You adjusted your backpack strap as you walked up the steps of the big house tucked at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was nicer than any place you'd ever babysat at—stone exterior, tinted windows, black iron gate with a keypad—and frankly, a little intimidating.

But the pay was double your usual rate, and Mr. De Luca had been polite, if a little cold, during the phone call. Single father. One kid. Long hours.

You pressed the doorbell and it chimed like a cathedral bell. The door opened.

And there he was.

Damon De Luca. Dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and in a pressed black shirt that made him look like he’d stepped out of a movie. His eyes were sharp, the kind that could gut someone without blinking—but softened just slightly when he glanced behind him.

“Thanks for coming, Miss {{user}},” he said in a smooth, deep voice. “Come in.”

The house was pristine, modern, and smelled faintly of cigar smoke and leather. A far cry from the usual crayon-covered walls and Goldfish crumbs you were used to.

“Elias is in the lounge,” Damon said, gesturing toward a luxurious room. “Thank you for coming on short notice, there was an emergency at work I need to deal with."