Lilah looks bewildered as I almost push her into the back of the car. Her wide eyes won’t leave mine, a plea forming on her lips. The urge to grab her and kiss her again is like a fire in my chest, but I close the door before I have time to change my mind, and my chest has a giant hook twisting inside it as I spot her turning to look over the seat at me. I jerk away from her and walk a few paces up the street to meet my own ride.

On the way back to the tower, I should be catching up on my email and looking over briefings, but when I pull out my phone I only realized that what was meant to be a one-hour-long lunch turned into almost two-and-a-half hours. Time just completely slipped my grasp, and I lost myself in the day.

In her, you idiot.

No, I can't do that. Let me list the reasons: She's the daughter of an important business partner. My working relationship with Roland has always been quietly adversarial, cooperative only because he's astute enough to realize we're mutually better off than either of us would be alone, but he’s prickly. To him, my taking an interest in her would be an insult. Doesn’t matter that she’s a grown woman. Roland is old school. The oldest.

Besides that, she's not yet twenty. If I'm seen with a nineteen-year-old girl on my arm, they'll say all sorts of nasty, terrible things about me—but more importantly about her, and she doesn't deserve that life. I'm poison. I ruin relationships, I don't build them. It's for her own good.

I will just screw it up anyway, dragging her into my life. Look what happened the last time I tried.

As I lie back in the seat and tweak the bridge of my nose, Lilah won’t leave me be. The image of her in a wedding dress creeps into my mind, and then amends itself, adding a heavy belly.

What has gotten into you, Aiden?

It must be some pheromone thing. This isn't rational. I already have children and responsibilities. Who knows what damage I did neglecting work for a few hours?

I will correct this. It's only three months until she goes home. I can survive that, can't I? I am able resist temptation that long. I should move her out of the apartment, end this nanny foolishness. It was only supposed to be halfway serious anyway. I wanted to see how she’d react.

Sucking in a breath, I fight the little voice in the back of my head that crops up to argue the point.

Was it an accident, agreeing to bring her here? That I planned for her to live in my home from the start? Was an accident that I felt a nervous anticipation when I knew she'd arrived, that I felt the absolute joy of a living dream when she walked out of the elevator?

I'm a bad liar, most of all to myself.

The truth is plain. She can't stay after this. I'll break the news tonight.

I have to.

I walk into the empty apartment in a daze. There's still coffee left in the pot. I drain one cup and then pour the dregs, carrying them to sit on the couch and stare at the dead fireplace. Why doesn't he have a TV like a normal person?

My mind coils up, trying to grind him between its gears. I start thinking of every possible reason to hate him. He's arrogant…isn't he? I guess he's not. He seems pretty humble. He's pretentious. Look at all these books, and no TV. A rich guy should have the biggest TV in the free world or something, right?

I don't watch TV either.

After slugging back the bitters from the morning's coffee pot, I put another one on and stalk the kitchen while it brews. The smell perks me up a little. The first sips of the first cup are too hot, but I choke them down anyway, wincing as the hot liquid burns my throat. I almost shatter the mug in the sink in anger but pour a third cup instead. It's too damn hot, so I add the bare minimum of milk from the fridge. I hate milk in coffee, but I knock it back.

My hands are shaking from the caffeine by the time the children return. The two boys surge through the living room until they see me.

The look they give me brings out a wince. I must look as bad as I feel. The pair of them glance at each other, and without speaking, approach the dining table.

Jason lays a sheaf of papers on the table. I pick up the stack and leaf through it, my eyebrows rising the entire time. He missed turning in a lot of papers. An absurd amount.

"Go change," I blurt out. "I need to get out of these clothes, too. Tim, lay our your assignments. We'll work on this together."

"I don't need help," Jason grumbles.

I dismiss his sally and head back to my room, wondering if I should start to pack. I end up sticking a few things in my bags while I change. I could call my father and tell him this isn't working, but I'd rather stick my tongue in a light socket. I don't know what I’ll do now.

What did I do wrong? Is this my fault?

I'm half in a daze when I walk back out in lounge pants and a hoodie.

I sit down at the table and Jason, grimacing as ever, writes his name on the first worksheet.

"This so dumb," he grumbles.

"Do the first five and let me look at them."

He scowls, but does it, shoving the paper at me as he snaps his pencil down. Tim just does his work, munching on pretzels in between problems.

I read the top line and sigh heavily. "You did five."

"You said to," Jason says, arms folded, looking anywhere but me.

"Four of them are wrong."

He looks at me now, offended and astonished at once. "How do you know? You didn't work them."

"I can add." I sigh and tap his first error. "You're rushing, and you're guessing. You need to actually do them."

"I did one. I can do it."

