A Nordic King(61)

“If I could.”

“Don’t you think you might be better suited elsewhere? After all, that’s kind of your style. You stay for a year or two at the most, when the children are a certain age, and as they grow, you leave.”

I start coughing, my words literally catching in my throat. “What? No. No, I was with the last family for two years.”

“The children were younger.”

“So?” I walk toward him and lean against the desk to look him dead in the eye. “What’s going on? Are we extending my contract right now? It’s February.”

“Better to make plans in advance, isn’t it?” he says, and matches my gaze. That same energy is churning in those glacial blues and for the life of me I can’t understand what he’s thinking, what he’s doing. It sounds like … it sounds like he’s trying to soften a blow. Give me an easy way out.

My breath starts getting shorter, more shallow. I’m trying not to go into panic mode but it’s not working.

Fuck. He’s not trying to fire me, is he?

“What are you doing? You’re trying to get rid of me?” I shake my head, feeling anger and sorrow and horrible, horrible grief take hold of me. “That’s why you sent me away. You made other plans.”

He raises one brow at me, his mouth open, jaw tense. He sits back in his chair, continuing his quiet appraisal.

“Oh my god,” I cry out softly. “I am fired, aren’t I? You’re letting me go. You’ve found someone else.”

He cocks his head, squinting at me. “Does that bother you?”

My mouth drops open. “Bother me? What the hell is wrong with you?” He doesn’t say anything to that, just shuts his mouth into a thin line and swallows. “This is my job. I don’t … I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. That you’re firing me.”

The room begins to spin and I stand up straight, putting my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. Why is he doing this to me?

“Give me a reason why you want to stay,” he says softly.

I drop my hands and stare at him in open shock. “A reason? I’ll give you a million fucking reasons.”

He gets out of his chair and comes around his desk. “Tell me what they are.” He leans back against the desk, his intent gaze still searching.

I blink at him, my heart so loud in my ears that I can’t even think. I just let the words spill out in a frantic river. “Reasons? Reasons? The girls. Clara, Freja. I can’t leave them. I don’t want to leave them. They’re everything to me.”

“Is that all?”

“Is that all?” I repeat. “They’re your daughters and I’m their nanny. That should be more than enough. You know, I hated being away from them this last week. I missed them with all that I am. I didn’t even want to go, I just thought you were trying to get rid of me.” Tears tease my eyes and I shake my head, choked with disbelief. “Huh. I guess you were.”

His nostrils flare and his fingers tighten along the edges of the desk. “Is that it?”

What am I even hearing?

“I don’t understand.”

“You said reasons. You only named one.” He frowns, licking his lips. “What about me?”

“You?” I cry out softly.

“Am I one of your reasons for staying?”

I’m speechless, which is a good thing because I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I take in a hollow, shaking breath. “I have a great respect for you, sir.”

His mouth twitches into a sour smile. “Sir. You just called me sir. You haven’t called me that in a very long time. In your next job, I hope you remember your manners.”

Ow. Ow. The blows are harder and lower than I thought possible. This fills my lungs with pain.

I’m drowning with each breath.

I can barely speak. “Why are you doing this? Why would you try and get rid of me after everything I’ve done for you?”

“Done for me?” he asks quickly.

“Done for you. Done for the girls.”

“And you’ve done it all because you want to. Why?”

I’m ready to tear my fucking hair out. “Because I care about you! I care about them!”

I love them.

I love you.

Is that what he wants me to say?

Why?

Why?

“And?” he prods, eyes full of fire.

“I know I make you happy, even if you’ll never admit it.” I practically spit the words out, having kept them inside for far too long. “And I’ve never made anyone happy in my entire life. So, yeah. Maybe add that to one of my various reasons, if you have to know.”

“How do you know that you make me happy?”

Oh, seriously?

“What?”

“Tell me,” he says, pushing off the desk and standing right in front of me, gazing down from his height. “How do you know you make me happy?” His words are quieter now, rough and low and they make my stomach flip and my heart ache.

Hell. What do I have to lose at this point?

“Because,” I say, and my voice automatically drops to match his, my eyes focused on his chest, the slice of skin at his shirt collar. The electric storm in the room has moved between us, slowly intensifying with each breath, each heartbeat. Can he even feel it?