I stand at the steps of a gorgeous brownstone on the Upper East Side across from the Metropolitan Museum, in a quiet, wealthy neighborhood. Taking a deep breath, I wonder if I should button the top button of my blouse or loosen it. I don’t want to appear too Super Nanny but I don’t want to look unserious either.

I mean, this is Ethan Townsend we’re talking about.

Ethan Townsend, the steel magnate always in the headlines for being difficult…and womanizing…and oh, yeah, richer and more handsome than God. Apparently, he inherited something unexpected two months ago when his brother-in-law and older sister died in a terrible car accident, something that has apparently turned his world upside-down.

His seven-month-old niece—Lilly Belle Townsend—is now his charge to raise, and he knows nothing about being a father.

That’s where we come in.

Or rather, that’s where I’m supposed to come in. The problem is that I’m not even sure how long I’ll last. After all, the particularly demanding Mister Townsend has apparently run through three or four nannies from the agency in less than a month.

Who’s to say I’ll fare any better than the girls who came before me?

I decide on keeping the buttoned-up look for a more polished, professional vibe.

I ring the doorbell and force a smile, remembering that I am in beautiful New York City in the fall.

I have to remind myself to take it all in—the blustery breeze, the swirling leaves, the sounds of the bustling city in the background, the laughter of children playing at the park… A cool front is starting to blow through, marking the end of summer.

NYC is so different than Southern Georgia, where I spent 99 percent of my life thus far. The only thing that changes there throughout the year is the humidity.

I’m excited about the weather changes but nervous as all hell about meeting this man whose work in the steel industry has been a metaphor for his whole life—hard, cold, and unbending.

Shiver.

The door in front of me suddenly opens and reveals the man, the myth, the legend.

There he is. It’s him. Holy hell. Breathe, Penelope.

The man from my pre-job research—Ethan Townsend, CEO of the most successful Fortune 500 company this year, Townsend Industries—stands over six-feet-four with dark hair, short on the sides, long on top, and a five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw that is sexy as sin. He wears sharp, precise, well-fitted gray pants, steel-toned buttoned shirt, shiny shoes, and a frustrated expression on his face, like he wants nothing more than to get the hell out of the apartment so he can be where he really belongs. The office.

“Yes?” he says in a disaffected tone, as if he hadn’t expected me.

Dread floods my stomach, as he examines me. Top to bottom, his gaze lingers at my breasts, my face, even leaning to one side as if checking out my ass, undressing me with his cold blue eyes.

Gulp.

“I’m here from Le Nanny?” I say, sounding small and weak. My professionalism gets cut down to size with every second he stares at me. So much for new beginnings and confidence. This man makes me feel all too self-aware. I swallow again and try not to feel like his stare-down is about sex, but my desperately inexperienced, weak body knows it’s a lie.

He’s only sizing you up, Penelope, my brain tries to rationalize. Trying to get a feel, a first impression. All men do it. He’s noticing how qualified and proficient I appear, how well-put-together, how perfect for the job I am. It’ll all be okay.

I hold out my hand firmly. “You are Mr. Townsend? And I—”

“No,” he says firmly. And then the ornate wooden door slams in my face, as the swirling, gusty wind curls all around me. I’m in a state of shock.

Nobody’s ever just slammed a door in my face like that. But then again, I am used to Southern hospitality. This is New York, I tell myself, and the social conventions are quite different.

But still…What the hell?

I can’t be dismissed without even getting a chance. The money for this particular gig is better than I’ve ever received in the past. I need the money and I refuse to be thrown aside before this arrogant man has spoken two words to me.

“Mr. Townsend?” I knock, stuffing my indignity down and taking a deep, calming breath.

Behind the door, I hear footsteps returning, the lock unlatching, and again, Ethan Townsend stands there holding onto the door frame. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but I said no.” He begins closing the door again, but I reach out a hand to stop it from crunching on my fingers. His glare on me both scares the crap out of me and sends shivers down into the pit of my core.

But I shove aside the ridiculous feelings of lust that I feel in his presence. He’s handsome as hell and his charisma is certainly all that the tabloids have made it out to be and more. But I’m a professional and I soldier ahead. “No, as in you don’t need a nanny anymore?” I ask. “Or no to me, specifically?”

