Nanny Bil-aries

Baxon's POV

"I just want to know what the hell is going on, Baxon!"

My twin brother's voice was a blade of ice, cutting through the opulent silence of the Cavendish Sky Tower Residence. I stopped pacing the length of the living area, rubbing the tension from the back of my neck. Julian had the paper Isabella-Amanda Quispe, I had to remind myself-had given me crumpled in his fist.

"I'm just as thrilled as you are, Jule," I muttered, my gaze sweeping over the panoramic view of the city. The lights felt cold tonight, reflecting the pit in my stomach. "It's Víctor Salvatierra calling, not Amanda. And I already knew Mom was restless, but I thought she'd stick to the usual, you know? A weekend trip to the coast, another one of her spiritual retreats."

Julian flung the paper onto the glass coffee table with a sharp exhale that was almost a hiss. "This isn't restless, Baxon. This is an orchestrated vanishing act. 'A long vacation with some guy named Jean Pierre Valdez'?" He repeated the name with a perfect dismissive curl of his lip. "The woman is supposed to be an heir to half a billion in holdings, and she's running off with a phantom from a chat room. It's pathetic. It's a liability. And it's not her."

I walked over, picked up the paper, and smoothed the creases. "You saw the email, Jule. She sounded...excited. Maybe a little manic. But it's her handwriting, her flowery way of saying she's gone to find herself and might elope." I forced a light tone, though it sounded hollow. "We should be happy. She finally gets to stop pretending to be a secretary and an Uber driver just to prove she's 'grounded'."

Julian turned, his clear, intense blue eyes pinning me. He and I looked near identical-the same chiselled features and dark hair-but the look in his eyes was always the divider. My own were usually warm, if guarded; his were always analytical, cold.

"Don't be an idiot, Baxon. Our mother doesn't do anything without a reason that will benefit her at the end. A spur-of-the-moment weeks-long silent retreat is not her style. Leaving Tifania without a word, without any contingency plan, is not her style. Not even for a new lover. We have to concentrate on what she left behind." He pointed at the crumpled paper. "This is the only piece of clean information she gave us. We need a nanny for Tifania. A live-in one. Urgently.

I snorted, leaning back against the sleek marble countertop of the kitchen. "A live-in nanny? You want to bring some stranger into the Sky Tower? Jule, we have enough secrets tucked away in the Blackwell Vault as it is. We barely tolerate Amanda Quispe knowing the password to the wine cellar. A live-in nanny is a security threat, a walking liability, and probably an endless distraction.

"You'd rather forget Tifania exists?" Julian shot back, his voice slipping to a deadly low. "Because if we're as fond of our little sister as we are, it means nothing when it comes to being her guardians. We have the firm, we have college to finish-and our business to attend to. Cavendish International Holdings doesn't run itself, and the Salvatierra contract is looming over us. We can't afford to play Tifania's brother-dads right now. We need someone level-headed, someone who can keep her steady until this whole absurd 'vacation' blows over."

"So, who did you call?" I asked, holding up the paper. "A 'Whitford Placement Bureau'? Sounds like a glorified babysitter agency that charges a fortune."

"I called them five minutes ago. They had a referral from one of their affiliate agencies who deals with 'urgent placements'," Julian explained, crossing his arms. "They're sending someone over for an immediate interview. She's on her way up right now. Name is Kathy Montalvo."

The name sounded utterly generic, and I felt a prickle of unease. "Well, I hope she's better than the last agency we used. Remember the one who thought she was a social media influencer?"

"This one is supposedly a promising student of child psychology. She's young, single, and apparently has a track record of 'high compliance' with previous-albeit strange-clients," Julian said as he consulted the chronometer on his wrist. "She arrives on the top floor in less than a minute. Try to look less like a disgruntled corporate warlord, Baxon. We need to appear normal. We need to appear harmless."

"Harmless," I repeated, giving him a tight skeptical smile. "I don't think either of us knows how to wear that face anymore, Jule."

I was just about to pull out my phone and run a quick, discreet background check on this Kathy Montalvo when the private elevator to the penthouse chimed its arrival. Julian's posture straightened, the cool, reserved CEO taking over.

