Nanny for the Oligarch's Daughter

“Give me the child,” he says firmly, and I hide the girl behind my back.

“No,” I answer barely audibly.

“You don’t want to give me my child?” he growls so loudly that my heart turns to blood—but I feel how small hands hug me, support me, and I answer desperately:

“The girl won’t go anywhere without me.”

The boss’s eyes darken, fill with rage when he spits out in reply:

“You signed up for this yourself. Get ready.”