Mr Masters (Mr. Book 1)

We all jump out of the cart, running to where Mr. Masters is sprawled on the ground. “Oh my God, Mr. Masters. Are-are you all right?” I stammer as I drop to the ground beside him.

“I’m fine.” He groans, slowly trying to push himself up. “Why weren’t you looking where you were going?”

“Why did you jump in front of the buggy?” I hit back.

“I was trying to get your attention.” He stands and dusts the dirt from his shirt.

Stupid man. Who runs out in front of a moving vehicle? I could have killed him.

“Dad.” Sam hugs him.

“It was an accident, Dad,” Willow mutters. “Brielle didn’t mean it.” Her nervous gaze flashes to me. “Did you?”

I shake my head. “No, no, I didn’t. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I ask. I cannot believe I actually ran him over. “We need to take you to the hospital.”

‘I’m not hurt.’ He steps out and winces when his foot tries to take his weight for the first time.

My eyes widen. “You are hurt. Where did I hit you?”

“You just ran over my foot, but it’s fine.” He seems embarrassed, or perhaps just furious. Who can tell with this man?

A golf cart approaches us with two men riding in it. As they get closer I can see that they’re all splitting their sides laughing. The cart comes to a slow halt beside us. “Masters, funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I wish I’d filmed it.” One man laughs as he holds his stomach.

Mr. Masters looks at his friends. “Hilarious,” he mutters dryly. He tries to walk again and winces as his foot takes his weight.

I grab his arm to support him. “Please stay off it until we see a doctor.”

“I’m going to go home with these guys.” He digs around his pockets and hands one of his friends his set of keys. “Can somebody bring my car home, please?”

I glance up at the children who are both deathly silent. They watch on in shock.

Great, this is just great. We were having such a fun day, too. Honestly, I have never had so many things go wrong for me in one week in my entire life.

London is trying to bring me undone. Day by day my mistakes are getting bigger and bigger.

Mr. Masters waves his friends off and turns back to me.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Let’s get you to a doctor.” I sigh.

He nods, and Willow takes one arm, helping him as he limps back to the car. I return the buggy and climb into the driver’s seat. I glance over to see him sitting in the passenger seat, glaring out the front window.

I grip the steering wheel and drop my head. “I’m so sorry,” I say again.

Regret swirls around in me. Sorry seems to be the only word that I ever say to him. That’s it now. I know that’s it. And I’m okay with it being over. Some things just aren’t meant to be.

“You didn’t mean it,” Willow interrupts from the back seat. “It was an accident, Dad.”

Mr. Master’s jaw clenches as he looks out through the front windscreen. His anger is palpable.

“Tell Brielle you know it’s not her fault,” Willow demands.

“I said it was fine,” Mr. Masters growls. “I would like to go home now.”

The car falls silent and I start the car. I pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Can we go to the hospital and get some x-rays, please?”

“It’s not broken,” he says flatly.

“Fine.” I sigh. I turn onto the road that takes us home. “Have it your way.”

It’s 9:00 p.m. and I am washing the last of the dishes. Due to the fact that Mr. Masters is laid up on the lounge with an icepack on his foot, I cooked Italian for dinner, and I know I surprised everyone with my culinary skills. One thing I can do well is cook. They all devoured every last mouthful, and the kids even asked Mr. Masters if I can be the new cook from now on.

The silence is now deafening, though. He hasn’t said a word to me all afternoon other than to say that his foot is fine. I’ve cooked and chatted and helped the children with their homework, all while he stayed solemn and stared at the television. I feel sorry for these kids. He’s miserable. He makes everyone around him miserable. Willow was right today; he doesn’t communicate at all other than to tell people off. It’s like he gets off on the power of reprimanding people around him. I know I deserved a spray about last night, but this is another level of coldness, and it’s grossly unfair when he knows I feel so bad about hitting him earlier. To be honest, I don’t even want him to talk to me now. My dream of having a boss that I can be friends with is long gone.

He’s not the kind of person I would want to be friends with. He has a mean streak. I may have made a string of errors since I started, but the way he is treating me is making me feel very uncomfortable.

