Bending the Rules
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R S Burton
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Chapter 1
Felicity
I met Dominic Coran the way you're never supposed to meet a billionaire—face-first on his front steps.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The Coran estate loomed at the end of a private drive I'd passed a thousand times without ever turning in. White stone, tall windows, the kind of house that made you straighten your posture even from the road. I pressed the buzzer at the security gate and tried not to let my voice shake.
"Felicity Taylor. I'm here for the nanny interview."
The word "nanny" still felt ridiculous in my mouth. I had a business degree. Top two percent of my class. I'd been a PA at Glow until CoranCorp bought the company and absorbed it into oblivion. Now I was here—unemployed, desperate, and interviewing to be a glorified babysitter.
But my mother needed this. Jean, Loader and Associates had dangled a partnership in front of her for years, and they'd finally made it contingent on one thing: securing favor with Dominic Coran during his company's restructure. When she'd called in a panic about his childcare crisis, I'd agreed to help before I'd fully processed what I was walking into.
The gate swung open without a reply.
I parked next to a sleek black sedan and grabbed the briefing folder my mother had thrust at me. Seven-year-old Molly Coran. Timetable packed with school and dance lessons. Twenty previous nannies in the last eighteen months—the last one left "suddenly," whatever that meant.
Twenty nannies. That worked out to less than a month each.
I climbed the steps to the front door, my pencil skirt restricting my stride. Professional attire had seemed smart—appeal to the businessman, compensate for my complete lack of childcare experience. I knocked, and the door opened almost immediately.
A short, older man with sharp eyes smiled at me. "You must be Ms. Taylor. I'm Harvey. Please, come in. Mr. Coran is finishing a call."
"Thank you." I stepped into a foyer that could have swallowed my childhood home whole.
"Molly is in the living room," Harvey continued, guiding me by the elbow. "You'll wait there. And Ms. Taylor?" His voice dropped. "Please tell me you read the briefing."
"Of course."
"Good. Mr. Coran is very particular." He gestured toward an open doorway, then narrowed his eyes at someone inside. "Be nice, Molly Coran."
A small voice replied with a grunt.
I walked in, and Harvey left me alone with a little girl who didn't bother looking up.
The living room was stunning—high ceilings, expensive furniture, everything coordinated in cool grays and whites. But there were almost no family photos. No warmth. Just beautiful, empty space.
Molly sat cross-legged on the floor with a piece of paper, her dark hair falling over her face.
"Hi, Molly. I'm Felicity." I kept my voice light. "What are you working on?"
Silence.
I tried again. "Is that homework?"
Still nothing. I glanced at the briefing in my bag, suddenly panicked that I'd missed something critical. Was she mute? Did she have special needs I wasn't prepared for?
Then she spoke, her voice small and confused. "You smell like flowers."
"Oh. Thank you."
She scoffed and went back to her drawing.
I stood there like an idiot, watching this seven-year-old ignore me with the practiced ease of someone who'd seen off nineteen nannies before me. My mother's partnership flashed through my mind—this job was the key, and I was already failing.
Then I remembered the candle.
I'd bought it for my mother's birthday months away—a lotus flower that bloomed when you lit it, petals opening while it sang "Happy Birthday." I dug it out of my bag, my heart pounding. This was either brilliant or completely inappropriate.
"Want to see something cool?" I asked.
Molly glanced up, suspicious. "Cool?"
"Yeah. Like... pretty?"
"Okay."
I placed the candle on the coffee table and struck a match. The flame caught, and suddenly the center sparked to life—light and color spilling out as the petals began to unfold. The mechanical song started, tinny and cheerful.
Molly gasped and jumped back, then broke into giggles. "It's like magic!"
"I'm glad you like it."
Her smile transformed her entire face. She lifted her arm off her drawing, revealing a picture of herself and a man—her father, presumably—sitting on a cloud with an angel.
"That's my mom," Molly said quietly. "She's beautiful."
My chest tightened. "She really is. That's a beautiful picture, Molly."
"Ms. Taylor."
The voice cut through the room like ice water. I spun around.
Dominic Coran stood in the doorway, six feet of controlled power in an expensive suit. His blue eyes were unsettling—too light, too cold, scanning me like I was a balance sheet that didn't add up.
"I'll see you in my study now," he said. Then, softer, to his daughter: "Molly, head up to your room and get ready for bed."
Molly looked at me, then at him. "Can Ms. Taylor say good night to me, Daddy?"