"You did the first one, and it's easy."

"This is dumb," he argues.

I sigh. "Well, then, what if I show you how to do something new? Let me see how smart you are. If you can do this as easily as you say, you should be able to do them all, and not just the easiest one."

“I can do it,” he snarls. “What’s the point of doing it over and over if I know how it works?”

I try, desperately, not to roll my eyes. It’s getting physically painful.

“You have to show the teacher you know how. Look at it this way. If you get one right out of five, that looks more like a lucky guess than doing it right.”

“It’s a waste of time,” he snaps back, folding his arms. “If I know how to do it I should move on to the next thing.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and rub my eyelids. “You know what wastes time? Arguing about something you have to do. We’ve already sat here for ten minutes going back and forth about this. I want you to really stop and think about it. How much time have you wasted arguing, doing things over, getting yelled at by teachers, because you won’t just do it? I saw how long the first one took you. You could be done in half an hour then go off and do whatever.”

Jason scowls at me.

“You know I’m right,” I say. “The only reason we’re sitting here doing this now and you’re not enjoying your summer vacation is because you didn’t slow down and do it right in the first place. In life, you’re going to have to do a lot of tedious, repetitive things, Jason. If you blow through them all and screw them up, no one is going to believe you when you say you’re too smart to even be doing them. Just do it and get it over with.”

He pulls the paper back and starts furiously erasing his answers.

"Get the remainders first, and I'll show you the next step. I’ll make dinner while you're working on it. I know you can do this. Take. Your. Time."

For a rich guy, Aiden's kitchen isn't stocked for the height of haute cuisine. Boxed dinners, mac and cheese, peanut butter. It's surprising, especially for such a physically fit man.

The kids need energy, so I cook up Cheesy Beef.

Aiden didn't give a time, but I frown anyway as the clock passes six. After a burger break, Tim slips off, his homework done.

Jason keeps at it, a dogged look of determination on his face.

"I thought you were going to show me something new," he says.

The worksheets aren't designed for this; they have a spot for the remainder next to every problem, but I start working him through breaking the answers down further, to the decimal points.

Frustrated, he stabs his paper, snapping the lead. I find he's discovered a problem where the decimals repeat.

I take his pencil, sharpen it, and draw a line over the repeating .3434…

"What does that mean?"

"The line symbol above means they repeat infinitely."

"How do you know if they do?"

By eight or so, we're talking about irrational numbers, and I'm showing him how pi goes on forever without ever being resolved. A short time later, he's stumbled off to his bedroom. I gave him a book to read. Aiden can decide if he can have his electronics back.

Sighing, I slip onto the couch.

Aiden

When I walk into the apartment, she's sitting there in the dark, staring into an empty fireplace, arms folded across her chest. She's dressed down from the sexy librarian look to be the girl next door again, and it's hard not to marvel at how pretty she is. Her scowl pains me, digging at me as I cross the room.

"Did the boys do their homework?"

"Dining table," she says, sparing me only two words.

I set my briefcase on the chair and flip through Tim's papers, then Jason’s. I keep flipping. He must have been at this for hours, and she's…she's started teaching him some higher algebra. It's all in his handwriting. He's taken to it quickly. A year at the most expensive school in the city, and my son has barely scratched the surface of long division, months behind his peers who were studying algebra by the end of the year.

Now he does it all in one night.

"I should arrange for him to take a test," I say. "Test out of the summer school program."

"No," she says, her voice sharp.

There it is again, that sudden burst of initiative.

"Why?"

"If you let him get away with this, he'll keep doing it again. He can't learn that he can be smart without applying himself and get away with anything. That's a bad lesson for him to come away from this with. You have to talk to him and explain that he can't have his electronics back, and he's still going to summer school. He can't just blaze through the papers in one night. He has to do them on time, when he's told to."

She blazes through her little speech all without looking at me, her voice a flat monotone.

"Lilah, I'm sorry."

She glances back, then turns away. "For what?"

I take a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. "I shouldn't have done what I did."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Are you going to make me say it?" he says.

"I shouldn't have to, and do you really think it will make me feel better when you say you're sorry for kissing me, like it was something wrong?"

I frown. "I didn’t mean it that way. I was taking advantage of you, Lilah."

"I don't feel taken advantage of."

"There are too many reasons why we can't pursue this."

She bolts to her feet. "Did you know that was my first kiss?"

I flinch. "I didn't realize… No, that's not true. I didn't acknowledge it. I knew it, but I didn't let myself know it."

She blinks. "It was good. I liked it. So that made it even worse when you just yanked away from me and dumped me into a car to shuffle me off to watch your kids. I know we've just met, but I thought there was a connection."