The kids eventually say goodnight to us both and head up to their beds.

I finish cleaning the kitchen and my stomach churns. I’ve never lived in a house where I haven’t felt welcome before. I don’t like it—not one little bit.

He makes me feel inadequate. Just because I’m not a judge, it does not make me stupid. But he loves to insinuate that that’s exactly what I am, making me feel inferior.

I fluff around in the kitchen for fifteen minutes as I psych myself up for this conversation.

Just do it.

“Mr. Masters, can I speak to you for a moment, please?” I ask.

His eyes rise to mine. “Of course.” He gestures to the sofa beside him. “Take a seat.”

I sit down, and my nervous eyes hold his. “I’m sorry about today, sir.”

He nods once.

“In fact, I’m sorry for everything, and I’m sorry I wasted your time when I applied for this job.”

His face remains emotionless.

“I would like to give you my three weeks notice.”

His eyebrows rise, eyes full of surprise. “You’re resigning?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious why?”

“Not to me.”

I stare at him for a moment. What is he playing at?

“I asked you when you started to let me know if there was a problem before you resigned. If it’s the children…” he says.

‘It’s not the children. The children are angels.’ A frown crosses my face. ‘Wait, what are you talking about? There has been nothing but problems since I arrived,’ I splutter.

“It’s only been four days.”

“You fired me on the first day!”

“Because you were looking through my private things.”

I drop my head. “I know, and I don’t blame you for being upset about that. Look, you said I had eighteen days to find another job, and I just wanted to let you know that I will be doing just that.”

He stares at me for a moment. “Is this about last night?’

Regret hits me like a freight train. “Yes,” I exhale heavily. “I’m mortified that I came onto you. It’s not who I am, and every time I look at you I feel nothing but embarrassment.”

He watches me.

“I am not easy in any shape or form.”

He frowns.

“But…” I pause. “You really do make me feel inadequate.”

His face falls. “Of what?”

“Of this position. It’s like you look down on me all the time for being playful.”

His eyes search mine, and I feel like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

“It’s just…” I shrug. “For the first time in a long time… I feel cheap and stupid.”

His eyes drop to the floor and he clenches his jaw.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I know I have to say this even though he won’t want to hear it. “Can I speak out of turn for a moment, please, sir?”

“You have since you started. No point in asking my permission now,” he replies flatly.

“Willow needs you.”

He swallows the lump in his throat, our eyes locked.

“I’m worried she’s going to become depressed… if she isn’t already.”

“Willow is fine.”

“No. She’s not. You need to wake up and deal with the fact that you have a teenage girl with some serious problems.”

He sits up, suddenly defensive. “In four days you have worked out that my daughter has problems?”

“No.” I stand, because obviously this conversation was a mistake. “In four days I have been a witness to everything you don’t say. Not once have you talked to her unless it’s been to reprimand her. I feel sad for her.”

He watches me intently, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. Maybe I’ve crossed the line by saying this, but I really feel it needed to be said.

He doesn’t respond.

“Anyway, I’ll work until the end of the month.” I smile sadly. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll give the position my all until I leave. I know you’re away this week. The children will be cared for as if they were my own until I leave.”

He clenches his jaw and stands abruptly. “You said you would tell me if there was a problem with the children before you resigned.”

I frown and stare up at him. Did he just hear anything that came out of my mouth?

“It’s not the children. The children are perfect.” His frown gets deeper as I pause to take a breath. “I’ve told you, I don’t like the way you make me feel.”

For some stupid reason my eyes fill with tears. I’m tired and I’m emotional. Hell, it’s been a tough afternoon. I just feel so vulnerable being here in this situation. “I’m so sorry I ran over you today. I’m so sorry about last night. Please forgive me.” I push out through tears.

He drops his chin to his chest.

“Goodnight, Mr. Masters,” I whisper, and then I turn and walk to my room.

Half an hour later, I’m in bed, facing the wall. The television is on but I’m not watching it. I think back to before I arrived in London and how excited I was at the prospect of this position. It was so different from my other job. I honestly thought ‘how hard could it be’?

