Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rey trudges wearily through the front door of her apartment, her steps laden with exhaustion. Another evening spent wrangling the blissfully un-reared Williams triplets has left her drained, both physically and emotionally, to the point that she’s numb. She can hardly detect the hunger she’s ignored for the past eight hours, let alone the growing discomfort from the puffy, roddy glands both on her wrists and neck. Her heat is slowly encroaching and despite doing her best to ignore its telltale signs, it’s hard to disregard them now that she’s alone. 

Rey Niima doesn’t have time for her needy designation. 

Rey Niima doesn’t have time for anything. 

She was freshly eighteen, newly on her own after aging out of Plutt’s Home for Girls. Her time was fully dedicated to figuring out this whole adulting thing. She had known, after being placed in the low income efficiency in a not-so-good part of town, that it wouldn’t be easy. However, she didn’t think it would be this hard either. Rey didn’t know the first thing about budgeting, or how many days past expiration was bread still good, or how to properly file taxes. 

It didn’t help that half her check from the nanny agency goes towards paying her expensive health insurance premium. Rey prides herself in being as healthy as a horse, given the fact that she’s hardly ever sick, but it wasn’t an impromptu illness or a sudden visit to the local urgent care that she was worried about.

Rey was an unmated omega who hasn’t had a proper heat since she was sixteen. The first time had been so god-awful, she was sure she was going to die in her bunk bed due to the symptoms of her heat. The sweating, the slick, the whimpering, the mewling. Rey knew her  first heat wasn’t necessarily supposed to be this glamorous, coming-of-age thing, but she hadn’t expected it to be so bad either. Plutt had made her caretakers lock her in a room with nothing but blankets and hardly any food to see her through. 

Rey remembered her pitiful nest, a thing made of cold fabric with no alpha scent to calm her. 

It’s the reason why Rey had made it clear in her application at the nanny agency to never assign her children of alpha’s. The Williams family were made up of beta parents who were devout workaholics, usually out on either business trips or taking on extra hours away at the temp office. Most of her families were like this, either beta or omega, or some combination of both. She sighs as she plops down on her run-down couch—a thing that had probably once been bright cobalt, rendered now a mossy, lived-in green. She pulls out her phone, noticing she had missed social media messages and some texts from Rose, another omega and the closest thing to a friend she had made during her time at Plutt’s. She goes to open the pink agency app to input her hours. 

It’s a simple thing, almost elementary in its layout. She selects the tab labeled ‘hours’ and logs hers for the week. It is currently Friday and Rey, honestly, couldn’t be happier. She may be young but her entire soul was tired. Tired of working so much, tired of worrying about everything, tired of being so helpless. 

Sure, being a nanny made decent money, just enough to keep a roof over her head and food in her stomach. However, the work was backbreaking and for someone who never had a family, constantly being surrounded by ones that would never be her own, was doing some mental gymnastics to her hindbrain. Despite busying herself, she could no more deny her desperate need for connection more than she could have flown herself to the moon. 

Rose 10:14am

<huloooo>

X 12:10pm

[@rosetico sent you a post]

X 1:37pm

[@rosetico sent you a post]

Little Rebels Nanny Agency 2:30pm

[Rose Tico has sent you a new requisition. Tap to view.]

Rose 02:32pm

<i sent you something lmk if u got it>

Rose 5:46pm

<did u get the open req i sent through the app?>

Rey exited her timecard and clicked on the ‘home’ tab, noticing a small red dot above ‘notifications’. She had felt her phone buzzing hours ago but she had been a bit busy playing impromptu referee in a triplet roughhousing. She clicks on it and isn’t surprised to find it cluttered, riddled with expired nanny jobs she’s taken, future pending request logs, and monthly announcements from the agency. She swipes on them, clearing out her inbox. 

Rose’s requisition finally reaches the top. It’s a nanny gig—a permanent nanny gig. 

Rey had been trying for months to find a full-time family to care for. She didn’t mind picking up shifts (except maybe the Williams’) but finding a stable source of income was her ultimate goal.

She rubs the sore gland on her neck as she clicks on the open ad. 

She expects it to denote the usual demographic information, whether it is a single parent or two, the number of children, a nice apartment in the city or house in the country, and designations. Rey finds this one to be slightly different than what she is used to.

Ben Mortimer Solo. Single father, aged 42. 

Designation: Beta

Location: London, England

Children: 7, ages range from 6 - 13 years.

