The Calderayne Billionaires

One Summer at Calderayne

JADE BLACKWOOD

Chapter One

The Girl Beyond the Railing

The billionaire’s daughter was standing on the wrong side of a third-floor balcony railing when Romilly Sayer arrived to ask him for a job.

Romilly stopped halfway out of her dented blue hatchback, one heel planted on the pale gravel and one hand still gripping the door.

The little girl stood barefoot on a narrow stone ledge, her back pressed against an iron balustrade nearly three stories above the ground. A white nightgown fluttered around her thin legs. One hand clung to the railing behind her. The other stretched toward a blue paper bird trapped in the ivy creeping across the mansion’s eastern wall.

Below her, a terrace of unforgiving limestone waited.

Romilly forgot the interview.

She forgot the résumé tucked inside her canvas bag, the overdue rent notice folded beneath it, and the warning her employment agency had delivered that morning.

Do not be late. Do not improvise. And whatever you do, do not upset Callan Calderayne.

She left the car door open and ran.

“Don’t reach for it!”

The girl startled.

Her bare foot slipped.

Romilly’s heart stopped.

The child caught the railing with both hands, but the sudden movement tore the paper bird from the ivy. It spiraled through the morning air and landed on the terrace below.

The girl stared after it.

“Good,” Romilly called, forcing calm into her voice. “Let it go. We can make another one.”

The child looked down at her.

Even from the ground, Romilly could see the anger on her small face.

“No, we can’t.”

“I’m excellent at paper birds.”

“That one was hers.”

The girl leaned sideways again.

Romilly moved beneath the balcony, although she knew perfectly well she could not catch a seven-year-old falling from three floors above. She could only make certain they were both injured instead of one of them killed.

“Who did it belong to?”

The girl’s chin trembled. “My mother.”

Romilly’s panic settled into something colder and more useful.

“All right. Then we won’t make another one.”

The girl paused.

“We’ll rescue that one,” Romilly continued. “It’s on the terrace. I can see it from here.”

“You’ll ruin it.”

“I won’t touch it until you’re safe.”

A pair of glass doors stood open behind the child, white curtains lifting and falling through them. There was no adult in sight. No frantic nanny. No vigilant security guard. No one who appeared to know that a little girl was one misplaced foot away from dying.

Romilly tried not to imagine how much time had already passed.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The child’s suspicion returned. “Who are you?”

“Romilly.”

“That’s a strange name.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Are you a burglar?”

“If I were, I’d probably be inside stealing things instead of standing out here announcing myself.”

The girl considered that.

Romilly glanced toward the enormous front entrance. The dark double doors remained closed. She could run inside and search for help, but leaving the child alone felt too dangerous.

“What’s your name?” she asked again.

Silence.

“Fine. I’ll guess. Is it Mildred?”

The child wrinkled her nose.

“Gertrude?”

“No.”

“Princess Buttercup?”

A tiny sound escaped her. Not quite a laugh, but close.

Romilly seized it.

“You’ll have to tell me, or I’m going to keep guessing.”

“Leni.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“It isn’t short for anything.”

“I didn’t ask if it was.”

“Everyone asks.”

“Everyone should mind their business.”

Leni studied her with greater interest.

Romilly pointed toward the open doors. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to climb back over the railing, come downstairs, and show me how to reach the terrace. Then we’ll recover the bird together.”

Leni tightened her grip. “You might steal it.”

“I won’t.”

“People lie.”

“Yes, they do.”

The simple agreement seemed to surprise her.

Romilly held the girl’s gaze. “But I am not lying to you.”

“You’re a stranger.”

“I am. That means you shouldn’t follow me into a car, tell me where your father keeps his money, or accept suspicious candy from my pockets. But climbing back onto the safe side of that railing is still the correct decision.”

Leni looked toward the paper bird lying below.

“I can wait here,” Romilly promised. “I won’t move until you’re beside me.”

The girl shifted one foot.

Romilly’s pulse hammered against her throat.

“That’s it. Slowly.”

Leni lifted her leg over the railing.

A deep male voice shattered the silence.

“Lenora!”

The girl jerked.

Her foot slid off the ledge.

Romilly screamed.

Leni’s body dropped, her hands scraping down the iron bars before one arm hooked through them. She dangled above the terrace, kicking wildly as her nightgown twisted around her knees.

Romilly ran toward the wall.

“Hold on!”

A man burst through the balcony doors.

He crossed the distance in three strides, dropped onto his stomach, and reached between the bars. His hand closed around Leni’s wrist just as her arm began slipping free.

