Captive Vow by Willow Fox

2

Paige

The doorbell jingles as I step foot inside the small café. I’m early for my job interview and don’t want to show up before my appointment.

Thankfully, I only had to wait a day for the interview.

Sleeping in my car sucks.

I grab an overpriced coffee and then a seat at a table, keeping an eye on the time.

My focus is primarily on my phone. The coffee shop at two in the afternoon is pretty quiet, except for the hiss and whirl of the machines as the barista prepares a coffee for another customer.

I glance up briefly from my phone and offer a weak smile.

I grew up in Breckenridge, but it feels like a lifetime ago. The last time I was here, I helped pack up mom’s house and had her move in with me. Now that she’s gone, coming home just feels right.

Maybe it’s because the town held fond memories.

Who says you can’t go home again?

At least, I want to believe that to be the case.

Another glance at my phone and the position that the nanny agency suggested might be a good fit.

Businessman seeks full-time nanny to special needs girl. Includes room & board along with a modest stipend.

The gentleman at the counter grabs his drink and pauses, glancing at me once over. “Paige?”

He’s tall, handsome, and has a plethora of ink that covers his skin. He’s easy on the eyes, and my gaze falls quickly to the wedding band that he’s wearing.

Damn.

“Yes?” I don’t recognize him.

But he knows me.

“Wow, you don’t remember me. Do you?” he asks.

I smile sheepishly and tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. I doubt he was covered in ink the last time that I saw him.

His grin is wide and bright. He looks genuinely happy.

That’s how I want to feel. I hope living here, moving here, can bring me that same type of joy.

“Jaxson Monroe,” he says and holds out his hand.

I smile and nod, pretending to recognize him. “Right.”

I could never be an actress. In all honesty, I have no clue who he is, but he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Like he just walked right off the cover of a romance book.

“You don’t remember me,” he says.

Well, he knows who I am. My name isn’t that common. “I guess I haven’t changed that much,” I say with a laugh. “I’m betting you didn’t have those tattoos the last time we saw each other.”

Jaxson smiles warmly and laughs. He shakes his head. “I’d say not. High school was the last time we saw each other, but I’d say we went to junior high and elementary school together. I won’t take any offense. Promise.” He gives a scout’s honor gesture.

He doesn’t quite look like a boy scout, but I smile politely. I’ve plastered a grin on my face to not seem so out of sorts.

He doesn’t grasp I’m uncomfortable, or maybe he’s just one of those super friendly and outgoing guys who doesn’t realize that other people aren’t great at making conversation.

He’s lucky.

I’m not.

“Are you visiting family?” Jaxson asks.

My lips tighten for a brief second. “No. I decided to move back here for a job.” I glance at my watch. “I have an interview to get to.”

I stand and take the remnants of my coffee with me, dropping it into the trash.

“Good luck.”

“Thank you. It was nice seeing you again, Jaxson,” I say over my shoulder.

* * *

The café shop was bright, sunny, and felt friendly, probably because I ran into Jaxson.

I pull up outside of the address for my interview. It’s a dive bar.

“Seriously?”

What kind of businessman interviews for a nanny at a bar? I need the job, and being pretentious isn’t going to help me land the gig.

I’m only about five minutes early. I turn my phone on silent, grab my resume from the front seat and step out of my sedan.

I slam the car door and head inside wearing an A-line skirt, blouse, a short-sleeved sweater, and high heels.

Dress for the job you want.

What does a nanny wear exactly?

I’m no Mary Poppins. And let’s face it, I need the job more than she ever did.

If I don’t get the job, I’ll be sleeping in my car indefinitely.

Every cent was spent on hospital bills, the funeral, and taking care of my mother before her passing.

The door is heavy and squeaks on its hinges as I yank it open.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, and I glance around, looking for a gentleman in a business suit.

There aren’t too many people in the bar. Two men are playing pool in leather jackets. They probably belong in a motorcycle club.

The bartender nods toward the back of the bar.

There’s a booth in the corner. The table has a placard marked reserved.

I saunter up to the gentleman seated in the booth. The hairs on my arms stand on end. Something feels not quite right, but I push all my fears and anxiety aside.

It’s probably me being nervous.

“Hi, I’m Paige Stone,” I say and hold out my hand to introduce myself.

“Moreno Ricci,” he introduces. “Please, have a seat.”

The booth is curved, and I do my best to sit as far from him as possible. This isn’t a date. I don’t want it to feel cozy.

Why didn’t he pick a table or a booth where we were seated across from one another? Hell, why didn’t he choose another place to meet?

He’s dressed sharply in a suit, his white shirt crisp, his tie without a single flaw. “Tell me about yourself, Paige.”

His question almost comes off as sounding a little too personal, like a date. But I know I’m reading into it. This is a job interview.

He will be my boss if I’m hired.

“Yes, of course.” I slide over a copy of my resume. I also keep a second copy for myself to glance down at every so often. It helps me focus on what I want to say and keeps me from leaving out something important.