Requirements for this position: willing to relocate and live in-house. This position has recently opened and is urgently seeking candidates. Mr. Solo will be covering the cost of flight as well as room and board should you be chosen. Interviews are selective and based on qualifications. Apply today!

 

Rey 5:53pm

<uh 7 kids?!>

Rose 5:55pm

<🙄look at the pay>

Rey 5:55pm

<it’s not even in america Rose!>

Rose 5:55pm

<LOOK AT THE PAY>

Rey switches back to the app, scrolling down further to the ‘compensation’ portion. 

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull. 

Rey 5:57pm

<that has to be a typo>

It had to be. How did anyone have that much money just lying about? This Mr. Solo was rich. The filthy kind. The kind that should be outright illegal or at the very least, frowned upon. 

Her phone dings again. 

Rose 5:59pm

<nope. i already called the agency. all those pretty zeros are A MONTH>

Rey 5:59pm

<the kids must be trolls. five-legged beasts for sure>

Rose 6:00pm

<probably but it’s good money! u have always wanted to visit england too> 

That was true. Rey had always daydreamed about traveling abroad and seeing the world, especially while living in the confines of Plutt’s group home. She knew better now, though, knew that it was all just out of reach, just the fantasies conjured up in the mind of a little girl. She rolls out her neck, bringing her wrist up to her mouth, guiding the puffy gland there to the warmth of her lips. She sucks on it, the act soothing akin to a child sucking their thumb. It’s a mild relief but never enough to quiet the ache of it. 

Rey 6:02pm

<i don’t have a passport 🙁>

Rose 6:02pm

<the agency will sponsor you if you’re chosen.just apply for it. plus, the dad’s a beta! what do u have 2 lose??>

Rey sighs, leaning back into the dusty couch. She had never traveled outside the state let alone taken on so many children at once. The William triplets were the most she’d ever taken on and even then, she felt heavily outnumbered. Seven was definitely questionable, for both her sanity and general well-being. 

Who was this Ben Solo? 

What did he do for a living? 

Rey releases the gland on her wrist and turns to the app. “Live in-house” she reads again from the requirements, she’d never done that before either. How would that work—living amongst your boss and his children? The same children she’d care for whether or not he was around. Would her age matter? The agency itself stipulated that one had to be at least sixteen to even seek employment. This Mr. Solo probably wanted someone with far more experience than she could possibly have at her age. 

She shakes her head, throwing her phone into the ensemble of mismatched couch cushions she had pilfered from the local Goodwill. 

It was a lost cause. She’d definitely never get it and knew it’d be a total waste of her time. 

Resigned, Rey goes to shower, busying herself with thoughts of bills and what she’d make for dinner that night, unwilling to allow herself to hope. She would call Rose later and go about her weekend as usual.

Waiting at the pharmacy line at Publix had to be top ten worst things to do on a Saturday morning. The lines were always ridiculously long, everyone above the age of sixty seemed to materialize here just to lug around aimlessly, and the check out lane moved akin to a walking sloth. Though, by far the worst, was the pheromone thick air, especially the awful scent people gave off when they were either pissed or impatient or, horror of horrors, both.

Rey plugged her nose. Typically, she wouldn't be able to smell anything but she was nearing the end of her suppressant dosing for the month. She was, annoyingly, most sensitive then, from smell to touch, even her emotions were usually taciturn when nearing the end of her cycle. 

All she needed was her refill and she’d be set. No heat meant no need for time off. 

Her shoulders unhitched from her ears as she allowed herself to relax. Things would be fine, Rey was going to be just fine. 

“Next!” 

Rey steps forward, digging into her black hoodie pockets, fishing out her ID from the back of her phone. 

“Rey Niima, my birthday’s May 4th, 2005.”  

The portly lady takes her ID, fingers adjusting the half moon spectacles lower on the bridge of her hooked nose. She looks at it then back at Rey before confirming her address, disappearing behind the endless shelving of medication. Rey taps her foot against the tiles, rolling out the tension in her neck. God, her glands were itchy beyond belief despite taking her medication this morning. She only had a few doses left and couldn’t imagine the hell she’d be in if she were to run out.

“Miss Niima.” 

Rey thought about what the rest of her Saturday would look like. After she picked up her meds, maybe she’d go visit the local consignment store in search of a replacement saucepan. She had burned the only one she had during dinner last night and could definitely use another.