Romilly reached the terrace below them, useless but unable to stop moving.

“I’ve got you,” the man said.

The terror in his voice was far more revealing than the command had been.

Leni sobbed as he pulled her upward. Her shoulder struck the bottom rail. She cried out, but he did not release her. He dragged her high enough to seize the back of her nightgown and lift her over the railing.

For one suspended moment, father and daughter remained on the balcony floor.

Then he gathered her into his arms.

Leni buried her face against his chest. He held the back of her head with one hand and wrapped the other arm around her small body. His eyes closed.

Romilly had never seen a man look both so powerful and so utterly destroyed.

It lasted less than five seconds.

When his eyes opened again, the vulnerability was gone.

Callan Calderayne rose with his daughter in his arms.

Romilly recognized him from the photographs she had studied before coming. The pictures had not captured the harsh authority of the man himself. He was taller than she expected, broad-shouldered beneath a white dress shirt with the sleeves pushed to his forearms. His dark hair was disordered, as though he had been dragging his hands through it. A severe face, sharpened by sleeplessness, turned toward her.

His gaze dropped from Romilly to her abandoned car and then returned to her.

“Who the hell are you?”

It was not gratitude.

It was an accusation.

“Romilly Sayer.”

Recognition did not soften his expression.

“The nanny candidate.”

“I came for the interview.”

“You were instructed to use the front entrance.”

“Your daughter was outside the railing.”

His jaw tightened. “Why?”

“She was trying to reach something.”

Callan looked down at Leni. “What were you thinking?”

The child stiffened in his arms.

Romilly saw the precise moment fear became defiance.

“I wanted Mama’s bird.”

“You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Lenora—”

“You scared me!”

Callan flinched.

Romilly did not think anyone else would have noticed.

“I was trying to help her climb back over,” she said. “She slipped when you shouted.”

His attention snapped toward her. “Are you suggesting this is my fault?”

“I’m explaining what happened.”

“I saw what happened.”

“You saw the final few seconds.”

“And you apparently saw enough to stand beneath her instead of summoning help.”

“There wasn’t time to search this place for someone who should already have been watching her.”

Silence fell over the terrace.

Callan’s expression changed by less than an inch, but Romilly felt the temperature drop.

She heard her agency director’s voice again.

Whatever you do, do not upset Callan Calderayne.

Well.

That portion of the interview was going badly.

A woman in a gray uniform hurried through the balcony doors. Her face drained of color when she saw Leni in her father’s arms.

“Mr. Calderayne, I—”

“Where were you?”

The woman stopped.

“I was preparing Miss Leni’s breakfast.”

“Who was supervising her?”

“I believed she was sleeping.”

“You believed?”

The quietness of his voice was more frightening than a shout.

“She locked her bedroom door,” the woman said. “I knocked, but she said she wanted to be left alone. I only went downstairs for a few minutes.”

“You left a seven-year-old child locked in a third-floor room?”

“She locked the door herself.”

“And you walked away.”

The woman looked toward Leni, desperation overtaking caution. “She has been impossible all morning. She refused to dress, threw her breakfast tray, and told me she would have me dismissed like the others.”

Leni lifted her face from her father’s chest.

“I didn’t throw the tray.”

“You pushed it onto the floor.”

“Because you said Mama’s things belonged in the trash.”

“I said the paper was disintegrating. She carries that bird everywhere, Mr. Calderayne. It has become unhealthy.”

Callan’s gaze sharpened. “Did you attempt to take it from her?”

The woman hesitated.

That was answer enough.

Leni scrambled out of her father’s arms the moment he lowered her. She ran to the railing and peered toward the terrace.

“My bird!”

“It’s still there,” Romilly said.

Leni turned toward the stairs, but Callan caught her around the waist.

“You are not going anywhere near that ledge again.”

“I need it!”

“I’ll retrieve it.”

“No!” Panic overwhelmed the girl’s voice. “You’ll tear it. You ruin everything!”

Callan went perfectly still.

Leni seemed to realize what she had said, but she did not take it back.

Romilly looked away, granting them the small privacy she could.

The paper bird lay near a terrace chair, one fragile wing trembling in the breeze. It was faded and softened by age, its folds no longer crisp. Another gust could push it beneath the balustrade and into the gardens—or carry it toward the ornamental pool beyond the hedges.

“I can get it,” Romilly offered.

Callan’s eyes remained on his daughter. “Mrs. Vale will do it.”