I, however, felt a strange, electric anticipation as I watched the hallway leading to the Sky Tower Residence door. It wasn't just about a nanny. It was a disruption to the careful, dangerous balance we had built.

Julian opened the door before I even had time to fully compose myself.

My breath hitched. Standing there wasn't the frumpy overqualified old woman I'd half-expected nor the giddy over-tanned co-ed I'd feared.

She was tiny, but her physique was lean with a silent strength. Her eyes were large, an arresting green, and they stared into mine with a weight that felt more like shock than acknowledgement. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, but even that couldn't conceal the striking angles of her features. There was a faint, almost imperceptible scar tracing the edge of her collarbone-a jagged line that felt like a clue I wanted to uncover.

She was beautiful. And completely out of place.

I could feel Julian beside me, completely still, observing her with the same sharp, assessing scrutiny he usually reserved for a multi-million-dollar deal.

The tension was instant, thick and palpable, like heat that made the silence in the doorway almost unbearable.

"Good evening," Julian said, his voice pitched just right between professional and charming. "You must be Kathy Montalvo."

She swallowed, the movement drawing my attention to the slender line of her neck. Her voice, when it came, was low and steady, laced with a surprising resilience.

"Yes. I'm Kathy. I was told this was an urgent position." She met Julian's eyes, but her gaze flickered back to mine almost instantly, hanging on for a fraction of a second too long.

Strike one, Montalvo. You're looking for a reaction.

"It is," I cut in, stepping forward just slightly closer to her and wanting to break the equilibrium Julian had established. I offered a lazy, inviting smile. "I'm Baxon Cavendish, and this is my brother Julian. I trust you know what you're walking into." She tilted her head, the spark in her green eyes a challenge.

"I know I'm walking into an interview for a live-in nanny position. I don't think I could be more prepared for that, Mr. Cavendish. Unless," she paused, and the air between us crackled, "there's something you haven't told the agency." My smile broadened, but didn't reach my eyes. Oh, she's good. She sees it already.

"There always is, Ms. Montalvo," Julian said, stepping forward now, too, placing himself slightly in front of me-a protective shield between her and the dangerous curiosity he knew was stirring in my gut.

"Why don't you come in and tell us why you think you're the right person to care for our sister, Tifania?"

Basil's POV

The shock was a brief tremor in her stunning green eyes, but it passed, replaced by something I couldn't immediately decode-a flash of cold calculation, maybe even a twisted sort of victory. She didn't scream, didn't recoil, didn't run. She stood her ground, her arms still crossed over her chest, which was exactly the reaction I had bet on.

"You're really going to start our professional relationship by dropping your trousers and asking for a favor, Julian?" she asked, her voice steady now, even slightly mocking, ignoring my earlier request to use my given name. The use of the formal 'Julian' was a subtle power play, a small rejection of the intimacy I was trying to force.

All I knew was that I was standing there, pants down around my ankles, and I was still erect. She had managed to break down my carefully calibrated world in less than five minutes.

"It's Basil, actually," I corrected, my voice dropping to a low, possessive register. "And yes, I am. Because I understand the dynamic here, Kathy Montalvo. You need this job-urgently. And I need someone to distract me from the fact that my mother has become a liability who ran off with a man named Jean Pierre Valdez."

I watched her face for a crack in her composure. There was a twitch near her mouth, barely perceptible. The name. Did she recognize it? Or was it the naked aggression of my demand?

"I understand the need for discretion," she replied slowly, her eyes finally lifting from the evidence of my desire to meet my gaze. Her eyes flashed sharp, evaluating, as if she were weighing the risk of what I was proposing. "But you just hired me to care for your eight-year-old sister, Tifania. If I walk out on this, I won't just report the 'professional misconduct' to Director Amelia Whitford. I will report the harassment. That's a legal mess, Mr. Cavendish. One that could tarnish the reputation of Cavendish International Holdings faster than an oil spill."

She was smart. Calculating. She hadn't threatened a personal moral failing; she'd threatened a corporate liability. She knew exactly which button to press. It was infuriating, and yet, it only made me want her more. I liked a woman who could hold a knife to my throat and still look me in the eye.

