Sophia Martinez clutched her worn leather portfolio against her chest as she stood before the imposing iron gates of the Steele mansion. The towering structure beyond looked more like a fortress than a family home, all glass and steel reaching toward the gray Manhattan sky. Her grandmother's medical bills weighed heavy on her mind, along with the stack of student loan notices stuffed in her tiny apartment's mailbox. This job, this impossible, probably-too-good-to-be-true nanny position, was her last hope.
The intercom crackled to life. "Name and business."
"Sophia Martinez. I have a 2 PM interview with Mr. Steele about the nanny position."
The gates swept open silently, and Sophia walked up the curved driveway, her sensible flats clicking against the pristine marble. She'd worn her best interview outfit- a conservative navy dress that had cost her a month of ramen dinners, but she still felt underdressed for this level of wealth.
A stern-faced woman in a crisp gray suit opened the front door before Sophia could ring the bell. "Ms. Martinez. I'm Mrs. Henderson, the house manager. Mr. Steele is waiting in his office. Follow me."
Sophia's heels echoed in the vast foyer, where a crystal chandelier hung like frozen fireworks above polished marble floors. Everything screamed money and intimidation. She followed Mrs. Henderson down a corridor lined with expensive artwork, trying not to gawk at what was probably more wealth than she'd see in ten lifetimes.
"Mr. Steele will see you now," Mrs. Henderson announced, opening heavy oak doors.
The office was enormous, dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Behind a massive mahogany desk sat the man himself- Alexander Steele. Sophia had googled him, of course, but no photograph had prepared her for the reality of him. He was younger than she'd expected, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair and steel-gray eyes that matched his surname perfectly. His tailored charcoal suit probably cost more than her car.
He didn't look up from his laptop as she entered.
"Sit." His voice was clipped, businesslike.
Sophia perched on the edge of a leather chair that could have swallowed her whole. Alexander continued typing for another thirty seconds, a power play she recognized from her business classes. When he finally raised his eyes, his gaze was arctic.
"Sophia Martinez, twenty-four, early childhood education degree from NYU, no previous nanny experience." He read from her resume with the enthusiasm of someone reviewing quarterly reports. "Tell me why I should hire someone with no relevant work history to care for my children."
The dismissive tone sparked something defiant in her chest. "Because I understand what it's like to need stability and care from adults who are too busy or too broken to provide it."
His fingers stilled on the keyboard. "Excuse me?"
"I grew up in foster care, Mr. Steele. I know what children look like when they're crying for attention in all the wrong ways. I know what it feels like to be ignored by the adults who are supposed to love you most." She lifted her chin. "Your previous seven nannies quit because your children are acting out. I'm guessing it's because they need their father, not another employee."
Alexander's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've been employed for exactly zero minutes and you're already presuming to lecture me about parenting?"
"I'm presuming to tell you why I won't quit after two weeks like the others."
Before Alexander could respond, the office doors burst open with the force of a small hurricane. Two six-year-olds tumbled into the room, both covered head to toe in what appeared to be finger paint, glitter, and something that might have been maple syrup.
"DADDY!" The little girl- Emma, Sophia guessed from the photos she'd seen, launched herself toward Alexander's pristine desk, leaving colorful handprints on everything she touched. "Ethan put paint in my hair!"
"Did not!" The boy, Ethan, crossed his arms defiantly, inadvertently spreading blue paint across his white shirt. "Emma started it by putting glitter in the paint!"
"EMMA ELENA STEELE. ETHAN JAMES STEELE." Alexander's voice could have frozen lava. "What have I told you about interrupting my meetings?"
Both children deflated slightly, but Emma lifted her chin in a gesture that mirrored her father's stubbornness perfectly. "You said we could meet the new nanny."
"After my interview concluded."
"But you've been talking forever, and we got bored, and Mrs. Patterson said she was going to quit because we're 'incorrigible,'" Emma pronounced the big word carefully. "What does incorrigible mean, Daddy?"
Sophia bit back a smile as Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose. This was clearly a man at the end of his rope, trying to run a billion-dollar empire while his children staged daily rebellions.
"It means," Sophia said gently, standing and moving toward the twins, "that you're creative and spirited, but maybe you need better ways to use all that energy."
Both children turned to stare at her. She knelt down to their eye level, ignoring the fact that they were dripping paint onto what was probably a priceless Persian rug.
"I'm Sophia. You must be Emma and Ethan." She studied their paint-covered faces seriously. "This is some pretty impressive artwork you're wearing. Did you make it yourselves?"
Ethan nodded solemnly. "We were making a welcome sign for you, but it got a little messy."
"A little?" Emma giggled, and the sound transformed her from defiant hellion to the six-year-old she really was.
"Well, the best art always gets a little messy," Sophia said conspiratorially. "But I bet we can make even better art with proper supplies and maybe some smocks to protect your clothes. What do you think?"
"Really?" Emma's eyes lit up. "You want to do art with us?"
"I want to do lots of things with you. But first, shall we get you both cleaned up? Your daddy looks like he might faint if you drip any more paint on his fancy carpet."
Both twins looked back at their father, who was watching this exchange with something between amazement and suspicion.
"We're sorry, Daddy," Ethan said quietly. "We just wanted to meet her."
For just a moment, Alexander's expression softened. "I know, buddy. But we've talked about knocking, haven't we?"
"Yes, sir."
Sophia stood, her navy dress now decorated with tiny paint handprints, and found Alexander staring at her with an unreadable expression.
"Mrs. Henderson will show you to your room," he said quietly. "You start Monday morning. Six AM sharp."
"Wait, I got the job?"
Alexander's mouth curved in the first almost-smile she'd seen from him. "Ms. Martinez, you just managed to defuse a paint bomb in under five minutes and make my children smile instead of scream. If you can do that, maybe you can handle the rest of it."
As Mrs. Henderson appeared to escort the twins away for cleanup, Emma turned back. "Sophia? Will you really do art with us?"
"Every day, if you want."
Emma beamed and skipped out of the room, leaving Sophia alone with her new employer. Alexander was watching her with those piercing gray eyes, and she felt something flutter low in her stomach that had nothing to do with the job.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Ms. Martinez."
"I don't plan to, Mr. Steele."
Their eyes held for a long moment before Alexander turned back to his laptop, dismissing her. But as Sophia gathered her things and headed for the door, she caught him watching her reflection in his computer screen.
This job was going to be much more complicated than she'd expected.