Something flickered across Dominic's face—surprise, maybe, or suspicion. His gaze returned to me, sharp and assessing.
"Of course she can, honey. Off you go."
The study was all dark wood and leather, the kind of room designed to intimidate. Dominic circled his desk with predatory grace and sat, gesturing for me to do the same.
"Have you had experience with children, Ms. Taylor?"
"No, sir. But I'm a fast learner, and I was a child once."
His expression didn't change. "Was that meant to be funny?"
Heat crept up my neck. "No. Sorry."
He picked up my resume, skimming it with those unnerving eyes. "Business graduate. Top two percent of your class." He looked up. "Have the mighty fallen?"
I lifted my chin. "I was a PA at Glow until CoranCorp bought the company and absorbed the business. Effectively, you killed my job."
"A PA for a small sales company?" He tapped the paper. "These results could have had you as my PA, for goodness' sake."
"I took what was available. I wanted to stay close to my mother." I paused. "But none of that matters now. I'm jobless, and you have a vacancy."
"You're overqualified and yet somehow underexperienced for the job I need you to perform."
"With all due respect, sir, I believe you're in a bit of a bind."
His eyebrows rose. "You're feisty, aren't you, Ms. Taylor?"
"Feisty and also in a bind, Mr. Coran."
"Explain."
I took a breath. "I'm here as a favor to my mother. She works for Jean, Loader and Associates, and they've promised her a partnership if she can gain favor with your company during the restructure. She mentioned she could solve your childcare issue if you'd take her proposal seriously."
Understanding dawned on his face. "Ah, yes. Well, I hope you can live up to her high hopes." He leaned back. "I've hired twenty nannies since Molly's mother... left. Twenty. That's a little over a month per nanny. Not one of them was able to get Molly to smile the way you did in the first few minutes."
My pulse quickened. "Oh."
"Perhaps, against my better judgment, I want to give you the benefit of the doubt." His mouth curved slightly. "Just don't burn my house down to gain favor with my daughter."
I exhaled, surprised by the warmth in his voice. "Thank you, sir."
"I'll email a timetable and contract. You'll need to move in tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" The word came out strangled.
He stood, his expression cooling back to business. "Is that going to be a problem, Ms. Taylor?"
I met his eyes—steely, uncompromising. This was a man used to getting his way.
"No, sir. Not a problem."
"Good."
We walked upstairs together, the silence heavy between us. He knocked on Molly's door.
"Molly, are you in bed?"
"Yes, Daddy. Come in."
Her room was every little girl's dream—canopy bed, toys, stuffed animals—but like the rest of the house, most of it looked untouched. Molly beamed when she saw me.
"What's your name, Ms. Taylor?"
"Felicity. But you can call me Flick."
She giggled and made a flicking motion with her fingers. "Flick!"
"Are you my nanny now?" Her eyes sparkled with hope.
Dominic answered before I could. "Yes, honey. Felicity is your nanny."
Hearing my first name in his voice sent an unexpected flutter through my chest. I pushed it away.
"Daddy's name is Dominic," Molly offered. "But no one ever calls him that."
"All right, Molly, time for bed," Dominic said gently. "Felicity will be moving in tomorrow. You'll have all the time in the world together."
"Okay, Daddy. Good night."
He kissed her forehead, and I stepped forward to say my own goodbye. Molly sat up and grabbed my hand, yanking me down for a hug.
"Good night, Flick!"
We left her room, and Dominic's warmth evaporated the moment the door closed.
"I'll be at work when you arrive tomorrow," he said, his voice clipped and professional. "Let me show you to your room now."
He led me down the hall and opened a door to reveal a massive, pristine white room. Clinical. Beautiful but cold.
"I'll have fresh linens sent before tomorrow. You're welcome to bring your own items, but as you can see, the room is fully furnished."
"This will be fine."
He turned to me, and something in his expression hardened. "Ms. Taylor, I must warn you—if you mess this up or hurt my daughter in any way, I will use my leverage to see you blackballed in the business world."
The threat hung in the air between us.
I looked down at the white carpet, my stomach twisting. "Mr. Coran, the last thing I would want to do is hurt an innocent little girl."
"Good answer. I'll see you out."
We walked in silence to the front door. The evening air was cool as I stepped outside, my mind spinning with everything that had just happened. I'd gotten the job. I'd start tomorrow. My mother would get her partnership.
I started down the steps, relief flooding through me.
My foot caught on the edge of the stone.
And then the path rushed up to meet me—cold stone, white sparks—Dominic shouting my name as everything went black.
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