The uniformed woman hurried downstairs.

Leni shook her head violently. “She’ll throw it away.”

“She won’t.”

“She tried before.”

Mrs. Vale stopped at the bottom of the terrace steps.

Callan looked at her.

The woman’s face reddened. “I put it in a drawer so it wouldn’t be damaged.”

“You hid it,” Leni said.

“Lenora,” Callan warned.

“No.” Romilly stepped toward the bird. “She doesn’t trust her.”

Callan’s gaze found her again.

Romilly knew she was sacrificing whatever remained of her chance at the position. But no job was worth helping another adult dismiss what was happening in front of them.

“That is enough, Miss Sayer.”

“It isn’t.”

“You have been on my property for less than ten minutes.”

“And your daughter was hanging from a balcony during five of them.”

Mrs. Vale inhaled sharply.

Callan descended the exterior stairs, each measured step making Romilly increasingly aware of the madness of challenging one of the country’s most powerful businessmen on his own estate.

He stopped in front of her.

Up close, the exhaustion around his eyes was unmistakable. So was the fury.

“Mrs. Vale has cared for Leni for the past six weeks.”

“Then she should know taking the bird would cause a reaction.”

“You know nothing about my daughter.”

“I know she risked her life for something that belonged to her mother.”

A muscle moved in his jaw.

“That tells me the bird matters,” Romilly continued. “It doesn’t tell me that she’s impossible. It tells me she’s grieving.”

Leni watched them from above.

Mrs. Vale picked up the paper bird by one wing.

The softened paper began to tear.

“Stop,” Romilly said.

Mrs. Vale froze.

“Please hold it from underneath. Both hands.”

The woman crouched and lifted it onto her palms.

Leni’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

Romilly turned back to Callan. “That’s what your daughter needed.”

“You believe you understand my family because you prevented a piece of paper from tearing?”

“No. I believe small things stop being small when they’re all someone has left.”

Something flickered behind his expression.

Recognition, perhaps.

Or pain.

It disappeared before Romilly could be certain.

Callan looked toward Mrs. Vale. “Bring it inside.”

Leni rushed down the exterior stairs.

“Walk,” he ordered.

She slowed but did not stop. Mrs. Vale extended the bird toward her.

Leni backed away.

“Give it to Miss Sayer.”

Everyone looked at Romilly.

“Why me?” she asked.

“You said you wouldn’t steal it,” Leni answered.

Romilly accepted the paper bird carefully. The surface was soft as cloth, its creases barely holding their shape. Faint blue handwriting covered one wing.

For my fearless little bird.

Romilly’s chest tightened.

She crouched so she and Leni were eye to eye.

“Before I return this, I need something from you.”

Leni’s suspicion returned immediately. “What?”

“Your word that you will not climb over another railing to retrieve it.”

“What if it gets stuck again?”

“You find an adult.”

“Adults don’t listen.”

Romilly glanced briefly at Callan.

He received the accusation without speaking.

“Then you keep looking until you find one who does,” Romilly said. “But you don’t risk your life. This bird belonged to someone who loved you. I don’t think she would want you to die trying to save it.”

Leni stared at the faded message.

Her mouth trembled.

“I miss her.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know.”

Romilly swallowed.

“No,” she said softly. “Not exactly the way you do.”

A tear slid over Leni’s cheek.

She wiped it away angrily.

Romilly did not tell her not to cry. She did not reach for her, either. Comfort forced upon a grieving child was only another kind of demand.

She waited.

After a moment, Leni held out both hands.

“I promise.”

Romilly placed the bird on her palms.

Leni carried it against her chest and walked into the house.

Callan watched her until she disappeared.

Then he turned toward Mrs. Vale.

“You are dismissed.”

The woman’s mouth fell open. “Mr. Calderayne, please. It was one mistake.”

“One that nearly killed my daughter.”

“She has driven away every nanny you’ve hired! No one can control her.”

Romilly saw Callan’s expression harden.

Mrs. Vale saw it too late.

“Collect your belongings,” he said. “The house manager will arrange your final payment and transportation.”

“I came here with excellent references.”

“Then I suggest you do not ask me to provide another.”

Mrs. Vale’s face became rigid with humiliation. She marched inside without looking at Romilly.

Callan remained on the terrace, staring at the empty balcony.

Romilly could have used the silence to apologize.

She could have explained that she normally possessed better judgment, that she needed the job desperately, and that arguing with a prospective employer was not a habit she intended to continue.