Rey pressed her belly against the counter, pulling out her debit card, but was immediately halted.

“Miss, Niima, we do have your medication but your insurance is inactive.” 

Rey whips her head up, eyebrows slamming over her eyes in apprehension. 

“What?” 

This must be a joke. Some sick twist of the universe. 

“Your insurance lapsed at the beginning of the month it seems.”

“That can’t be.” 

She had paid her health premium amongst her other load of bills. She had placed the amount inside an envelope and mounted it to her fridge. She had made a mental note to… to mail it because she had shoddy wifi and… oh no.

“I’m afraid it is,” Dolores, according to her hot pink name tag, shakes her head pursing her lips. “You can call your insurance company or you can self-pay.” 

Rey might have a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or both. How could she be so stupid? She gnaws at her bottom lip as she tries to think. How much money did she have in her emergency fund? She already had to take a chunk out of it to pay the pest control guy last week. Maybe if she ate only ramen for the next several days, she could try to—

“We’d like to get a move on here you know!”

Rey turns behind her and her chest spasms uncomfortably at the growing line. Sweat starts to coat the back of her neck and she can’t help but shift uncomfortably in her worn chucks. 

Make up your mind. Make up your mind, Rey. 

“How much is self-pay?” 

“$508.38.” 

Rey was officially broke. 

She could live comfortably only if she died in the next twenty minutes and really, that was being generous. 

Her emergency fund was gone and most of her checking account balance was dangerously close to the single digits. It had been a long time since Rey had last felt so hopeless, since she last cried and felt as shitty and as lousy as she did then. She laid back against the messy covers of her bed and stared up at the creaky ceiling fan above her. 

She let out a dejected sigh. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you going to continue to mope like someone pissed in your coffee?” 

Rose quips from behind her phone screen, her face half-lit by some social media app that took up too much of her time. Rey turns her body to face her friend, tucking her hands beneath her cheek as a makeshift pillow. 

“Rose, I’m broke.” 

“Join the club, sweetheart.”

“No,” Rey sits up on her elbows, snatching the phone from Rose’s hands and tucking it underneath the mayhem of blankets. “No, like I’m broke broke. Like broker than you can even begin to imagine. I didn’t pay my insurance on time and had to self-pay for my suppressants.” 

Her friend’s scowl fades slowly, replaced by realization, thick eyebrows bunching in concern. 

“Fuck.” 

Rey rolls onto her back again, somehow sighing even louder. Her life really was over. Unless she somehow could miraculously get steady nanny requisitions for the next two weeks, she was toast. 

She’d be evicted, her car repo’d, she’d be forced to quit her suppressants and would be left vulnerable, unmated, and on the streets. Her heart hammered away at the thought alone. Of going through a heat on her own without her medication to act as a buffer. She might as well call quits now.

“You’re kinda fucked, dude.” 

“Jeez thanks.” 

There’s a beat of silence, a brief current of understanding sifting between them. Rose is the first to break it.

“Did you apply for that job posting I sent you through the agency?” 

Rey peeked at her from the corner of her eye. What did that have to do with anything?

“The one with the forty-something year old dad with the baseball team for kids. You applied, right?” 

“Rose, I’ll never be selected. There’s no point.” 

Rey had already been over it, she was too young, too inexperienced. It'd be a total waste of her time. She needed something tangible. Something dependable. Rey didn’t believe in wishful thinking. She was pragmatic to a fault. 

“Says who? I know a guy who knows a guy. Just try it. You have nothing to lose.” 

Rose says it so matter-of-factly, she could have told her the sky was green and she would have believed her. 

Rey bites her lip. It didn’t surprise her that her friend knew someone inside the agency. Rose always had random friends in random places—given a personality where one couldn’t help but gravitate towards her (despite her pension for being blunt and entirely too honest). 

“I hate it when you’re right.” 

“You’re kind, responsible, and have an enviable work ethic. They’d be stupid not to pick you.” Rose gets up from the squeaky bed, locating Rey’s phone from the rubble of half-opened envelopes and haphazardly scribbled sticky notes on her desk. “I’ll even do it for you. What’s your passcode again?”