“No, I don’t want you, specifically. I’ll contact the agency and have them send someone else. Thank you for your time.” Again, he begins closing the door, and again, I stop it, this time with my foot. Shit. Why am I taking this so personally?

“I’m sorry…” I force a smile and air back into my lungs. “But you don’t know the first thing about me. You haven’t even spoken to me, asked me any interview questions…nothing. I’m pretty sure you can’t fire me based on looks alone, Mr. Townsend.”

“Actually, I can, and I will,” he says, blocking my view from the inside foyer. “I’m rich, and money is the only thing that matters in this town. I’m sure when I voice my displeasure to your agency, they’ll send someone more to my style. Thank you and goodbye.”

“More to your style? Like the other handful of nannies you’ve already fired?” I shoot back, immediately regretting my hasty words.

Shit, he’s already got me rattled.

Ethan Townsend’s eyes narrow ever so slightly and his jaw muscle twitches. For some reason, I feel a surge of arousal and power, knowing I’ve somehow impacted him with my comment.

His lip curls into something resembling a sneer. “If I run through two dozen nannies in the next two hours, the agency will supply more. Until I find someone who suits this position to my liking.”

Is it simply a question of looks?

I’m not a Victoria Secret model or anything, but I would say I’m pretty with a pleasant, desirable body…but hold on a second…what does that have to do with being a nanny anyway? This is sexism to the n^th degree. Unless he has other physical requirements. Does he need someone taller, stronger? Is Lilly Belle Townsend a hundred-pound baby who needs an Olympic wrestler to wrangle her? I don’t get it. What could he possibly see in a few seconds of glancing me over that would make him turn me down?

“Mister Townsend, I don’t think the nannies are the issue here,” I tell him boldly. And I mean it.

For a long moment, the man just stares at me, and I could swear that he’s about to grab me by the waist and kiss me with those full lips of his. And I can feel exactly how my body would react if he did it, how my nipples would stiffen and my tongue would instantly meet his, letting him open my mouth and force his way roughly in.

I feel a sudden moist flush between my legs and realize that I’m completely out of my depth here.

As if he knows exactly the kind of effect he has on me—or perhaps, women more generally--Ethan snorts, checks his watch. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go.”

I’m dumbfounded. Perhaps he was hoping for an older, more maternal-looking grandmother type and instead got a young woman who might look inexperienced to him, a man who knows nothing of childcare and thinks in stereotypes.

But he’s only twenty-eight. He has no right to judge my maturity.

“Wait…” Holding onto the door, I strain my ears.

Behind him somewhere, I hear it—a baby crying. A soft, desperate, punctuated wail echoes from a monitor, the cry of a child who’s been trying to get someone’s attention unsuccessfully for some time now.

I understand, baby. I totally understand.

It dawns on me that this poor little girl, a creature of no more than seven months, has to live with this unforgiving, harsh man for the rest of her life. I imagine how lonely she’ll be in this mighty mansion, how desperate for attention and starved for love she’ll grow up to be later on. After getting a crap deal in life by losing her beloved parents, now she has to deal with a man whose entire life is made of steel—including his heart.

“Are you going to get her?” I ask. I crane my neck to hear better, but he strains to push me out. “You don’t seem concerned that your baby is crying,” I say, glancing past his shoulder, wishing I could plow past him straight to the source of the wail.

“I will attend to her right after you leave, Miss—“

“Wallach,” I sigh.

Somehow I doubt that he’s going to attend to anything once I’m gone. The baby’s obviously been crying for some time. Her voice is hoarse.

The crying grows stronger, more frantic.

Any worried mom or dad would show signs of unsettled nerves right now. It’s how humans have survived for as long as we have—that need to stop the crying, to appease, to shush and calm baby back to perfect contentment, creating a bond between caregiver and child. But Ethan Townsend doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

Whereas I came here with one job and only job only in mind—to care for a child—and I remember that he’s not the child’s parent, so he may not even care. Unable to take the crying anymore, I push my way past him and head for the stairs. “Excuse me, please. I’m going to do my job.”