I could live a thousand lifetimes, and I’ll never be able to explain the way I feel right now. Terrified. In awe. In total shock. What the hell was that all about? What did we just do? Will we talk about this in the morning? Will he pretend like it never happened? I can’t believe I just slept with my boss! A million questions run through my mind, but they all lead to the same thing—fear of the unknown .

In his bedroom, which is bigger than half the apartments on my floor, I lie in his arms, still coming down from the high of our unspeakable acts. We don’t speak. He just holds me, his strong chest with the smattering of hair solid and strong and warm against my face. His fingers caress my hair gently. Something is happening deep inside me, and it’s not Logan’s cock anymore .

Does he feel it, too ?

Has he been repressing feelings for me all day? Have I been on his mind the way he’s been on mine? I’ve heard of this kind of volatile chemistry before where it explodes out of nowhere leaving both parties panting and grasping at explanations. I just never thought it would happen to me .

The exhaustion is so real, so tangible, we fall asleep instantly in his bed. I’ve never slept so comfortably, so giddily, pressed up against this man’s body. I awaken every so often wondering where I am then fall away drowsily and easily when I sense his heartbeat against my back. Did he have every intention of seducing me when he ordered me into his car tonight, or did this just “happen ?”

I won’t worry about it anymore tonight. I’ll worry about it tomorrow .

I have a job to do at seven in the morning, and the job is here .

* * *

W edding bells ring. Or maybe they’re church bells. Actually, now that I listen more closely, it sounds like …

Holy shit, someone is ringing at the front door .

My eyes fly open. Where the hell am I? One scan across the spacious silver bedroom brings my memories crashing back against my brain. I’m in Logan’s room and it’s morning .

Logan is gone, presumably off to work .

That means the person at the door has to be…Miriam, bringing the kids .

I’m naked. I’m naked, and my clothes from last night are nowhere to be found. The doorbell continues to ring incessantly. “I’ll be right there!” I call out, frantically searching for something to wear. In my desperate search for shorts, a T-shirt, anything, I’m aware of the sound of kids talking and the click-clack of heels on a slick floor. The sound of children comes closer, and I realize what’s happening—the twins are coming to look for their daddy…in his bedroom .

I run for the door to shut it when I spot them. Everyone stops in the hallway—a beautiful, older brunette with a better body than mine, even post-twin-birth, and two lovely blond children with big gray eyes. Everyone stops chattering. Everyone stops moving. The little ones giggle .

“Who are you?” she demands, her jaw dropping and her eyebrows drawing together to form one, giant angry one .

“Hi. I’m Paisley Carrington, the new nanny.” I do my best to shield my body with the door. “My alarm didn’t go off, I overslept, and I, uh…I am so sorry. This isn’t what it looks like .”

“So you’re not a naked girl coming out of my husband’s bedroom?” She scoffs and reaches for her phone. I worry that I have only seconds before she begins taking photos as evidence .

Behind the door is a silk robe hanging off a hook. Oh, praise baby Jesus for small miracles. Thank you! I slip it on and tie the sash around my waist, slipping out of the room and closing the door .

“No, I am. I mean, I thought I was alone in the house, and I went looking for…” I realize how stupid I sound trying to make up excuses, so I decide to quit while I’m ahead and just shut up .

“Looking for what? Your sense of decency?” She smirks like she’s got me right where she wants me. The children stare at me, still dumbfounded, and the effect is much like the twins in that horror movie, The Shining .

“Miss Carrington, is it? The courts will no doubt be interested to hear how Logan is putting his children’s wellbeing first and foremost by banging the childcare provider. I’ve seen everything I need to see here. Let’s go, kiddos .”

She ushers them downstairs, while I stand there fuming .

“Stop.” I pad down the hallway in my bare feet and pause in front of the trio. “This entire conversation is inappropriate,” I tell her, my hands shaking. “I already told you my alarm didn’t go off. I apologized, but I won’t be spoken to this way. Just give me a minute and I’ll be ready to take the kids off your hands .”

“I’m sure you can do lots of things with your hands,” Miriam scoffs, texting someone furiously. I have no doubt in my mind that it’s Logan to give him an earful for what’s transpired here this morning .

I rush down the hall, almost forgetting which bedroom is mine. I’m nearly in tears, feeling so humiliated, but I have to hold it together. Shit like this happens all the time. It’s fine. Just be mature about it, ignore Logan’s bitchy ex, go do my job .

When I leave my room, the house is quiet again until I walk around, feeling a lot like Dorothy in Oz, searching for signs of life in Emerald City. Hearing sounds coming from the play room, I enter there to find the kids sitting on their little couch, watching TV .

Miriam click-clacks her heels over to me, looking down at her phone. “Give me your phone number, please, Miss Paisley.” I don’t bother correcting her. I just want her out of my hair so badly so I can get on with doing my job. Why would she have access to Logan’s house anyway? Even if she used to live here, I’d imagine that she no longer has a key .

I give her my number and try to smooth things over by offering a handshake. “I’m sorry we started out on the wrong foot. I’m really committed to do my job and can’t wait to spend quality time with your children.” I even throw in a pleasant smile .

She shakes lightly but the dark lipstick smirk is still there. “Quality time,” she sneers. “Yes, I’m sure. It was lovely meeting Logan’s new mistress.” With that, she turns and leaves the room, click-clacks down the hall, and slams the front door. Yikes .

Okay, then! Aren’t we having fun, yet !

The moment—and I mean the moment their mother leaves—Becca and Price are out of their seats, running around, screaming, climbing the sofa, and jumping off the toy chests. “Hey, Becca and Price, you’re not supposed to do that,” I admonish, grabbing them off the ledge before they hurt themselves and positioning them back on the couch .

But the TV show has no pull on their short attention spans, so I do what I’ve always done myself when I need to calm down and think. I plot an escape. “Let’s go to the park!” I exclaim, adding my happiest face to assuage their unsure looks .

“NO!” they scream in unison .

Fuck. So much for that. Between the stressful interview yesterday, the weirdest, most wonderful and terrifying night of my life with the sexiest man I’ve ever known, a man who took me to heights I didn’t even know existed, spending the night in his warm embrace, and awaking to a full-on existential crisis with the ex-wife and now this …

I want to cry. And so I do. While the kids run around, expending their energy, I plan the rest of the day. I’ll calm them down with a snack soon, a big snack that will fill their tummies and render them without much energy. Then, we’ll introduce ourselves, I’ll sing a couple songs, and by then, hopefully, they’ll be tired enough for a nap. If all goes well .

In the meantime, I’m just going to sit here, watch them wreak terror all around me, and sob my eyes out .