Rey hears nothing for the next several days. It doesn’t surprise her. She’s, thankfully, been able to snag a few nanny gigs from her usuals (unfortunately including the Williams) but not enough to quiet the anxiety that bubbles up everytime she thinks about her bills. Omegas aren’t meant to worry or truly deal with half of the stressors Rey has been blighted with. It makes them flighty, angsty, volatile. If she had an alpha, this would be the time where she’d seek refuge in their presence, where her alpha would seemingly sedate her by tending to her glands and scenting her.

Except that wasn’t the case for Rey. 

All she had to acquiesce her thoughts was an alpha-knot she had bought at the local sex shop in town. She’d also self-soothe by sucking on the gland on her wrist. 

It was awful. Pitiful. 

Rey just didn’t have time for an alpha right now. She needed her sea legs under her in this sea of uncertainty before she’d even attempt that sort of thing anytime soon. 

She’s nearly forgotten about the whole ordeal until she’s cooped up in her covers, doom scrolling on social media when she gets the notification:

Little Rebels Nanny Agency 6:13pm

[Interview Request. Click more for details.] 

Chapter Text

Rey is nervous.

The kind of nervousness where her newly straightened hair had begun to curl both at her nape and crown. She had, thankfully, managed to scourge a nice, clean blouse from the graphic tees littering her closet, and was now sitting in the lobby of a Zoom call. Rey lets out a deep breath as she adjusts her webcam, making sure her face is well-lit and her background presentable.

You’re kind, responsible, and have an enviable work ethic. Rose’s words echo from a few days ago. They’d be stupid not to pick you.

Rey’s tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip.

Her computer dings and finally, the zoom call connects.

—

“So how did it go?”

Rose asks as she slides a thin paint brush against a busy canvas—a streak of olive bleeds into the indigo already there.

They were at the local rec center, donning the inside of the Splatter Room, a space dedicated solely to arts, crafts and all its mediums.

Rey dips her brush into a jar of water.

It had gone…well.

Like strangely well. Like totally, implausibly, cataclysmically well. However, she was going to keep a lid on it, keep it cool so she didn’t psyche herself up too early only to be let down later. Heavens know she had enough disappointment to last her an entire lifetime.

Plus, some part of her (the childish, very-much-still-eighteen part) didn’t want her bestie to rack up any more ‘always-right” points. It was becoming a serious threat to Rey’s individual decision making as though a miniature Rose-shaped devil was constantly overriding her every thought.

It haunts her, keeps her awake at night.

“I think it went okay.” Rey watches as the colors on the canvas swirl together, head cocked to the side. “They asked questions about my experience, why I wanted the job, England, that sort of thing.”

“And?”

“And…nothing.”

“What the hell do you mean nothing?”

Rose’ eyes peek over the side of Rey’s easel, sliding a still wet brush into one of the many pockets of her ochre-colored smock. Her pierced eyebrow cocked aporetically, hands cupping her waist.

“Mr. Solo couldn’t make it so his assistant, some guy named Dopheld, acted as his proxy. You already know that means—Dad’s probably a workaholic in a stuffed suit.”

Mitaka had been his last name, at least according to his display name on the call. He was definitely older, doting a fitted, gray suit that exuded an air of sterility. His intonation was professional albeit cold (and if Rey was honest, a tad stiff) alongside a gaze that could pierce steel. A behemoth bay window had taken up his backdrop and all she could see, that was somewhat personable, was part of his desk.

Everything was organized meticulously on it, not a single pen nor paperclip out of place.

It had made her wonder if that was any sort of foreshadowing to the kind of help the children’s father was seeking: organized, put-together; definitely not someone who ate ramen noodles for most of her meals of the day.

“You make him sound like an alpha, how delicious.”

Rey looks at her, stupefied, as if the girl across from her was actively growing a second head.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“What? Who doesn’t love a busy, rich, alpha who’s clearly very virile.”

Rey stops mid stroke, slipping her foot to the topmost rung of her stool. She places her elbow above the ripped hole of her jeans, setting her chin aloft her paint spotted hand.

“I’m officially not listening to you. You are actually crazy.”

“Think about it, you nun. The req clearly said the kids ages—six through thirteen. That wife of his was pregnant for like seven years straight.”

Rose’s eyebrows wiggle and Rey can’t help but roll her eyes nearly into her skull. She didn’t make a habit of thinking of her employers like that. It was wrong on like nine different levels and Rose had seemingly ticked off all of them in one fell swoop.

“That’s none of your business.”

“The man has a breeding kink.”

“ROSE!”

“Which is strange given his designation. Beta men don’t usually care for the whole fathering pup thing—”

“ROSE!”