"Just because there's a connection doesn't mean we have to act on it. Be rational, Lilah. If I—"

"Rational. You sound just like my dad," she blurts out, and storms off.

Her words are like a lance through my chest. It almost shoves me into the couch. I sink back, a ball of ice forming in my belly. The world goes fuzzy. I can't keep my eyes focused.

My teeth start to grit.

I may work with her father, but I am nothing like him. She had no right to say that. I work hard to make all this mean something.

I look around the empty room and wonder if it even does.

My feet carry me to her. I knock on the door. It swings open, and I find her packing her bags.

"Stay," I say.

"Why should I? You've done nothing but mock me since I got here. Your nanny? Nanny? Then you make me think maybe you had an ulterior motive, and you know what? Good! I liked it! Then you pull this on me."

All my anger comes boiling out, and I catch it between my teeth to spit it at him with every word. "Say what you came to say."

"You're too young."

I go from bristling to fuming. I thought I was angry before, but my heart just exploded into flames, and I can feel the fire in my veins. I would rise off the floor if I didn't stop myself.

Aiden raises his hands, almost in surrender. "Hear me out. If anyone saw us or knew that I'd…taken an interest in you, the optics would be very bad."

"The optics? Optics? Are you kidding me?"

"It's not just about how young you are, it's about how old I am."

"You're not old! For God's sake, you could grate cheese on your abs."

He glances down for a brief instant, scowling.

Aiden swings the door closed.

"The children might hear us."

I plant my feet and fold my arms.

"I'm leaving," I tell him. "I'm packing my stuff, and I'm out of here. I'm not staying."

"Why not? The boys like you, and I can find real work for you at the company if that's what you want—"

"It's not," I snap. "The last thing I ever want is to turn into my father. Or you. Optics. Optics!"

I grab my suitcases, one in each hand, and head for the door.

Aiden hooks his arm around my waist and drags me back. I yelp and drop my bags, and before I know it he has me against the wall, pinning my wrists beside my head.

His breath tickles my lips. The weight of him presses me against the wall.

"What is it about you?" he asks. I'm not sure he's asking me. Maybe himself.

He leans into kiss me, and I squirm away, turning my head.

"Oh, no you don't," I tell him. "You think you can throw me for a loop like that and just kiss it away like it's nothing, you can't."

Actually he can, which is why I can't let him. If we lock lips again I'll forget everything that's happened today. If he lets my hands loose I'll be throwing my pants to the floor. He sniffs me, and I wonder if he can smell it on me. My stomach fluttering, the heat in my veins twisting between anger and need. He makes me feel something I've never even known before, didn't believe was real.

He presses closer, and my head spins. That's his… He's hard. He's released my hands, and I didn't even realize it. Muscular power trembles in his touch as he brushes my sides with his fingers while touching his lips to the curve of my jaw and my throat.

"I want you," he says, the words formed from a low rumble in his chest.

I close my eyes. "Prove it. Stop."

He hesitates for a delicious moment heavy with potential, and then steps back.

"You're staying here," he says. It’s almost a growl, and the thrum of his voice makes my chest vibrate.

I peel myself off the wall and squirm my legs together. I don't know what shames me more, that I was a heartbeat and a taste of his tongue from forgiving him, or that I enjoyed being manhandled like that.

I stand to my full, unimpressive height and lock my arms across my chest.

"I'll give you a chance, but you're wrong if you think I'm easy. I don't fuck on the first cheesesteak."

"I want you," he says, a throaty growl that almost has me blurting out, in reply, "Okay."

"Show me what that means."

"You want to see what it means?" he says, stepping close enough to cup my sides, along my ribs. "Do I strike you as a man that believes in small gestures?"

"I don't think anything about you is small." I smirk, jabbing his chest with my finger.

"No one can know," he says.

"If you're ashamed of me, you can't really want me."

"I'm not ashamed of you. I just don't want you to have to suffer accusations and judgments. I've been with women before, you realize."

I snort. "Here I thought the boys were clones from your diabolical lab."

"It's hard. It's a public life. You had trouble walking on a sidewalk—what are you going to do when people are using drones and helicopters to take pictures of you on the beach?"

"Do you have any respect for me at all?"

"Of course."

"Then show me," I say, turning away. "You shouldn't be in here. I'm the help, remember? Can't have a scandal with you fooling around in my room."

I hate myself for the bitter tone in my voice, but Aiden's reply sounds like he's answering a challenge.

"We'll see about that."

When he leaves, I wait for the door to click and rush to lock it.

I'm shoving out of my yoga pants by the time I'm on the bed. I get them halfway down and just give up, working my fingers inside me. I don't do this often, but I need some release.

I whisper his name into a pillow, choking back a cry of pleasure with every muscle in my body.