Not everyone was born to be a nanny.

I’m annoyed at myself for resigning out of shame, but I can’t feel like a cheap whore every time I look at my boss. I don’t know what the hell came over me last night, and every time I think of our conversation in the garage this morning I cringe. I hate that I’m attracted to him.

Knock, knock.

I frown. “Come in.”

Mr. Masters walks in, his eyes finding mine across the room. “Can I talk to you for a minute, please?” he asks quietly.

I nod.

He clenches his hands together in front of him as he stands at the end of the bed.

“Take a seat.”

He looks around, realizing he doesn’t have any other option but to sit down on the side of the bed.

“What is it?” I ask.

“About last night.”

I scrunch my eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about last night. I’m so embarrassed about it.”

“Don’t be.”

My eyes open, and he watches me intently.

“I have to ask you a question. Why did you call me Julian last night?”

I frown and scratch the top of my head. I shrug. “I guess I was hoping we could be friends.”

“You want to be friends with me?”

I shake my head. “No.” I think for a second. “I want to be friends with the fun guy who drove me into town in his Porsche. I wanted to be friends with Julian.”

He fiddles with the blanket as he listens.

I smile sadly. “I had built up in my head that I was coming to work for a woman, that I could support her for twelve months, and that we could form a friendship.”

“You were disappointed when you found it was me?”

“No,” I exhale heavily. “I just think that maybe last night I was too familiar, expecting a friendship that wasn’t there.”

“I wasn’t offended. I was tempted,” he whispers.

I frown. “W-what do you mean?”

He swallows what seems like a lead ball in his throat. “I was tempted to be Julian… for just one night.”

The air between us changes.

What?

“I was never…” My voice trails off. “I’m not that kind of girl. You didn’t need to be tempted. I can assure you that nothing would have happened.”

He drops his head. “I can see that. I didn’t mean to make you feel cheap this morning. That was never my intention.”

We stay silent for a moment.

“I told you off this morning because I was embarrassed.”

“You?” I whisper. “Why on Earth would you be embarrassed?”

“Because I’m a lot older than you and I… I hold a position of power by being your boss.”

I roll my eyes. “I just want a friend to talk to sometimes. It’s lonely living in a strange country by myself. Emerson lives in another house and I only see her once a week. I don’t want to jump your bones. I honestly don’t. I promise,” I whisper.

He smirks at my honesty. I feel like I said the right thing. He suddenly seems at ease.

“Why are you like this?” I ask.

“Like what?”

“Cranky all the time.”

He smiles softly. “I don’t know. It’s just who I am.”

“It must get lonely.”

His eyes search mine and I feel a power change between us, as if it’s a palpable thing. Suddenly, I see him for what he really is: a very misunderstood man sitting on the side of my bed.

He’s broken.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says.

I frown. “But…”

“You are the first person Willow has ever defended to me.”

“What?’

“I saw you today, I was watching as the three of you drove around like maniacs with music playing.”

I get a vision of what we must have looked like from a distance. “God,” I mutter.

“You seemed so carefree.”

I stay silent.

“It’s the happiest I have seen them in a very long time.”

I tear up. Not for me but for him. What must it feel like to never see your own children happy?

“My children have had nine nannies in two years.” He bites his bottom lip. “Although your nannying technique is very…” he raises his eyebrows, “unorthodox.”

I smirk.

“I do have to admit you seem to be getting through to Willow like nobody else ever has.”

“She’s just misunderstood,” I tell him calmly. “She’s a good kid.”

He frowns as his eyes search mine, seeming shocked that those words just left my lips. “Don’t go,” he says. “We can try and work this out.”

“But I can’t be this straight laced nanny you want me to be. I’m not used to this job. It’s a world away from what I do back home.”

“What do you do back home?”

“I’m an engineer.” His face falls.

“What?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You are an engineer?”

I smile. “Why do you seem so shocked?”

“Because I thought you were…” His voice trails off.

“Just a dizzy nanny?” I ask.

He presses his lips together tightly.

“Far from it. I wanted a job that was completely different to what I was doing at home. I love kids, and I thought this would be the perfect job for me, but I just don’t want to feel like I’m doing something wrong all the time. You know?”

