Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Beau Shaw is a Grade-A jerk.
Working for him is hell. Living under his roof is worse.
If it weren’t for Clara, the little girl who’s stolen my heart, I’d have walked away a million times over. But I can’t leave her. She’s given me warmth, magic, and a home I never imagined, even if I’m only the nanny.
That’s a fact Beau reminds me of every day. He shows me what I am—an intruder in their fragile little family.
They’ve only just caught their breath after years of drowning, battling a disease that almost stole Clara’s light. That battle took whatever heart Beau Shaw had and morphed him into what he is now.
Hating Beau should be easy. Instead, behind his icy glares I see a father who almost lost everything—and a hunger that lights me on fire.
If he touches me, we’ll both be ruined.
BEAU
Hannah Morgan is off-limits.
She’s too young. Far too good for me. And she’s my daughter’s nanny.
Hiring her was my first mistake. But the smile she put on my daughter’s face ripped away all notions of self-preservation. I’d destroy myself a million times over to give my daughter an ounce of happiness. Because there was a time, not too long ago, when I thought her smiles were numbered. I’d count her breaths, wondering which would be her last. I still live in the darkness of those days.
Hannah Morgan brings sunshine. Hope. But I can’t let myself want her. Can’t let myself hope sunshine is something I deserve. Make her hate me. That’s the goal.
Every day she’s in my house, I lose my grip. She’s stubborn, brave—she’s magic.
I can’t have her. I shouldn’t want her.
And if I take her … I’ll never let her go
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
one
HANNAH
I woke up dreading the day.
A stone—thick, hard, and cold—had settled in the pit of my stomach the moment I woke. The sheets were soft and comfortable, the comforter plush and cozy. My surroundings were bare, but they were clean. I felt safe. I was safe.
My belly didn’t pang with hunger pains from missing meals the day before.
There was a hot shower waiting for me in the adjoining bathroom.
There was a little girl down the hall who made me smile, who lit up my world.
All of these things should’ve meant I awakened happy, especially given my past. Growing up, my sheets were thin, scratchy, cheap, and rarely clean. I was always cold, hungry, and afraid. In my young adulthood, in a different house, I woke up next to a man who smelled of booze and who was unpredictable at best, dangerous at worst.
Yes, waking up in a small, comfortable, warm house in Jupiter, Maine, should’ve been a treat for me. I should’ve been dancing for joy that my job was literally hanging out with the most wonderful little girl in the world.
But there was a catch.
In my experience, there was always a catch.
This catch was mild, most would say, considering my past. Yet the stone in my stomach was ever-present, dread heavy in my bones at the prospect of facing the day.
Of facing him.
I hated my boss.
I didn’t make a habit of saying I hated anyone. Well, except the people who deserved to be hated.
Kim Jo Hung.
Hitler.
Scumbags like them.
Not the people I interacted with daily—the driver who cut me off, my sister-in-law who controlled my brother and subtly insulted my outfits and general personality whenever we were together—even my ex-husband.
To describe them, I would’ve used the term strongly dislike. Maybe even punctuate it with some creative profanity.
But hatred was not a feeling I let myself possess. Anger corrodes the vessel in which it is held, and the same could be said about hatred. I’d seen it turn my mother bitter, sick, and cruel. I couldn’t say I didn’t get plenty angry at people, especially those on the previous list. But I never felt like I hated them.
Until Beau Shaw.
My boss.
The unbearable asshole.
Who, for whatever reason, decided he didn’t like me the second he saw me and made it his duty in life to be unpleasant whenever we were stuck in the same room. Considering my job was to be his daughter’s nanny and live in his home, we were stuck together pretty fricking often.
Usually, nannying was about looking after children while the parents were away, but Beau didn’t abide by conventional rules. He was often here, hovering, watching me.
At the beginning, I got it. Clara was only four and recovering from leukemia then a bone marrow transplant. She needed to be in intense quarantine; she was vulnerable. So I gave Beau and his assholery a lot of grace.
Of course, he wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows when he’d just spent years of his life watching his little girl fight an unbearable illness. That kind of thing scarred you, disfigured you in ways that I couldn’t comprehend.
I reasoned that’s what made him an asshole.
Then Clara got better and better, words like remission and cured were used. She would soon be able to go to the playground, interact with children, be a normal little girl, and still, Beau’s behavior continued. He wasn’t overly pleasant with anyone but his daughter, and it seemed his true ire was reserved for me.
Granted, we spent a lot of time together these past months, given Clara’s need for strict quarantine for sixty days after her transplant. Though Clara was responding to the treatment exceptionally well—she was stronger than anyone expected, a recovery that could be recorded in medical journals—I was going through hell having to be in such close quarters with such an unpleasant, albeit handsome, man.
Any time I entered a room, he glared at me like I was doing him a personal disservice by existing. He spoke to me as little as possible, keeping his words clipped, his eyes cold and harsh. Whenever I did something wrong—which apparently I did by breathing—he was quick to reprimand me. Shame me.
Again, the time right after the transplant was highly stressful and worrisome, so I’d given him a lot of leeway. More than he deserved. But it had been long enough. Clara had been cleared to go outside, interact with a small number of people, and she had a birthday party coming up—if weather allowed. There were plenty of reasons to be hopeful. If not happy then at least pleasant. But Beau was not.
I was eventually forced to acknowledge Beau for what he truly was. He wasn’t an asshole because his daughter was sick. He was just an asshole.
Quitting was the obvious option. Except despite his assholery, he paid well. And offered benefits. Since my ex cleaned me out, I needed the money. And the benefits. And the place to stay. It seemed offering the live-in option physically pained him since he didn’t like the company of anyone but his daughter and definitely didn’t like me, but that was handy too. I didn’t have the money to throw away on rent, especially in Jupiter, Maine. It was small and quaint, with very few rental properties in my price range.