Chapter 1
As one of the nation’s top animal behaviorists, I was called in by Mrs. Miller, wife of a prominent CEO, to “rehabilitate” her son.
“We’ll be traveling soon,” Mrs. Miller had said, her voice smooth and practiced. “Our boy will let you in.” But when the door finally swung open, I froze. What “boy” stood at six–foot–three with a sculpted eight–pack?
Just then, a bizarre line of glowing text flickered above my head: [OMG, this nanny is so doomed. The male lead is going to off her in a couple of days.] [How else can the ‘Little Ray of Sunshine‘ heroine’s power shine if the male lead doesn’t go full dark mode first?]
I spent a month rehabilitating him. When I packed up my things, the fee already wired, he’d told me he’d never forgive me. But the next time qur paths crossed, he leaned in, a dark hunger in his eyes, whispering, “Aren’t you going to feed me anymore, big sister? Your little puppy is starving.”
1
Cole Miller, son of the city’s most influential CEO, was a mess. He barely ate, hardly slept, spoke only in clipped monosyllables, and showed alarm- ing self–destructive tendencies. Countless specialists had thrown up their hands, defeated.
Mrs. Miller, having heard whispers of my knack with even the most troubled animals, contacted me out of sheer desperation, as a last resort. Her assistant informed me the fee for this single assignment was five million dollars. I needed the money, desperately, so I accepted without a second
thought.
