Chapter 1: Kingpin’s Nanny: Chapter 1

23rd December

“Nanny Bella, do you think Santa will bring me everything on my list?”

I look up from where I’m wrapping my boss’ present, and regard six-year-old Ivy. She worries her lip.

“Well, you have been very good.” I’m lucky to be a nanny to such a lovely kid.

“I have!” she says in that earnest little voice. “I’ve really tried.”

“Did you tell your Uncle Lucas what you wanted?” I can’t even say my boss’ name aloud without my heart racing. He might be a scary, tattooed mafia boss, and overly demanding, but between how he is with his orphaned niece and his sheer silver-fox gorgeousness I can’t help my reaction to him.

Ivy’s eyebrows pinch together. “I don’t know if Uncle Lucas would like it.”

“There are many things your Uncle Lucas doesn’t like.” Amongst them, his nanny attempting to flirt with him. “But if he can, I’m sure he’ll tell Santa, and Santa can bring it for you?”

Ivy considers this with all the intent focus of a child. “Can I whisper it to you?”

Ope, this means I will be responsible for passing on this request to my boss.

“Of course,” I lie. “Though it would be better⁠—”

“I want a mommy and daddy,” she blurts out.

“Oh Ivy.” I stretch over the presents and gather her into my arms. I don’t even say anything about the pronunciation of mummy. Mr Knight grumbles that the books I read to her, and the children’s television we started to watch so she could know what was being discussed at school, is a bad influence, so I usually correct her when she uses an American word. But not now. This isn’t the moment. “I’m so sorry.”

She snuggles in and it hits me all over again how lucky I am. I’m an orphan too, but I landed on my feet. I have a great job, that’s well paid. A little girl cares for me, it’s Christmas, which is the best time of year.

I love a man who will never be mine. But I have a place in the world, and what more can a person ask for?

I shouldn’t feel lonely.

“There’s nothing Santa can do about that.” I spent my whole childhood asking for the same thing. “But your uncle loves you.”

“Sometimes he growls at me,” she says, peering up from my lap.

“I know.” Not as much as he growls at me. I sigh. “But he always comes to say goodnight, doesn’t he?”

Every evening, I put Ivy to bed, and at exactly twenty to seven Mr Knight tells her one story and kisses her goodnight. He turns out her light at seven o’clock. No later. No sooner. He reads to her and does all the voices, but it’s his own husky baritone that makes me swoon.

Honestly, everything about Lucas Knight makes my knees weak. He has permanent black stubble on his square jawline, like it grows out the moment he shaves. There are streaks of silver through his black hair, and it has a slight curl and falls over his forehead. I know most girls of my age wouldn’t be thirsty over a man with white in his hair, but it works perfectly on my boss, matching his eyes. And oh my god, his grey eyes. He has the longest black lashes that make his eyes pop. I swear he could be in mascara adverts and make even more billions than he has as a ruthless and deadly kingpin. Add that to the fact he towers above me—I think he’s at least six-foot-four—and has broad shoulders, yeah.

Definitely model material. Except for the tattoos, which are carefully concealed by the suits he always wears. But in the summer, we went to the beach for the weekend, and I saw his chest. I’ve basically never recovered. Beneath that neat facade, my boss hides muscles covered with black ink in swirling patterns, and a scatter of dark hair. He even has that V of muscle at his hips and the happy trail that points down to the place I had to look away from because I was blushing so hard.

I long to trace all those contours of his body. The hair, the muscles, the tattoos. And what makes it worse is that while I’m obsessed with how my boss looks, he never spares me a second glance.

In short, I don’t know who is more excited—me or Ivy—about the twenty minutes precisely that Mr Knight allows for the task of his niece’s bedtime.

Like a King’s Cross train, he runs exactly to time. He’ll sometimes have dinner with us too, and it’s impossible persuading Ivy to eat her vegetables on those days because her uncle eats so few greens, I’m surprised he doesn’t have scurvy.

I have stopped saying how much I love my veggies after I once said, “I love a big eggplant,” and he just looked at me, no hint of a smile, and replied, “We call it aubergine in London”.

No twinkle of amusement or shared look of acknowledgement of what that vegetable means in internet emoji. Nope. He really, really doesn’t want to flirt with me. Possibly because my jokes suck. But really, don’t powerful billionaires as attractive as him have a moral responsibility to give crumbs of hope to the pathetic, horny—if inexperienced—girls they turn into puddles of hormone every day?

Clearly not.

And aside from his diligent care of his niece, Mr Knight has a reputation for having very few morals. King’s Cross—my boss’ territory—somehow manages that anyone who has wronged them gets lost on a journey and never returns. It’s one of the biggest transport hubs in London, and I think no one dares mess with Lucas Knight for fear they’ll grind the whole city to a halt.