Her friend throws her head back in laughter, her eyes crinkling up into crescents. Rey only glares at her in mock annoyance, swirling the mustard color off her brush in a cloudy mason jar.

“You’ve got to admit I do have a point. Any omega would only be so fortunate to bear such a litter. I know I would.”

Rey’s heard just about enough of this conversation. Besides, breeding, and any talk surrounding the topic, made her hackles raise. Another shortcoming of her designation if she was being honest.

“Having a litter would mean you’d need to actually talk to the opposite sex.”

Rose stops laughing instantly.

“That was below the belt, Rey, honestly have you no shame?”

Rey shrugs smugly, withholding her laughter as she dips her brush into a thick dollop of mauve.

“My job, if I get it, will be to take care of the children, not their father.” Her eyes concentrate on the myriad of colors before her; Rose returns to her stool across the room. “Plus, he’s like a million years old.”

“Forty-two is the new twenty-two.”

Rey purses her lips, brows knitting over her stare. “He’s old enough to be my dad.”

“Isn’t that part of the whole appeal?”

She halts her movements, looking over the edge of her painting. “You have daddy issues, Rose Tico.”

Her best friend ugly laughs in return—the type where she snorts (like an asthmatic porg) whilst doubling over.

“You don’t—” snort “—have a daddy kink?”

“No!”

More laughter. More doubling over.

Rey bites her tongue as a bout of giggles threatens to bubble out of her. She must be strong in the face of madness.

“What can I say? We both resent our absent fathers. It’s basically in our programming. Freud’s oedipus complex or whatever.”

“That was debunked, Rose. You’re just horny.”

To Rey’s demise, the whole ordeal jumpstarts her friend’s anti-kink shaming tirade. An endless tangent on how forty-something was not at all prehistoric and how most men were often in their prime at this later stage in life. Rey only half listens, thinking how great of a spokesperson Rose would be if she were as impassioned about other more consequential things like global warming or inflation.

However, as a true friend, Rey promises to keep an eye out for handsome silverfoxes and send them her way should she think them worthy of further perusal.

The next few hours are spent in friendly fire, however, punctuated only by the occasional clinking of brushes against jars. Rey appreciates the busyness of it, her mind earning a momentary respite from her daily worries. She’d hopefully hear soon about the nanny gig, her fingers crossed that things would finally look up for her.

As the evening wore on, the rhythmic motion of painting calmed her, wearing away at the knot of anxiety that had grown roots. By the time she’s in bed, Rey’s mind is relatively at ease. She had really done her best during the zoom interview. It has to be enough.

It has to be.

—

“London, huh?”

Finn, a beta and barista at La Resistance, Rey’s favorite local coffee shop, quips as he hands her her morning monstrosity of a frappé. It was the newest hype thing on their menu, a strawberry crème brûlée ensemble with enough whipped topping to put a type two diabetic into a coma. It was Rey’s aperitif for the month, the single gratuitous thing she’d allow herself to buy following the disastrous upending of her life just over a month ago.

She deserves nice things, even if those things gave her her recommended daily intake of sugar in one single gulp.

“Yes, though it’s been a few weeks and I haven’t received even a consolatory call.”

Rey had partially moved on, put to bed her high hopes for the entire thing. What had she been thinking? That she would be chosen—little ol’ her amongst a sea of more prize-worthy candidates?

“Maybe it isn’t meant to be. Plus, London’s a tad far, don’t you think?”

Finn wipes out a used portafilter with a gray rag, setting the steel contraption against a drying rack as he looks up at her. Brown eyes, ones that were definitely hazel in the light, are now closed off, something hidden there. Rey’s not sure what to make of it.

“It’s far. Farther than I’ve ever traveled. I’ve never been out of the state, you know.” Rey sips away at her drink, elbows helping her lean against the granite counter. “I’ve always wanted to visit Europe.”

“It’s crowded. You have to take the “tube” everywhere, the weather’s dreary.” He’s shaking his head. “It’s really not all it's pent up to be.”

“But think of all the history, Finn! Emily Brontë was born there, Charles Dickens too, and Jane Austen!”

He only shrugs in return, a hint of indifference in his tone. “Sure, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Rey rolls her eyes, setting up camp on a nearby barstool. Who didn’t love the critically-acclaimed in classic literature? She’d been more of a bookworm as a child, usually cooped up inside the small grant-provided library Plutt had, begrudgingly, added to the group home. She still read even now but had moved onto less illustrious readings like the occasional Spirk fanfiction or the next trashy rom-com novel.