"That's a great counter-threat," I said, a genuine cold smile touching my lips. "And fully expected from a girl who came recommended for her 'high compliance.' I must have misread the compliance part, but I do like the spine.

I moved further into the room, closing the remaining distance between us. She wasn't fazed when she saw my naked body; then again, her breath hitched once more when I came close enough for her to feel the heat emanating off my skin.

"Let me rephrase, then. The job is yours, indefinitely. The pay is double the agency's going rate, which you can direct to pay off that monstrous student debt you're hiding." I saw the surprise now. I had information she didn't think I possessed. Power shift. "And in return, I want you to acknowledge what you're feeling right now. That you're staring at me because you find me compelling, not repulsive. That this dangerous, immediate toxicity between us is exactly what you crave."

She inhaled sharply, her own hands tightening on her biceps as if she were holding herself together.

"You don't know what I crave, Basil. You don't know anything about me," she challenged, her tone low and husky.

"I know what I see," I returned, my voice a whisper now, leaning in until the only things that existed were her defiance and my intent. "I see a woman who didn't take the first flight out of here when her last client, Mrs. Honor Whitcomb, accused her of attempted murder by gluten. I see a woman who takes risks, who walks into a skyscraper on the richest side of the city expecting 'crazy' and doesn't bail when she finds exactly that. You're not here for a simple paycheck, Kathy Montalvo."

Her eyes narrowed, the green suddenly cold and hard. I had hit a nerve, but not the one about the chips. The one about her true motive.

"And you think you have me pegged?" she scoffed, but her voice wasn't as steady now. "You think a flash of wealth and an impulsive, unprofessional display is enough to reduce me to some girl who wants to sleep with the rich client? You think that's my endgame?"

"I think it's a necessary detour," I said, reaching out and running the pad of my thumb lightly over the fragile skin of her cheekbone. She didn't pull away. "You're here for secrets. The Sky Tower is full of them. And the quickest way to the darkest ones is by getting close to the men who keep them. So yes, I think my suggestion is entirely professional-in the world we operate in."

I lowered my hand and gave her an out, a final chance to salvage her professional image-or embrace the risk.

"You're hired, Kathy Montalvo. Now, you can leave that room and go unpack in the spare suite, start your job, and pretend the moment never happened. Or you can close the door behind you and prove to me just how dedicated you are to your. mission."

I didn't move or flinch, just stood there exposed and commanding, letting the silence and the weight of my own actions fill the space. Her gaze drifted once more to my arousal then back to my eyes. The flicker of fear was gone.

Only a terrible, consuming ambition remained. She didn't head toward the exit. Instead, she moved one deliberate step toward me. The door to Basil's Royal Suite clicked shut behind her with a finality that was almost audible.

"It's Kathy," she corrected, her voice barely above a breath, her fingers brushing the hem of my shirt. "And I always finish what I start."

Kathy's POV

The gasp was torn from my throat, raw and involuntary. It wasn't just the sheer audacity of the man-Basil Cavendish-it was the chemical reaction he provoked. Every nerve ending in my body felt suddenly stripped bare, exposed to the charged atmosphere of his royal suite. The moment he stripped, making himself as vulnerable, as exposed, as he demanded I be, the balance shifted again. This wasn't just about my compliance; it was about his own profound lack of control around me.

His kiss-when it finally came-was a revelation: possessive and consuming, nothing like the soft teasing mouth that had just been on my skin. His tongue was a demand, his hands anchoring me, lifting me, and finally dropping me onto the decadent expanse of his king-sized bed.

The world narrowed down to the feel of his weight, the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something earthy and purely masculine, the agonizing skill of his mouth and hands. He was right; he was highly trained. Every stroke, every suckle, every deep, investigating kiss was designed to unravel me-not just physically but mentally. He was laying siege to my control, mapping my weaknesses.

Let him map the wrong ones, I coached myself, even as a tremor of pleasure shook my core when his fingers expertly found the most sensitive, needy part of me.

