Chapter 1
~Liam~
The clock on the wall read 4:47 PM, and I was running on three hours of sleep, a pot of black coffee, and the kind of desperation that only a screaming infant can induce.
My name is Liam Hayes. Thirty-four years old. CEO of Hayes Financial Group. And as of six weeks ago, the single father of a baby girl named Lily.
Six weeks. Forty-two days. It felt like a lifetime.
I leaned back in my leather office chair and rubbed my palms over my face, feeling the stubble that I hadn't bothered to shave in two days. The office was immaculate—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, mahogany desk, framed awards on the walls. But right now, it felt like a prison. I’d converted the spare conference room into a makeshift nursery, complete with a portable crib, a changing station, and enough formula to sustain a small army. My executive assistant, Margaret, had been a saint, running out to buy supplies while I sat in board meetings with a baby monitor clipped to my belt.
Lily was finally asleep. For the moment.
I had fired three nannies in the past two weeks. The first one was too old, too slow, and frankly, I didn't trust her with my daughter. The second one was too young, barely out of high school, and spent more time on her phone than watching Lily. The third one… well, the third one tried to flirt with me during the interview, and I sent her packing before she could finish her sentence.
I needed someone professional. Someone trustworthy. Someone who actually liked babies and wasn't just looking for a paycheck.
The stack of résumés on my desk was down to one. The last candidate. If this didn't work, I'd have to start the whole process over again, and I didn't have the energy for that.
I picked up the paper. Cielle Marchetti. Twenty-six years old. Associate's degree in early childhood education. Three years of experience as a nanny for the Whitfield family. References included.
The photo stapled to the top corner was modest—a headshot against a plain background. She had dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, large brown eyes, and a smile that seemed genuine. Not forced. Not plastered on for the camera.
I sighed and set the paper down. Looked good on paper. But so had the others.
The intercom buzzed. Margaret's voice crackled through. "Mr. Hayes, your four o'clock is here. Ms. Marchetti."
I stood, straightened my tie out of habit, and walked to the door. My office felt too big, too empty, too corporate for this. I should have done the interview in the living room of my penthouse, but I'd been here all day, trying to catch up on work while Lily napped.
I opened the door.
And stopped breathing.
She was standing in the reception area, holding a small tote bag in both hands, her posture straight but not rigid. In person, she was… more. More than the photo. More than I'd expected.
She was beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that screamed for attention, but the kind that settled into a room quietly and made you unable to look away. Her hair was loose now, falling in soft waves past her shoulders, a very light brown color. Her skin was warm, olive-toned, with just a hint of freckles across her nose. She wore a simple cream blouse and dark slacks, professional but feminine. And her eyes—those large, brown eyes—held a softness that made my chest tighten.
She smiled when she saw me. "Mr. Hayes?"
Her voice was gentle. Melodic. It reminded me of something I couldn't name.
"Yes." I cleared my throat. "Ms. Marchetti. Thank you for coming."
"Please, call me Cielle."
She extended her hand. I took it. Her palm was warm, her grip firm but not aggressive. I held on a fraction of a second too long before letting go.
"Come in." I stepped aside, gesturing toward the office. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
"No, thank you. I'm fine."
She walked past me, and I caught a hint of her scent—something floral, with a touch of vanilla. Not overpowering. Just… there. I shook my head slightly and followed her in.
We sat across from each other, my desk a barrier between us. I hated that. I wanted to see her clearly, to read her body language, to know if she was genuine. But I also needed to maintain professionalism.
"I've reviewed your application," I began, picking up her résumé again, though I already knew it by heart. "Three years with the Whitfield family. That's impressive. Most nannies don't stay that long."
She nodded, her hands resting in her lap. "I loved working for them. The children were wonderful. I only left because they moved out of state."
"And you're looking for a live-in position?"
"Yes. I prefer to be fully available for the family I work for. Especially with an infant, I think it's important to be present, especially during those early months."
I felt a flicker of relief. The previous candidates had balked at the idea of living in. But I needed someone who could handle night feedings, who could be there when I had early meetings, who wouldn't abandon me at the first sign of a sleepless night.
"Tell me about your experience with newborns."
Her eyes lit up. Not a calculated spark, but genuine warmth. "I helped raise my younger siblings from the time I was twelve. My mother worked nights, so I handled feedings, diaper changes, colic, sleep schedules. I've also taken care of infants in my professional work. I know how to handle the crying, the unpredictability. I know how to stay calm when they won't stop screaming."
I almost laughed. Tell me about it.
"And what about the parents?" I asked, leaning forward. "What's your approach to working with them?"
She met my gaze directly. "I believe in clear communication. I'm not here to replace the parent. I'm here to support them. I follow their routines, their preferences, their boundaries. I respect that you're the father, and I'll never overstep. But I'm also not afraid to speak up if I see something that concerns me. I think trust is built on honesty."
