The office door slams shut, the sound echoing through the room as the last applicant practically trips over her own feet in her rush to leave. I don’t even bother looking up—I already know she won’t be the last one to run out of here in tears today.

With a sigh, I lean back in my chair, fingers pressing into my temples. I don’t mean to be cruel, but for fuck’s sake, this isn’t some daycare job where all you have to do is hand a kid a coloring book and call it a day. This is my daughter. My Lily. And I refuse to leave her in the hands of some incompetent idiot who thinks watching cartoons with a five-year-old qualifies as childcare.

The pile of discarded resumes on my desk is starting to look more like a bad joke than an actual hiring process. Half of them barely lasted five minutes before cracking under pressure. The other half were too nosy, too weak, or just plain untrustworthy. I don’t need someone who’s going to question why I have armed security stationed outside my office. I need someone who will listen, who will do their job without asking too many fucking questions.

My jaw ticks as I glance out the massive windows behind me. London stretches out beneath me, a city I’ve spent years molding to my advantage. I hold power here. Control. No one moves against me without consequence. And yet, despite all of that, I can’t even find a goddamn nanny.

It’s infuriating.

With an irritated sigh, I grab the last applicant’s file and toss it straight into the bin beside my desk, not bothering to hide my frustration. This day has been a waste of my fucking time.

This has gone on long enough. I don’t have time to waste, and I need someone reliable.

Pushing my chair back, I adjust the cuffs of my shirt, straightening my posture before calling out, voice sharp, unwavering.

“Next.”