighs at the time, his tongue and lips and fingers setting me aflame.

“Sit,” he barks, snapping me out of inappropriate memories.

I sit. I’m not offered a drink. I suppose he fears having another drink thrown at him.

“It’s nice to finally know your name. From Selina Kyle to Lois Lane to Quinn Batista. It sounds like another alias.” His voice is so cold.

I open my mouth, close it, open it again. “It’s not an alias. That’s my name, sir.”

He scowls. “I’d rather you not call me ‘sir’ considering certain things.”

“Yes, si-” His nostrils flare. “Yes, Mr. Wolfe.” I’m not sure that pleases him either.

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