“He does tell me stories,” Ivy acknowledges. “But I’ve never had a mommy and daddy, and all the girls at school do.”

“Do they tease you?” I ask, perhaps a little sharply.

“No.”

Thank god. I don’t want to even imagine what Mr Knight would do if she was being bullied.

Ivy pouts as she thinks. “Do you think Uncle Lucas will let me call him Daddy if I give him a really nice Christmas gift?”

“Maybe.” I’m not at all sure what would melt Mr Knight’s heart if five years as being a de facto single dad hasn’t. “The picture is really lovely.”

“I think it needs to be better wrapped.”

I blink. I’ve no idea where this has come from.

“What about the special wrapping paper we were working on?” It’s really just colouring in, but I’ve drawn patterns on big sheets, and we’ve been filling them with bright crayons. It looks super cute.

“Yes!” Ivy smiles happily, and I return it, wishing I thought that the right Christmas present wrapping would bring me what I most want too.

Maybe I’ll get a new dress on my afternoon off. If I’m draped somewhere seductively—or as close to that as an awkward virgin twenty-three-year-old gets—Lucas will take pity on me and give me what I want for Christmas too.

In fact, what I’m going to buy tomorrow is far naughtier: a sexy Santa costume.

“I’ll go get the paper,” I tell Ivy, and she springs off my lap as though she was never on the verge of tears.

For the next hour, I watch Ivy more than usual as we work together on the design-your-own wrapping paper. I drew a train pattern on this one, with holly, stars, and Christmas trees. Ivy and I agreed Lucas would like it.

My phone buzzes, and I jolt.

It’s unexpected. I have everything set to silent—except Mr Knight’s number in case he calls, but he never does—so I can keep all my attention on Ivy. But I do have one new app: OnlySantas.

Ivy is opposite me, happily colouring in stars. Surely it’s okay, just this once?

I pull my phone from my pocket, and there on the lock screen is a notification that makes my heart race. The OnlySantas icon jaunty little present looks so innocent. It’s a lie. OnlySantas is an app for people who love to watch festive, sexy fun. Camgirls and guys dress up and while some just talk, many do way more than talk.

Late last night I checked with Mr Knight after he closed Ivy’s door that what we agreed to when I began employment with him was still the case: I could have Christmas Eve and Christmas day off. He confirmed with all the charm of a bear woken early from hibernation and shown a rotten fish just out of reach. I’ve heard rumours of what happened to the previous King’s Cross kingpin when Mr Knight took over. To only be snapped at and scowled at made me think I got off lightly.

I have been working for six months without a break now, which I’m pretty sure isn’t legal, but mafia bosses make their own rules. It was a stupid impulse to sign up for OnlySantas, I know that. But after my attempts at flirting with Lucas have been as effective as flinging tinsel against a granite wall, I wanted to be seen. I want to feel desirable. I have two days off this year to do that. I’m going to make these days count, and also be properly festive.

And it worked. Someone has seen me on OnlySantas, even though I was too shy to post more than a promise of a show with the site’s recommended everything for costs and stuff, and a picture of my white and red painted toenails.

I click the notification, then stare in shock. The exclusive rights to watch my whole performance on Christmas Eve have been bought. And it’s thousands. They’ve paid in advance, and their screen name is YourBoss.

My head swims.

Lucas.

I glance up, as though just thinking the word could summon him.

Has the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with since we met purchased my entire debut camgirl? That’s insane. But how could he have known? It must be a coincidence. There are a lot of mafia bosses in London, and not all are famous.

But my heart has leapt to the conclusion that maybe he’ll finally see me as more than just his employee, because that’s what I most want. Being honest, I was going to fantasise that my boss was watching me while I took off my clothes for strangers anyway.

I check the start time of the show again, as though it might have changed without me looking. Seven o’clock. I have plenty of time to make myself nervous and crazy. But also—I’m leaving detailed instructions for Ivy’s bedtime routine, already printed out ready. Mr Knight always finishes at seven. It could be him.

I close my phone and shove it back into my pocket. Picking up my red crayon—what could be more festive—I draw a smiley face on the paper, then colour it in, then look across at Ivy. She’s still concentrating on that one star.

She doesn’t know how my whole life has changed. And while she’s hoping the perfect gift will get her uncle to say he’s her dad, I’m wishing for something far more difficult. She wants him to change his name, I want to change how he feels about me.

My boss has been a grump all year. And now it’s Christmas, and while I won’t see him in person, I’ll be able to dream he’s on the other side of the screen when I try to be sexy. Even if it is impossible, I can still wish that this Christmas he’ll view me as more than an employee, and be my grump.