He offers me a half smile. “You do seem to do a lot of nanny things wrong, even you have to admit.”

I giggle. ‘God, I know. I’m a train wreck.’

“I’ll tell you what. Going forward, when you call me Julian, I’ll know that you just want a friend and you are not being flirty with me. I’ll know to turn my Mr. Masters boss hat off.”

I smile. “But how will I know when you need a friend?”

“I can assure you, I won’t need a friend.”

‘Everyone needs a friend sometimes.’

His lips curl into a sexy smile. “Not me.”

Our eyes are locked, and I feel like there is another part of this conversation I’m missing.

He shakes his head. “An engineer?”

I laugh. “Yes, an engineer. Why do you seem so shocked?”

“Because I am. Where do you work?”

“A company called Biotech. I design machines, although I want to get into mining when I go home.”

He studies my face. “Not many people shock me, Miss Brielle.”

“I seem to be good at giving you nanny shocks.”

He smirks. “That you do. Running me over in a golf cart is a highlight though.”

I laugh, and his eyes twinkle with a special something. “What would you call me? I mean, if we were friends?” I ask.

He bites his bottom lip. “Bree.”

A warm, soft feeling runs over my body. “Nobody has ever called me Bree,” I whisper.

“That’s not true, I just did.”

I smile softly.

“So, do we have a deal? You won’t leave? We can try and work this out?” His hopeful eyes hold mine.

I nod. “I guess.”

He stands and looks around, as if he suddenly wants to run.

“Why do you hate being in this room so much?” I frown. “The day you showed me this room, you wouldn’t even walk in.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels very personal being in your space. Makes me uncomfortable.”

“You’re weird.” I smile. “Goodnight, Mr. Masters.”

He grins, clearly happy he got me to stay. “Goodnight, Miss Brielle.”

He hobbles on his sore foot, and then stops at the doorway, turning back. “Please don’t ever run me over again.”

“If you don’t stand in front of my golf buggy again, I won’t.”

He shakes his head in amusement and leaves my room, and I smile at the back of the closed door.

Well, that was unexpected.

I wait at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, guys, we have to go or we will be late.”

The sun is shining brightly and I slept well last night for the first time since I arrived. I’m feeling a bit better after Mr. Masters came to talk to me last night. Maybe this will work out after all. Sammy bounces down the stairs in his school uniform, passing me his school bag when he reaches the bottom step. “Willow, come on!” I call.

“Don’t rush me,” she growls as she comes down the stairs. She stomps down past us with her school bag slung over her shoulder. Sammy and I exchange looks.

Hmm, she’s in a mood this morning. I get into the car and she sits in the backseat, glaring out the window with her arms folded over her chest. I glance at her in the rearview mirror.

What is her problem? She was fine yesterday. God, teenagers.

“What’s on today, guys?” I ask.

“I have library, and then we have sport after lunch,” Sammy answers.

“I put your lunches in your bags. Dad left them in the fridge after he made them last night,” I say.

“I’m not eating it.” Willow scowls. “I hate what he packs me. It tastes like shit.”

I bite my lip to stop my smile. Good to know it’s not just me she hates today.

We get to her school and I pull the car over. Willow climbs out without a word. I wind the window down and call out, “Have a nice day, dear.”

She flips me the bird and keeps walking, making me giggle.

Sammy smiles and grabs my hand, grateful that she doesn’t get a rise out of me.

“Are we going to go and have our coffee and hot chocolate now, little man?”

He nods with a beaming smile. “Yep.”

I pull out into the traffic. “I think I’m the luckiest nanny in the whole world to get to have hot chocolate with you every morning.”

His cute little face lights up and I feel my heart constrict. No shit. I really am the luckiest nanny in the whole world.

“Spill the beans,” I say to Emerson.

