Page 19 of Pucking Daddy

“This.” I gesture between us. “You. Here.”

Her expression doesn’t crack.

If anything, she straightens a little, shoulders back, like she’s bracing for impact instead of backing down.

“Right,” she says calmly. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

My jaw tightens. “Inconvenient?”

“Yes.” She folds her arms. “Because I just moved my entire life here for this job.”

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. “That was before—”

“Before what?” she cuts in, one brow arching. “Before two consenting adults made a decision neither of them regretted five minutes later?”

I stare at her.

She doesn’t flinch.

“That’s not the point,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend.

“Then what is the point?” she fires back. “Because from where I’m standing, the only thing that’s changed is that now we know each other.”

My laugh is short. Humorless. “That’s exactly the problem.”

“No,” she says, stepping closer. Not into my space—but close enough that I feel it. “It’s only a problem if you decide it is.”

I shake my head. “You’re my employee.”

“And you’re my boss,” she shoots back. “Congratulations, we’ve both grasped the basics.”

Jesus.

“Zara—”

“No.” Her voice stays calm, but there’s steel underneath it now. “You don’t get to just decide this ‘doesn’t work’ and send me packing like it’s no big deal.”

“I’m not—”

“I relocated for this,” she continues, her words precise, controlled. “I signed a contract. I turned down two other placements. And I am very good at what I do.”

She sounds confident. And I need that—someone who knows what they’re doing when it comes to my daughter.

Someone who can give Lily stability and security, especially right now. She’s probably already attached to Zara. She’s like that. And I don’t want to take that away just as it’s beginning.

“I’ve spent ten years taking care of children,” she goes on. “Difficult children. Complicated families. High-pressure situations. I don’t flinch, I don’t quit, and I don’t make things messy.”

Her gaze locks on mine.

“What happened last night,” she says quietly, “doesn’t affect my ability to do this job.”

I study her.

All I see is honesty. And resolve.

“You’re asking me to ignore it,” I say.

“I’m asking you to be an adult,” she corrects. “We can both be adults about this. Professional.”