Who the hell did he think he was, asking me if I wanted an advance to buy clothes? My clothes were just fine. Nannies didn’t have to look a certain way. Hell, I woke up all night to a child whose stomach was tossing up contents I didn’t even know existed! Obviously the formula I was giving Clara wasn’t holding up well, so after I left that god-awful kitchen, I headed for my cell phone and promptly called the grocery store. I explained what had transpired and what was currently happening to Clara, and they said they had a sensitive-stomach formula they could try to see if that would help her.

I didn’t even say goodbye before hanging up the phone.

Now that Clara was done barfing everywhere, she was finally asleep. I paced all night with that child vomiting down the back of my robe, and he has the audacity to ask me if I want better clothes?

Why don’t you go get better clothes, you jackass!

I tried to slow my breathing before I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. I hadn’t even unpacked my things into my room, so I slowly began pulling things out of my suitcase before tossing them into drawers. I didn’t own anything that required hangars or a closet, and by the time I was done stuffing everything into the dresser drawers, the doorbell rang.

Immediately, it started Clara crying again.

I threw my head back and groaned, made a mental note to have a sign put up whenever she was napping, and shuffled my way out to the door. But, before I could reach it, Mr. Blake had already paid and was standing there with a bag of canned baby formula powder.

“I take it she didn’t like the other stuff?” he asked.

It was the first time I really got a look at him, in the sunlight that was streaming through the awe-inspiring windows. His strong jawline sat prominently underneath high cheekbones, and his ice cold eyes were set ablaze and twinkling by his broad smile. His teeth were white enough to blind a horse, his honey blonde hair was slightly disheveled from sleeping last night, and the robe that draped his body clung to the strong muscles rippling across his arms and chest.

He just stood there, smirking, as if he was used to this reaction.

Well, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Since she was puking all night, I’d say not,” I huffed before I strode over to him and reached for the bag. I took it from him and stepped beside him to make my way for the kitchen, but before I could get past him I felt a light pressure on my arm.

I looked down at his hand on my forearm, and the warmth of his body encompassed my entire being as his gaze hardened on my face.

“I didn’t mean my comment on your clothes to be a reflection on your status,” he said lowly.

His statement made me chuckle dryly before I slowly panned my gaze up to his face.

“Boy, you really are thick, aren’t you?” I breathed. “I don’t care what you think about my clothes. I’m not your woman. It’s not my job to look good standing beside you.”

I wrenched my arm from his grasp and began striding forward towards the kitchen.

“I didn’t mean to offend you in any way!” he yelled after me; of course the yelling only spurred Clara’s crying to increase. I swung the bag onto the kitchen counter before I took off back down the hallway, and his eyes only followed me before I turned into her room and found her in her crib. The poor girl was fighting between sleep and hunger, and when I scooped her up from her crib I realized she had blown her bowels right out of the sides of her diaper.

“Well, you’re just a mess, aren’t you beautiful?” I smiled down at her. She reminded me a lot of myself. Well, at least of the stories my mother told me of when I was small. She had told me how she battled both colic and bowel issues with me, and she always talked about how she knew I would be stubborn and strong-willed because of my unrelenting ability to keep her up at night with the most mundane circumstances.

And that’s when an idea struck me.

I brought Clara over to the changing table and got her cleaned up before I cradled her in my arms. I shoved my way past Mr. Blake, who had probably been staring at us in utter confusion from the doorway the entire time, and made my way back to the kitchen. I felt him hot on my trail, with his robe audibly swishing behind me as we both broke through into the other room, and when I went to grab the plastic bag, he ripped it from my grasp.

The quick gesture caused my head to whip over at him, and I found him studying me closely. The look behind his eyes was shocking: in a pompous man, there was always a conniving glitter. Men like that – with money, prominence, and silver spoons in their mouths – they all looked as if they were holding back a secret from other people. And it was a secret only to be given and known to those who were their financial equals –

• Only to those with the same silver spoon sticking out of their faces.

But instead, I found a bit of helplessness in his eyes. There was some confusion, and a bit of sorrow. It was strange, coming from a man who intentionally rolled his shoulders back to intimidate people.

“Could you show me how to make it?” he asked lowly.

Clara curled into my body while my eyes dropped down to the bag swinging in his hand. It was obvious he was out of his element. He didn’t even call this beautiful girl by her name! It was very clear he felt no fatherly calling towards the little bundle of joy, even though she had his nose –

• And his chin –
• And his smile…

Clara gurgled in delight and it caused both of us to smile and snicker lightly.

“You’re very good with her,” he said.

“You could be, too,” I urged. I was the nanny, not this child’s mother. If she had been abandoned by her mother as he insinuated, then he was going to have a real and lasting impact on her.

He couldn’t abandon her, too.

My eyes hooked onto his and held his gaze for quite some time. The air in the room shifted and I felt a bit of my wall slowly give way to his presence before I felt a pinch come down onto my breast.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed. I jumped and grasped Clara’s hand, whose fingers were now digging into the meat of my nipple, and tears welled in my eyes before I screwed them tightly shut.

“Looks like that hurt,” Mr. Blake chuckled.

“Shut up,” I murmured.

“Walk me through how to make one,” he said before he set the cans of formula down onto the breakfast table.

So I showed him where I was keeping the clean bottles as I massaged my sore and tender breast.