It’s Monday night and we are at Willow’s soccer. It’s dark and cold. Huge lights light up the fields. Sammy is kicking a ball with some little kids on the fields next to us. Emerson has come with me so we can catch up and talk about Mark, the guy who picked her up from the airport. She worked for an art dealer back in Australia and had to email Mark’s company about some art that had to be shipped over. They got talking and started a friendship. She was convinced he was the one. He ended up getting her a job so that we could do this working holiday thing. I’m not sure we would be here if it wasn’t for his hounding.

“God, I don’t know.” She sighs. “There just seems to be no spark.”

“What do you mean?

“He doesn’t have ‘the thing’, you know. He’s short, and to be honest, he kind of annoys me.”

I giggle as I sip my coffee. We’re sitting in the car as we watch Willow train.

We watch the cold mist appear in front of everyone’s mouths when they speak.

“This place is fucking freezing,” she mutters into her coffee.

“I know, right? Witches tits cold.”

I glance over and see Mr. Masters walking across the field. He’s wearing his navy suit and a long, dark overcoat. His hair is short, and his jawline strong.

I feel a flutter in my stomach. Something seems to have changed for me with him. Now, I seem to be thinking about him all the time.

When he talks to me, I have to concentrate on not watching his big, red lips.

It’s distracting. He really is gorgeous.

“Mr. Masters is here.” I smile. “Back in a second.” I jump out of the car and make my way over to him.

“Well, hello, Miss Brielle.” He has this Cheshire cat kind of grin on tonight.

“Hello.” I go up on my toes as I speak.

“How was your day?” he asks. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and I feel my stomach clench.

“It was great. How was yours?”

He smirks. “Good. Run over any poor, unsuspecting golfers today?”

I giggle as I run my hand through my ponytail. “No, I save my specialized driving skills for you.” I look down. “How’s your foot?”

“Barely attached,” he replies dryly.

“I can cut it off if you like? Save you a hospital visit.”

He chuckles. “Scarily, I have no idea if you’re joking or not.”

We both laugh. Willow looks up, and he gives her a wave. She waves back.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” I say.

“I thought I’d make the effort.” His eyes hold mine and I smile. This has to do with my dig at him the other night.

“You go away on Wednesday, right?” I ask.

“Yes, first thing. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“We’ll be fine.”

‘Janine is going to do extra hours, too. She’s there to help you at any time. She and her husband can come and stay at the house if you want them to.’

“We’ll be fine,” I repeat. I point to the car with my thumb. “Emerson came with us tonight. She’s sitting in the car.”

He dips his head and smiles. He waves at her and she waves right back. “I should let you get back to her,” he says.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to sit on the other side of the field. I’ll see you at home?”

The air between us is buzzing like it’s electricity.

Where is this coming from?

“Sure.”

Our eyes linger a little too long on each other’s until I force myself to look away. “See you at home.”

I turn, walk back to the car, hop in and slam the door. My heart is beating in my chest.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emerson snaps.

“What?”

“You flirt with each other?”

“No. What do you mean?”

“He just checked out your ass as you walked away.”

My eyes widen, my excitement soaring. “Really?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s fucking old, Brell.”

I smile as I watch him walk across the fields away from us.

“He’s not that old. He’s thirty-nine.”

“That’s old.”

“You do have to admit, he is pretty hot for an old guy.” I smile.

She smirks as she watches him. “I suppose in an old, rich guy kind of way… he is.”

I’m sitting at the table and helping Willow with her homework. She has an assignment due tomorrow and is freaking out.

Mr. Masters is in his office. I can hear him on the phone talking to someone. He’s been on and off his phone all night.

“I need my compass.” Willow sighs.

“Where is it?”

“In my desk drawer.”

“I’ll get it.” I walk out to the foyer and take the bottom step. I can hear Mr. Masters speaking on the phone.

“They are about to go up,” he says.

He listens for a moment.

“Buy five-hundred now.”

I stop on the second step so I can eavesdrop. He listens for a moment. “I’m considering putting a million on.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“Okay, yes.” He pauses. “I’ll transfer five-hundred-thousand now. It’s a sure thing. I’ll double it in a month.”

Holy shit!

Mr. Masters plays the stock market. That’s where this money comes from.

I trudge up the stairs, feeling very incompetent indeed.

It takes money to make money.

Hence why I have none.