"Tell me what you want, Kathy," he breathed against my ear, his voice ragged with his own need, but the command was still sharp. "I want to hear you say it."

"You already know," I managed, clutching the silk sheets beneath me, trying to hold on to some semblance of clarity. I couldn't be weak now. Not when I was this close. "You told me you saw it in my eyes."

He chuckled-a dark, triumphant sound. "Oh, I saw the lust, yes. But I also saw the ambition. Which is it that's screaming right now, nanny? Are you ambitious to finish what you started, or just desperate for this?" He flicked his tongue over me again, harder this time, and I bucked beneath him.

"Both," I confessed, the word a shattered whisper. It was an admission of defeat, but somehow, it was also a weapon: I was feeding his ego, granting him the power that he coveted, allowing him to overlook just how deep my true motive ran. He thinks he controls the terms of this exchange.

He shifted, rising up onto his elbows, his eyes glinting down at me-a predator surveying his catch. "Good girl. I like a woman who's honest about what she takes."

His hand had slipped down before I could process the meaning of his words and guided his rigid cock to the slick entrance of my body. Friction was immediate, demanding. It was wild, fast, utterly unhinged. No lubrication, no pre-amble, just raw, hot need slamming against me.

A sharp, sudden pain took my breath, a sensation not altogether unfamiliar, yet forgotten for many years. He was unrelenting, pressing forward until I was stretched and full, the pain eased into a throbbing heat that felt both dangerous and exquisite.

"Look at me," he ordered, his eyes searing into mine. And I had to, harnessed by the sheer power of his presence. "You're in my world now, Kathy. You belong to the secrets of the Sky Tower. To me."

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his aggression with my own. My mission was here, buried beneath the beautiful, toxic surface of this man. I needed him to talk, to trust, to reveal the flaws in the Cavendish International Holdings fortress. If this was the price of entry, I'd pay it-and make sure the receipt was addressed to him alone.

I stared back, refusing to let my real emotions-the fear, the calculating victory, the unexpected jolt of connection-bleed through. "You're the one who needs something, Basil," I replied, tilting my hips and forcing a deeper connection. "Don't forget that you hired me because Tifania is alone. You might control this room, but I control the access to the rest of the house."

His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The haze of his lust had been pierced by my challenge.

He slowly began to move, deliberately at first, then quickening into a rhythm that stole the air from my lungs. The pace was insane, the contact brutal. It was pure, unadulterated passion-toxic and utterly compelling.

The tension mounted, but not merely in the physical sense. Each thrust was a question, each moan a lie, each shared gaze an unspoken struggle for supremacy. That's how I got in; that was the first brick laid in my foundation of deceit.

Just as the pressure became unbearable, just as my vision started to white out, he stopped, pulling back almost entirely, his body suspended above me, chest heaving.

"We have a sister who knows things, Kathy," he said, his voice husky, eyes black with sudden gravity. The switch was instantaneous, chilling. He was talking business, secrets, danger, while still inside me. "She needs to be watched. Closely. If you are going to be living under my roof, you need to prove your loyalty isn't to the paycheck, but to the family."

I knew what he meant. He was looking for a spy, not a nanny. He was looking for someone to monitor Tifania's frighteningly insightful observations.

I reached up, wrapping my fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine in a searing, breathless kiss that felt like a secret exchange of vows.

"Tell me what I'm looking for, Basil," I whispered against his mouth, my legs clamping down, holding him prisoner inside me. "And I'll make sure you never regret letting me in the door."

Kathy's POV

It had been a calculated weapon, that shift in rhythm. Basil's breathing was ragged against my neck, so different from the cold, calculating strategist I'd met minutes ago. Now, he was only a man consumed, driven by this raw, chemical connection we'd forged. I felt him gather the pace, pushing faster, deeper; the urgency in his eyes reflecting the chaos blooming in my chest.

He was right about the connection. It was impossible to separate the purely physical pleasure from the surge of power that ran through me, knowing I could reduce this formidable man to a grunting, frantic lover. Every gasp he took was one small chip in the armor of the Cavendish empire I was here to dismantle.