Instead, she walked back to her car and closed the driver’s door she had left hanging open.

When she returned, Callan was studying her.

“You may leave your résumé with the house manager.”

Romilly almost laughed.

“That won’t be necessary.”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “You no longer want the position?”

“You no longer want me for it.”

“I haven’t decided that.”

“You were about to throw me off the property three minutes ago.”

“Two minutes ago.”

“Thank you for the correction.”

“You challenge authority compulsively.”

“Only when authority is wrong.”

“That distinction is generally determined by you?”

“Someone has to do it.”

His mouth moved—not quite a smile, but the beginning of one he apparently thought better of.

It transformed his face for such a brief moment that Romilly wondered whether she had imagined it.

Callan gestured toward the house. “Come inside.”

“Why?”

“For your interview.”

She searched his face for mockery and found none.

“Mrs. Vale was right about one thing,” he said. “She is the seventh caregiver we’ve tried since January. One of the others resigned during her first night.”

“What happened?”

“She found three frogs in her bed.”

Romilly pressed her lips together.

“You find that amusing?”

“No.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m horrified.”

“That is not your horrified expression.”

“You’ve known me for twelve minutes.”

“Fourteen.”

“Do you time all your conversations?”

“Only the expensive ones.”

There he was: the man from the business profiles. Controlled. Precise. Accustomed to measuring everything in costs and outcomes.

Romilly suspected his daughter was the only thing in his life he could not reduce to a number.

She followed him into the house.

The mansion was cool and quiet, its high ceilings crossed by dark wooden beams. Sunlight poured through two-story windows overlooking the lake. Everything appeared curated rather than lived in—cream furniture untouched by stains, abstract paintings positioned at exact intervals, fresh flowers without a fallen petal among them.

It was beautiful.

It was also the loneliest house Romilly had ever entered.

Callan led her through an arched doorway into a library large enough to contain her entire apartment. Bookshelves climbed toward a painted ceiling. A stone fireplace occupied one wall, although the June morning was far too warm for a fire.

He indicated a chair.

Romilly sat and placed her canvas bag beside her feet.

Callan remained standing.

“Tell me about your childcare experience.”

“Didn’t the agency send you my file?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“I worked as a live-in nanny for the Bellamy family for three years. Their children were four and nine when I started. Before that, I taught at Northbridge Early Learning Center while finishing my degree.”

“What degree?”

“Child development and family studies.”

“Yet you’re currently unemployed.”

The observation landed exactly where he intended it to.

“The Bellamys moved to Singapore.”

“They offered to take you.”

Romilly’s fingers tightened on her skirt. “You researched me.”

“I research anyone given access to my daughter.”

“Then you know why I declined.”

“I know you told them you could not relocate for personal reasons.”

“That should be sufficient.”

“It isn’t.”

“This is a summer position, Mr. Calderayne. You don’t need my complete life history.”

“I decide what I need.”

“And I decide what I’m willing to provide.”

His stare held hers.

Most people became uncomfortable under prolonged silence and rushed to fill it. Romilly had learned that wealthy people were especially fond of using silence as leverage.

She waited.

Callan sat behind the desk.

“A three-month contract,” he said. “You would reside here through August thirty-first. Your responsibilities would be limited to Leni. No household work beyond maintaining her rooms and cleaning up activities you conduct together.”

“What happened to her mother?”

His face closed.

“If I am expected to help a grieving child, I need to understand what she is grieving.”

“My former wife died two years ago.”

Former wife, not late wife.

“You were divorced?”

“Yes.”

“How much contact did Leni have with her?”

“That is not relevant to your employment.”

“It is entirely relevant.”

His eyes chilled. “My daughter requires supervision, not therapy.”

“She requires both.”

“You are not a therapist.”

“No. But if you hire another adult who treats her grief like disobedience, you’ll have nanny number eight before the end of the week.”

He leaned back.

“What would you have done differently this morning?”

“I would not have left her alone behind a locked door.”

“She frequently locks it.”

“Then change the lock.”

“She needs privacy.”

“She needs privacy with a door an adult can open during an emergency.”

“What else?”

“I would have asked why the bird mattered before attempting to take it.”

“And if she refused to answer?”

“I would have waited.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it took.”

“No one has unlimited time, Miss Sayer.”

“Children don’t care about our schedules.”

“Children need boundaries.”

“They also need to trust the adults enforcing them.”

His gaze rested on her face. “You have an answer for everything.”

“No. I simply won’t pretend something is complicated when it’s only inconvenient.”

