Spence’s eyes widen. “It isn’t over yet. Let me tell you, that Viagra kicked back in and I regained my super-human strength again, but I can’t come.”

We both lean forward, waiting to hear how this ends.

“I’m fucking and fucking and fucking, and I can’t come.” He sips his beer. “My dick has literally got no skin left on it, burning like a motherfucker. Now I really am almost crying.”

Seb and I are laughing out loud as we imagine our stupid friend fucking with a sore dick.

“What did you do?” Seb gasps for air, trying to regain control.

“I did what I had to do.”

I frown. “What’s that?”

“I faked it.”

“You faked it?” I gasp.

He nods and sips his drink. “Yep.”

The table falls silent. None of us has ever faked it before. I wouldn't know how to.

“Then Marie calls me today. She says the other night was fun and could we do it again tonight. She wants Ricky to join us, too.”

We all lean closer to him, waiting to hear his response.

“I told her I was out of town.”

Seb’s face twists in disgust.

“Why would you do that?” I frown.

“Because I have no skin left on my fucking dick, man. I need a skin graft. It is literally grazed like a third-degree burn.” He shakes his head and we all burst out laughing. “If I wasn’t circumcised already, I would have been after that.”

I wince. “Who is this chick with the iron snatch?”

Seb chuckles. “My new drug dealer.”

Brielle

It’s 9:30 p.m. and the walk up the hall toward the main house feels long. I’ve been watching from my darkened spot in the glass hallway for the last fifteen minutes. Mr. Masters is still in his suit, obviously unable to relax until this meeting is over.

Not a good sign.

I walk up the six stairs and around the corridor until I come into his view. He’s in the kitchen, filling his thick glass tumbler with ice.

“Hello.” I smile meekly.

He turns to face me. “Hello.” He gestures to the stool at the island bench. “Please, sit down.”

I slink into the chair and watch as he pours scotch over his ice, and then takes a seat opposite me.

He rolls his lips and takes a sip.

“Miss Brielle,” he sighs.

“Brelly,” I correct.

He raises his eyebrows. “No offence, but I’m not calling you Brelly. You’re not an umbrella.”

I bite my bottom lip to stifle my smile. I feel like I am in the principle’s office about to be expelled from school. He’s wearing an expensive navy suit with a white shirt. His dark hair is longer on the top, with a curl running through it, and he has the squarest jaw I think I’ve ever seen. His eyes are big and brown, and… he really is very good looking.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” he says calmly, slicing my thoughts in two.

“What?” I whisper.

He gives a subtle shake of his head. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Is this about this morning?” I interrupt.

“Brielle, I deal with liars and thieves all day at work. I don’t have the energy to have someone living under my roof who I don’t trust.”

“You… you can trust me,” I stammer. “I’m the most honest person you could ever meet. Too honest, in fact. Ask anybody.”

He sips his drink, and his cold eyes hold mine.

“Ask me anything. Ask me anything right now and I will tell you the whole truth, I promise.”

He lifts his chin. “All right then, what did you say to Willow this morning?”

My face falls. Oh, he had to ask that, didn’t he?

I swallow the lump in my throat. That little snitch. If I wasn’t already getting fired, I definitely am now.

“I think it went something like…” I readjust my position in my seat, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting. My heart begins to beat fast.

“I asked her if that was what her game was? To be an evil little bitch until the nanny’s run away. And then I asked her if she tries and makes their lives a living hell.”

He narrows his eyes.

"And then I asked her if her daddy comes to her rescue every time."

He glares at me and bites his bottom lip, as if he’s stopping himself from snapping or yelling.

I cringe openly. “And then she said something along the lines of ‘fuck you, stay out of my fucking way.’ So I warned her not to fucking speak to me like that in front of Samuel ever again. I don’t give a fuck if she doesn’t like me, but I will not put up with her upsetting him.” I shrug. “Give or take a few insults.”

He tips his head and drains his glass, clearly disgusted.

My heart begins to hammer so hard, I feel like I can literally hear the blood pumping in my ears.

His eyes hold mine. “And what gives you the right to speak to my daughter like that?”

“I don’t have that right, and I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. She just got me so mad speaking to me like that in front of Samuel. He needs to be protected from her venom. He’s just a baby, and I know she’s troubled, but I needed her to know that it’s not okay and I won’t be putting up with it.”

He blows all the air from his cheeks and pours another scotch, glancing up mid pour, as if realizing he’s being rude by not offering me one. He tilts the bottle my way.

“Yes, please,” I say, grateful for the offer—I’ll try anything to calm my nerves. This is harrowing.

He fills my glass with ice and then pours me a scotch. Hell, where’s the mixer? Do I drink this straight?

He passes it over. “Thank you.” I take a sip and feel the heat go down and slowly warm my oesophagus. “Hmm.” I lift the glass and inspect the golden fluid. “This is… strong.”

A trace of a smile crosses his face as he sits back at his stool.

He watches me intently, and then finally responds. “Willow is a lot to handle, I know that.”

“I was a nightmare, too, at that age. I can handle her.”

“I have no doubt.” He purses his lips. “But this isn’t about Willow.”

I frown. “Then what is it about?”

“It’s about you being in my bedroom and looking through my things this morning.”

I gulp my drink down and nearly choke. This stuff is like rocket fuel. I cough loudly, clearing my throat. “Oh, that.” I wince around the fire in my throat. Sweet Jesus, am I drinking petrol here?

“Yes, that,” he answers. “Please explain what you were doing in my bedroom.”

I glance at the door. Run… just fucking run.

I swallow the sand in my throat. "I went to check on Samuel because I was worried about him sleepwalking again and I thought you had left for the day." I frown as I try to make this story sound reasonable. "On the way back to my room, I saw your door was open and I just..."

He watches me as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I wanted to see what your bedroom looked like.”

He raises a brow.

I offer a half smile and try to sweeten the story as much as I can. “I walked in, looked around, and then I saw your bathroom cabinet was slightly ajar.” I shrug. “You can find out so much about a person by their bathroom cabinet, you know?” I take another big gulp of my rocket fuel.

Holy hell, this is strong shit. I half cough, my oesophagus burned beyond belief.

I get a vision of myself falling off the stool, drunk, and I shiver in horror.

Great, a hopeless nanny who can’t hold her liquor, this story just keeps getting better and better by the minute.

He lifts his chin once more, in defiance and the energy between us begins to change. His questions somehow turn into a silent dare for me to tell the truth and he watches me intently. "What did you find out about me, Brielle?"