Her words landed like a stone in still water. Honesty. Trust. Those were things I'd learned to value after Victoria.
I didn't want to think about Victoria. The rich blonde with the perfect smile and the ice-cold heart. The one who'd looked at our daughter like she was a mistake to be erased. The one who'd handed Lily to me in the hospital, still red and screaming, and said, "I'm done. Don't call me."
I'd held my daughter for the first time in that sterile room, my hands shaking, my heart pounding against my ribs. And I'd promised her, right then and there, that I would never let anyone abandon her again.
I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. Cielle was watching me, her expression patient, curious.
"Sorry," I said, running a hand through my hair. "Long day. Lily's been fussing."
"I understand." Her voice was soft. "You look tired, Mr. Hayes."
It wasn't an insult. It was a statement of fact, delivered with concern. Most people wouldn't dare say that to a CEO. But she wasn't most people.
"I am," I admitted. "I haven't had a full night's sleep since she was born."
"Then let me help you." She leaned forward, her hands clasped on my desk now. "I know it's a big decision. You're trusting me with the most important person in your life. I don't take that lightly. If you hire me, I will give Lily everything I have. I will love her like she's my own. Not replace you, but supplement you. You need rest. You need to be able to focus on your work without worrying that she's not being cared for. I can give you that."
Her eyes were earnest, almost pleading. Not for the job, but for the chance to prove herself. To be trusted.
And God help me, I wanted to trust her.
But there was something else, too. Something I didn't want to acknowledge. She was too beautiful. Too warm. Her presence was like a fire in the cold office, and I felt drawn to it, drawn to her, in a way that had nothing to do with childcare.
I was her potential employer. She was young. Twenty-six. That was eight years younger than me. Not a scandalous gap, but enough to make me feel like I needed to be careful. Professional. Distant.
But the way she looked at me, with those soft brown eyes, made me forget all of that for a moment.
I cleared my throat. "I'd like you to meet Lily."
Her face lit up. "I'd love to."
I led her to the conference room where Lily was sleeping in the portable crib. The room was cluttered with baby supplies—diapers, wipes, bottles, a bouncer, a stack of onesies that I had no idea how to fold properly. Cielle didn't react to the mess. She walked straight to the crib, her footsteps silent, and looked down at my daughter.
Lily was perfect. Tiny fingers curled into fists, her lips slightly parted, her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks. She had my hair color, but Victoria's nose. I didn't care about that. She was mine.
Cielle let out a soft breath. "She's beautiful."
"Yeah." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "She's everything."
Cielle looked up at me, and something passed between us. A shared understanding. She saw the exhaustion in my eyes, the fear, the fierce love. And she didn't flinch.
"Can I hold her?" she asked quietly.
I hesitated. No one had held Lily except me and the hospital nurses. But something about Cielle made me want to say yes.
"Let me wake her first," I said. "She needs to eat soon anyway."
I reached into the crib and gently scooped Lily into my arms. She stirred, her tiny mouth opening in a reflexive yawn. I cradled her against my chest, feeling the familiar weight of her, the warmth. She was so small. So fragile.
"You're good at that," Cielle said softly.
I looked up. She was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Respect, maybe. Or something more.
"It's been a steep learning curve," I admitted.
She smiled. "I can imagine."
I handed Lily to her.
The transfer was smooth, practiced. Cielle supported her head, her neck, her back, with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. She drew Lily close, humming a soft lullaby under her breath, and my daughter—my fussy, colicky, difficult daughter—settled against her chest like she'd been there forever.
Lily's eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at Cielle with that unfocused newborn gaze. Cielle smiled down at her, and her whole face softened in a way that made my chest ache.
"Hi, Lily," she whispered. "I'm Cielle. I'm going to take good care of you, okay?"
Lily let out a tiny coo.
And that was it. The moment I knew.
"I'll send you the paperwork," I said, my voice rough.
Cielle looked up, surprised. "You're hiring me?"
"You're the only candidate who didn't try to flirt with me or check their phone during the interview. You handled Lily like a pro. And you called me tired instead of pretending I looked fine." I paused. "I need someone honest. Someone who cares. I think that's you."
Her smile was like the sun coming out from behind clouds. "Thank you, Mr. Hayes. I won't let you down."
"Liam," I said. "Call me Liam. If you're going to live in my house, we might as well be on first-name basis."
She nodded, still holding Lily, still smiling. "Liam."
My name on her lips sounded different. Warmer. More intimate than it should have.
I pushed that thought away. She was the nanny. This was business.
But as I watched her sway gently with my daughter in her arms, humming a melody I didn't recognize, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made a decision that would change everything.
And I wasn't sure if I was ready for it.
