Ad copy

***""I'm not mad at you, little moon, but Daddy's documents aren't for decorating, remember?"" For a moment, I think I'm getting through to her, that she understands I’m not mad but that we can’t have a repeat of this. Then her bottom lip starts that telltale trembling. And more tears spill before she turns around and races out of my office.*** The Smith & Associates acquisition contract, worth one hundred and twenty million dollars, is now entirely covered in strawberry yogurt. The other party signed yesterday. I haven't. Fuck. Huffing, I run a hand through my hair, feeling that familiar tick of irritation build behind my temples when my pants are suddenly tugged by small fingers. I look down to find the biggest blue eyes in existence staring up at me. They are framed by messy pigtails. Below the pigtails is a little body encased in a pink unicorn pajama set. June clutches her worn-out toy, Stacie, against her chest. Believe it or not, she’s never let go of the stuffed highland cow since I gave it to her. Tears threaten to spill down her rosy cheeks, and it’s times like this that I wish that Emily was still alive. She’d be great at parenting. I glance at my daughter and her tears. I notice Mrs. Henley watching sympathetically from the doorway of my home office—the one I had built right off the living room two years ago so I could still hear June’s footsteps or her little voice calling ""Daddy"" even when I was buried in contracts and pack business. Some people call it the mark of a workaholic. Maybe they’re right. Truth is, the only two things that have ever mattered enough to keep me breathing are these: the empire I built for the pack, the Alpha weight I carry because someone has to, and making sure this tiny girl never knows what it feels like to be left behind the way I sometimes feel I left Emily. Although deep down in my heart, I knew this wasn't true, I kneel to the floor, gently pushing a few baby hairs away from her face. ""What did we say about playing in Daddy's office when Daddy's not here, little moon?"" June's first tear falls as she hugs Stacie tighter. My wolf growls possessively in my chest as the sight of my daughter crying triggers something protective inside me that makes my hands clench. I decide to switch gears immediately. ""I'm not mad at you, little moon, but Daddy's documents aren't for decorating, remember?"" For a moment, I think I'm getting through to her, that she understands I’m not mad but that we can’t have a repeat of this. Then her bottom lip starts that telltale trembling. One minute, I think we are bonding, and the next, more tears spill before she turns around and races out of my office. ""Babygirl, wait…"" But she's already gone, her tiny feet pattering down the mansion's hallway. I stand up, running a hand over my jaw and muttering fuck under my breath. It's the fourth time this week my daughter has run away from me crying, and I have no damn clue how to fix this. How am I going to keep doing this on my own? Mrs. Henley enters my home office, her weathered face etched with the same concern that's been there since Emily died and left me with a newborn. ""She woke up early and came here to wait for you,"" Mrs. Henley starts. ""Wanted to surprise you so you could play together. She's upset, but she'll cool off."" My jaw grinds at the image of June padding down here in her pajamas, hoping to spend time with her father. This home office is where I spend most of my time in the mansion. Of course, she'd come looking for me here. That makes me feel guiltier. ""You can't keep this up, Mr. Drakos. You need help."" ""I'll find the right nanny,"" I tell Mrs. Henley. ""This time will be different."" For my sake and my daughter’s, I hope I’m right. *** An hour later, after I promise June again I’ll be home before bedtime, I drive straight to Drakos Industries. The private elevator hums upward in silence. When the doors open onto the top floor, I step directly into my office. The next forty minutes stretch even longer than I expect. While I review background check files from the failed nanny interviews spread across my desk, my wolf paces restlessly under my skin, still agitated about the fact that today refuses to go right. Three interviews and I’m at my fucking limit. Sarah Connors. She spent the entire interview on her phone. Probably using AI-assist for the questions I asked her. Jessica Williams. She asked if the position came with ""benefits"" while batting her eyelashes. I caught the sex innuendo and had my assistant show her out. Miranda Torres. She asked if my daughter was potty-trained because she didn't do dirty diapers or tantrums. ""Sir?"" My assistant's voice cuts through my brooding. ""The final candidate is here."" I let out a heavy sigh and rub my temples, irritation surging through me. Fuck this. I’m done. Another waste of time. I should just tell her to turn around and go home before she even walks in. There’s no way today is going to end with a decent nanny. ""Send her in,"" I mutter anyway, my voice flat with exhaustion and zero hope left. The door opens, and sharp heels click against the marble floor. Before I can even look up to dismiss her, a soft, warm voice fills the room. ""Mr. Drakos? It’s nice to meet you. I’m—"" That voice stops me cold. It’s smooth and melodic, with a gentle confidence that cuts straight through my foul mood. My head snaps up instinctively, drawn to the sound before I can stop myself. And then her honeysuckle scent hits me—sweet, intoxicating, and so sudden it nearly knocks the air from my lungs. My wolf goes silent for a split second before surging forward with ferocious intensity. No, it couldn’t be possible. FREE in Kindle Unlimited! 🩸👀She took the nanny job to pay bills… not to be claimed by a Supreme Alpha whose claws are already on her lace panties. The Alpha King won’t let her go.