But as the pressure built again, focused and relentless-his thumb expertly riding the edge of my climax even as he plunged into me-the analytical part of my mind began to waver. I was lost in the sensation, clawing at the muscles of his back, desperate for more, desperate for him to finish this destruction he had started.

"Say my name, Kathy," he said, his voice strained, raw with his own approaching peak. "Basil."

"Basil," I repeated-the name tore out of me, a surrender that tasted like fire.

The world dissolved in the electric shock of a second orgasm, powerful and immediate, and I cried out, arching violently against him. The force of my climax seemed to ignite his own. He groaned-a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through my core-and drove into me one final, devastating time, emptying himself into me with a shuddering urgency.

He collapsed, his heavy, damp weight pinning me to the bed, his forehead coming to rest against my own. For one long, heated moment, the only sound in the opulent room was the sound of two people trying to reclaim their breath.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't look at my body; he looked directly into my eyes. The lust was still there, hot and possessive, but beneath it, the cold strategist was already returning.

"That," he said, his tone low and serious, "was a contract, Kathy. Signed and sealed. We are not a normal family, and you are not a normal nanny. Everything you see, everything you hear-it comes to me first. No exceptions."

I swallowed, the lingering heat from the climax mixed with a rising sense of danger. I was inside now, but I was exposed.

"I understand the terms of employment, Basil," I said, putting a subtle, professional distance back in my tone. I reached up and smoothed his sweat-dampened hair back from his brow, a gesture of faux tenderness. "But a contract is a two-way street. You said Tifania needs watching. What exactly is she saying, and what exactly does it have to do with Elena Cavendish de Rivas's sudden vacation?"

Then he rolled off me with sudden, startling efficiency to grasp his discarded shirt and tie. He was no longer even trying to mask the transaction in the slightest way.

"Tifania has an imagination. That's what we tell the outside world. But she doesn't just see shadows, Kathy. She talks about memory leaks. About people who 'shouldn't be there' when she's alone. She talks about the Blackwell Vault." He pulled the shirt over his head, effectively covering the glorious evidence of our recklessness.

The mention of the Blackwell Vault-the supposed secret facility for Cavendish International Holdings-sent a cold spike of adrenaline coursing through me. It was the same location I had been tasked to find.

"Memory leaks?" I repeated, sitting up and pulling the silk sheet up to my chin, mimicking his sudden return to decorum. "What kind of leaks?"

"She said her mother, Elena, didn't leave alone. She said her friend did it. And she named a place," Basil said, eyes scanning the room as if checking for hidden cameras. "The Rivas Regency Hotel. That's where my mother was last seen, according to the official-but very discreet-police report.

"She knows the location of her mother's last known whereabouts?" I asked, focusing on the sister, trying to maintain the nanny persona even as my mission intensified.

"And more. She mentions a 'green file.' She says her mother hid something important, something that was taken from the Blackwell Vault. And she says, 'The man with the snake tattoo is still waiting.'" Basil fixed me with a gaze that had returned to its habitual, icy detachment. "We need to know how much she truly knows, Kathy. And how much of it she's learned since Elena vanished."

He finished dressing, his movements sharp and precise. Walking back to the bed, he tossed me a luxurious silk robe.

"Get dressed. Your room is the suite opposite mine. The key card is in the pocket of the robe. Get acquainted with the house rules from Amanda Quispe tomorrow morning. But let me repeat the only important one: Tifania is not a normal child. Find out who she's been talking to. And if she mentions the green file again, you come straight to me."

He turned to leave, his hand already on the doorknob. "What about your brother, Baxon?" I asked, stopping him. "Does he know about the memory leaks and the green file?" Basil's hand tightened on the metal handle; he didn't turn around.

"Baxon trusts Tifania too much to see her as a liability, and he's too emotional to handle the truth of our mother. He believes in the simple version of the story. You will keep it that way, Kathy. He sees you as a distraction. You will make sure he stays distracted from the real danger."

He opened the door, but before he stepped out, he delivered the final, chilling instruction.

"You aren't just working for the Cavendish family, Kathy. You're working for me. And if your mission here involves anything other than keeping Tifania quiet and safe, you will regret ever setting foot in the Sky Tower."