A floorboard creaked outside the library.

Romilly glanced toward the door.

A sliver of white nightgown disappeared behind the frame.

Callan had noticed it too.

“Leni,” he called.

No response.

“You may come inside.”

The girl appeared reluctantly. She had put on a pair of yellow socks but still wore her nightgown. The blue bird rested in a clear food-storage container cradled against her chest.

Callan looked at the container. “What is that?”

“Protection.”

Romilly hid another smile.

Leni crossed the library and stood beside her father’s desk.

“Is she the new nanny?”

“We are discussing it.”

“I want her.”

Callan’s brows rose. “You do?”

“She saved Mama’s bird.”

“She also told you to climb back over the railing.”

Leni looked at Romilly.

“You promised,” Romilly reminded her.

“I remember.”

“No locked balcony doors. No climbing onto ledges. No running away from the adults responsible for you.”

“You’re making rules already?”

“Yes.”

Leni narrowed her eyes. “I might change my mind.”

“That’s allowed.”

The response seemed to unsettle her.

Children accustomed to adults fighting for control rarely knew what to do when they were offered some of their own.

Leni turned to her father. “If you don’t hire her, I’ll put snakes in the next nanny’s room.”

“Frogs were insufficient?”

“Frogs are friendly. She liked them.”

“The woman left the estate without her shoes.”

“One of the frogs was in her shoe.”

Callan closed his eyes briefly.

Romilly looked toward the window so neither of them would see her laugh.

“Leni,” he said, “go upstairs and get dressed.”

“Is she staying?”

“Go.”

“You always say that when you don’t want to answer.”

“Upstairs.”

Leni’s face hardened. “You don’t listen either.”

She marched from the library, the plastic container pressed against her ribs.

Callan stared after her.

Romilly saw something in him then that his reputation had never mentioned. Not indifference. Not coldness.

Helplessness.

He loved his daughter. He simply had no idea how to reach her.

“She’s right,” Romilly said.

He gave her a look that would have silenced a boardroom.

Romilly was not a boardroom.

“You issue orders when she wants reassurance.”

“She cannot dictate who I employ.”

“No, but you could have told her you heard what she wanted.”

“I did hear her.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

Callan rose from the desk.

The interview was over.

Romilly reached for her bag.

“I’ll have the house manager escort you out.”

“That sounds sensible.”

She stood, frustrated with herself for caring. The salary would have cleared every bill waiting on her kitchen counter and given her enough breathing room to determine what came next. But staying in this house would require working for a man who believed vulnerability was a hostile takeover attempt.

She walked toward the library door.

“Miss Sayer.”

Romilly stopped.

Callan stood with one hand braced against his desk, watching her with an expression she could not read.

“The position pays twenty-five thousand dollars for the summer, with a five-thousand-dollar completion bonus.”

She turned fully around.

That figure had not appeared in the agency listing.

“You’re attempting to purchase my tolerance.”

“I am purchasing your professional services.”

“My professional assessment appears to irritate you.”

“Almost constantly.”

“We’ve known each other for twenty minutes.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Then we’re ahead of schedule.”

That almost-smile threatened again.

This time, it reached his eyes before he suppressed it.

Romilly’s stomach performed a small, unwelcome turn.

Callan Calderayne was dangerous when he was severe. When he nearly smiled, he was something worse.

He opened a drawer and removed a contract.

“You would have Sundays free. Additional time can be arranged with advance notice. You may use any household vehicle while transporting Leni. The east guest suite would be yours.”

Romilly did not take the papers.

“Why me?”

“Leni has never asked me to hire anyone before.”

“That isn’t enough.”

“You remained calm during a dangerous situation.”

“I screamed.”

“After she fell.”

“Most people would.”

“Mrs. Vale did not.”

Romilly remembered the woman’s absence from the terrace and understood what he meant. Whatever other faults Callan possessed, he had been watching everything.

“Your references describe you as dependable, perceptive, and excessively direct,” he continued.

“Excessively?”

“Mrs. Bellamy’s word.”

“She liked me.”

“She wrote three pages on your behalf. I gathered that.”

“Then you read my file before I arrived.”

“Yes.”

“You had already decided to interview me seriously.”

“I had decided you were qualified. The interview was intended to determine whether I could tolerate living in the same house with you.”

“And?”

“The evidence is inconclusive.”

Romilly folded her arms. “I would require authority to make decisions regarding Leni’s daily schedule.”

“Within reason.”

“I won’t spy on her for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You will eventually.”

