The Nanny’s Secret by Kiersten Modglin (A Locke Industries Novel)
English | 2020 | Romance | ePUB | 2.8 MB
Olivia Mendes has a secret.
With her new position as a nanny for the prestigious Locke family, she’s learning just how powerful secrets can be.
Orrick and Iris Locke, owners of the billion-dollar security company known as Locke Industries, are beautiful, mysterious, and seemingly perfect. When she enters their home, Olivia quickly discovers everything is not what it seems. The Lockes’ elusive empire is built on dark and terrifying truths and with Olivia now a part of their lives, she has no choice but to play her role.
As she finds herself digging deeper into the Lockes’ web of lies, Olivia begins to question everything she’s learned. When the family’s insidious nature is revealed, her loyalties will be put to the ultimate test.
I’ve always believed you can tell a lot about a person from their front door.
The door I am standing in front of is made of thick wood—oak or pine, maybe. It is painted maroon, with a green wreath hanging in front of the three panes of glass. Simple and elegant.
In times of struggle, doors shut.
In moments of solace, they’re offered as open.
The rest of the time, doors hold the secrets we want to keep from the world. Our darkest desires. The thoughts and things we’d never let anyone else know.
As the door swings open, I wonder what secrets I’ll find hiding inside.
“Hey,” the woman greets me with a sharp intake of breath, barely glancing up from the phone in her hand. She is tall and regal, all sharp angles and lean limbs. Her shoulder-length blonde hair is messy in the sort of on-purpose way I’ve always been jealous of. “Hi,” she repeats, glancing behind her. “Sorry. Come in.” She steps back without waiting for me to tell her who I am or what I’m doing in her doorway.
I step into the house, glancing around. It is breathtaking, though I expected no less from the exterior. More a fortress than a house, it is grand and modern—all geometric shapes and sharp angles; a steep, twisted stone staircase leading up to the front door; two levels of four windows across the expanse of the front; and a darkened entranceway, leaving just enough mystery to keep it interesting.
Inside, the room is open and airy. There is a tall, floating staircase to my left and a single, wooden table with a large vase of flowers in the center of the room. I look up, trying not to gawk at the dangling chandelier. If it fell, it would take us both out in a second.
The woman shuts the door, spinning around to face me and shoving the phone into the back pocket of her designer jeans. “Sorry,” she apologizes again, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ears. “Okay, I’m ready now.” She holds out her hand, her fingers long, thin, and wispy.
I take it, though I admittedly feel annoyed. Who answers a door like this? “No, that’s okay.”
“I meant to be much more prepared for this. My husband was supposed to be here, but he’s stuck at work. I hope it’s okay that it’ll just be me?”
“Of course.” I smile, with nothing else to say. She releases my hand and holds her arm out to her right. Her heels click across the marble floor, leading us into a room that looks like it could be a living room, minus all the living. It is immaculate. The sofa against the window is white leather. There is a glass coffee table in the center of the room and a maroon chair that looks more like a statue than a place to rest—two giant loops connecting in a single, padded space. Mrs. Locke perches on the edge of the sculpture-chair. She nods toward the sofa.