“I owned and operated a preschool in Spring Valley until late last fall when a buyer offered to purchase the establishment.”

I don’t want to elaborate on why I sold the business.

Not unless he asks.

His eyes tighten and he gives a weak nod. “Owning a preschool isn’t the same as working with children.”

“I have a degree in early education, and I spent a decade teaching preschool-aged children and writing a curriculum that other teachers used for my private preschool. You mentioned in your listing that your daughter is special needs. I have lots of experience working with a variety of children with unique requirements.”

“That’s all well and good,” Moreno says, “however, you need to understand that since this job includes room and board, you may see things that I can’t have you asking questions about or speaking of to anyone.”

“I don’t know anyone here,” I say. Well, that’s not true. I almost don’t know anyone. I ran into Jaxson earlier this morning, but he hardly counts. It’s not like we’re friends and sharing secrets. I don’t know where he lives or his phone number. He’s also married, from what I could tell, the ring a dead giveaway.

I haven’t exactly kept in touch with any of my childhood friends. Most of them moved away, I assume.

Moreno tightens his lips. “Secrecy is expected and seen as highly regarded above all else.”

He retrieves a briefcase and removes a series of papers and a pen.

“If you are interested, my employer and I require that you sign these papers to assure us that you understand your responsibilities and will keep everything you witness or overhear confidential.”

“That’s it. I sign the papers and the job is mine?” I ask.

I haven’t even met the little girl I’m supposed to be a nanny for yet, but I can’t imagine a four-year-old is that much of a terror. Even if she is, I need this job, and Moreno seems to need me.

“You will need to meet with my daughter, Nova, but that cannot happen until after you’ve signed the papers,” Moreno says.

I can’t imagine he brought Nova with him. “Do you own this place?” I ask, glancing around the bar. I can’t fathom why else he suggested that we meet here.

“My boss owns the place,” Moreno says and clears his throat.

Does he notice my discomfort?

“I appreciate the discretion that I’m offered here,” he says.

“I see.”

“Do you?” Moreno asks.

No, not really. I reach for the pages of documentation that he has requested that I review and sign. “The agency had me already fill out a bunch of paperwork,” I say.

“Yes, I’m sure they did, but we require anyone coming into our home to understand and abide by our rules. Besides the contract for hire is with us. We pay the agency for bringing you to us.”

My attention returns to the packet of documents that he wants me to sign. There’s an entire page on discretion, secrecy, and that I am to always follow his instructions.

He’s got a bit of a complex. That’s for sure.

But this job is better than sleeping in my car. And while I could apply at the coffee shop where I stopped this morning, I doubt it would pay enough for me to rent an apartment locally.

The fact that I’m offered room and board makes it worthwhile.

I scribble my name on the line and initial the individual pages that he taps, one at a time.

I skim over the specifics of the contract. It’s ninety-fricking pages. I would be here all day if I read every line, but I get the gist. Don’t disclose anything I witness, overhear, or find.

Satisfied with my signature, he places the pages back into his briefcase and slides out of the booth. “If you’d like to follow me, I can lead you to the property.”

I slip out of the booth and stand, smoothing down my skirt.

Moreno takes long, quick strides, and I practically have to run in my high heels to catch up with him.

He throws open the heavy wooden door, and the bright afternoon light forces me to squint.

“Where’s your vehicle?”

I point to the two-door sedan. It’s not much, but I haven’t needed anything extravagant.

He snorts under his breath. “That’s not going to get you up and around the mountain in winter. I’ll go slow since I’m betting you don’t have all-wheel drive on that thing.”

“Do you want to give me the address and I can put it into my phone?”

“GPS is spotty out here,” Moreno says. “Especially when we head farther off the beaten path.”

“Oh, okay.” I climb into my car and follow behind Moreno in his shiny black SUV. It looks brand new—even the wheels sparkle.

I’m driving a stick shift, and I downshift as I follow up the mountain and then off the main road. We drive for a while with the forest at both sides, and then to the left is a clearing, open fields and haystacks abound.

It’s beautiful.

Moreno turns on his signal, and we head down a narrow driveway. Trees canopy above the road, making it feel like a bridge as we near the property.

Wrought-iron gates tower above and stretch on as far as I can see. We pull to a halt, and there’s a guard tower with a man inside the booth.

The forest is in the distance, but a clearing stretches on for two properties with one giant log cabin. It’s remote, but beautiful. The cabin is freshly stained, the wood bright with the sun shining against it and huge. It very well could be described as a mansion, but from the outside, it’s rustic, not the least bit frilly.

What exactly does Moreno do for a living?

The gate’s part and I drive through slowly behind Moreno, giving the guard a brief nod of thanks as I enter the premises.

Private security?

I hit the jackpot getting room and board at a place like this.

It beats sleeping in my car.

Who does Moreno work for?

The C.I.A.?