His eyes narrowed.

Romilly continued before he could object. “I’ll inform you of anything involving her health or safety. But if she trusts me with ordinary feelings, arguments with friends, or thoughts she isn’t prepared to share with you, I won’t betray her confidence.”

“She is seven.”

“She is still a person.”

“And if I find your judgment lacking?”

“Dismiss me.”

Callan looked down at the contract and then back at her.

“Anything else?”

“Yes. No more treating the bird like a behavioral problem.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Have it preserved.”

His expression shifted.

“A paper conservator can stabilize it,” Romilly explained. “Then place it in a protective frame that Leni can open when she wants to hold it. That way she knows it’s safe without carrying it near balconies.”

“You know a paper conservator?”

“No. But you’re a billionaire. I’m confident you can locate one.”

For one second, the library became perfectly still.

Then Callan laughed.

It was low and brief, as though the sound had escaped without authorization.

Romilly stared at him.

He stopped immediately.

“You look surprised,” he said.

“I assumed laughter was prohibited under the household rules.”

“Only before nine.”

She glanced at the clock on his desk. “It’s eight forty-seven.”

“Then you’ve already violated another policy.”

“Should I leave?”

Callan extended the contract.

“No.”

The single word changed something between them.

Romilly felt it, although she could not have named it.

She stepped toward the desk and accepted the papers. Their fingers did not touch, but the space between them suddenly felt far too small.

“I need time to read this.”

“Of course.”

“And if I accept, I won’t be one of your employees who trembles whenever you enter a room.”

“I had already reached that conclusion.”

“I won’t allow you to undermine me in front of Leni.”

“The same condition applies to you.”

“Agreed.”

“And you will notify me immediately if she does anything dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“No matter what confidence you believe you are protecting.”

“Health and safety come first. I already said that.”

“I prefer clarity.”

“You prefer control.”

His gaze sharpened.

There it was again—that invisible line Romilly kept crossing despite every instinct telling her to retreat.

Callan moved around the desk.

He stopped an arm’s length away.

“Control,” he said quietly, “is the reason my daughter is still alive.”

Romilly looked toward the terrace.

“No. You were lucky today.”

The truth struck him.

She saw it land in the sudden rigidity of his shoulders and the fear that surfaced before he could bury it.

Romilly softened her voice.

“You can build higher railings. You can replace every lock and hire ten security guards. But if Leni believes the things she loves will be taken from her, she’ll keep finding dangerous ways to protect them.”

Callan said nothing.

“She doesn’t need more control,” Romilly continued. “She needs to know she isn’t going to lose anyone else.”

His eyes held hers.

“And can you promise her that?”

The question was no longer a challenge.

It was the confession of a father who knew he could not.

“No,” Romilly answered. “But I can teach her that being afraid of losing someone isn’t a reason to push everyone away.”

Something unreadable passed between them.

Callan stepped back first.

“Review the contract,” he said. “Give me your decision by noon.”

Romilly slipped the papers into her bag.

“I’ll call the agency.”

“You’ll call me.”

He handed her a black card containing a private number written beneath his name.

Not an assistant.

Not an office.

Him.

Romilly tucked it beside the contract.

Callan walked her through the silent house and toward the front entrance. When he opened the door, summer heat spilled across the marble floor.

Romilly stepped outside.

“Miss Sayer.”

She looked back.

“If you accept, you begin tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I need someone immediately.”

“Clearly.”

He ignored that.

“You’ll live here through the end of August.”

“Three months is a long time to tolerate someone.”

His gaze lingered on her.

“Summer has a way of passing faster than expected.”

Romilly descended the front steps.

She was halfway to her car when Leni called from above.

Romilly looked up.

The girl stood safely behind a closed second-floor window, holding the plastic container against the glass. She lifted one hand in a tentative wave.

Romilly waved back.

A shape appeared behind Leni.

Callan rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. He was no longer looking at the paper bird.

He was looking at Romilly.

She climbed into her car and placed both hands on the steering wheel.

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

Three months.

One grieving child and her impossible father.

Romilly looked at Calderayne House rising beyond the windshield, all stone walls, glittering windows, and carefully guarded secrets.

She should refuse.

The sensible part of her understood that before she even started the engine.

But when she glanced up again, Leni was still watching from the window.

And Romilly already knew she was coming back.

Chapter Two

Terms of Trust

By seven the following morning, Callan Calderayne had replaced three locks, summoned a structural engineer, ordered a…

Not…

He…