“Call it my literary pilgrimage, if you will.”

“What about your life here? Your routine, your friends?” He’s off drying a rack of glassware, gaze occupied on the task at hand. His full lips were pressed together, the corners tight where they usually were not. Rey’s eyebrows knit together.

“I haven’t figured out the logistics. I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

Give herself more false hope? Absolutely not.

“I’m just saying. Sometimes it's better to be practical. Safe.”

“The agency has measures set in place in case they might need to pull the plug on any given situation. I wouldn’t put myself in danger, Finn.”

She was being safe, wasn’t she? If anything happened, she’d be on the first flight back to the states, suitcase in hand.

“I’m just saying. What if it’s not what you expect? What if the dude’s a total asshat?”

Finn shakes his head as if by doing so he’d also rid himself of the thought.

“The agency will ban him. There’s a zero tolerance for that kind of behavior. Plus, that usually applies for alphas anyways, which Mr. Solo is not.”

She adds, taking out the straw of her hot-pink drink, licking the stuck whip cream from the side of it. The sugar coats her tongue and she only had herself to blame for her terrible sweettooth. She already feels the beginnings of a headache brewing . Rey’s eyes return to Finn’s and is surprised to find him flushed, eyes focused on her mouth.

He clears his throat before looking away.

“Just be safe, Rey. You have my number.”

“I can defend myself.”

He eyes her assertion skeptically. She sighs.

“But yes, I will call you if something happens.” She leans back into her seat. She wasn’t the strongest person by any means. Her designation should have made her sturdier, with child bearing hips and ample breasts, but she had always been coltish. More spindly than anything, something she blamed on growing up on the edge of things, like food and other amenities. “I’m sure I can take him on. Do you not see these muscles?”

It’s laughable, the skinniness of her arm as she flexes it but it earns her his laugh. He concedes to her this and tells her that she’d make a mean match to any fool who’d dare rival her.

As her time to leave nears, Rey gathers her things and leaves, promising she’d let Finn know whether or not she got the job. As she zooms down the highway towards her scheduled family for the day, she feels her phone buzz from the depths of her bag. Rey allows it to go to voicemail, opting to return whoever’s call it was after she arrives home from her long workday ahead. She needed to get her game face on and fast, The Arnold’s awaited her cheerful nanny presence and she’d give them just that.

—

Little Rebels Nanny Agency - 8:55am

“Good morning! This is Maz Katana, director of the Little Rebels Nanny Agency. This voicemail is for Rey Grace Niima.” There’s a shuffling of paperwork, a clicking of a pen. “I see here that you recently applied and interviewed for long term caretaker of the Solo children—a stunning litter of seven!” Her voice goes high-pitched, properly elated. “I’d like to inform you that you’ve been selected for the second round of interviews. This one will take place at Mr. Solo’s residence in England. Feel free to reach out to me via the Little Rebels app or email as I will be forwarding you the details. Thank you, have a great day!”

—

For the first few minutes Rey doesn’t believe it. She’s frozen, catatonic with shock that she just stares blankly at her phone screen, her mouth an open ‘o’. It isn’t after she makes Rose listen to it (who had shown up at her apartment promptly after Rey used their emergency codeword: PINEAPPLE via iMessage), that it finally dawns on her.

It is happening. This is actually happening.

"I'm letting you know off the bat that I forgot my hazmat suit at home," Rose says as she walks past the front door, setting a basket of random supplies on the kitchen table. "However, I bring assistance in the form of comedy should you need it and some—"

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you not have another pest infestation?” She pulls a blue facemask over the bottom half of her face, hair tied back in a high ponytail. “You texted pineapple and the last time that happened I was met with pest control blocking your door.”

“No, this is better!”

“Better than the pest infestation or a hazmat suit?”

“Both! Like astronomically better.”

“I don’t really like these odds for us right now.” Rose crosses her arms, leaning back on the balls of her feet, waiting for whatever better alternative Rey is supposed to offer her. “But I am listening.”

“I heard back from the agency.” Rose uncrosses her arms, surprise cresting her face all at once. “And I got into the second round of interviews!”

There was cheering. There was crying. There was overtly emotional hugging. It’s a good half hour before either of them can resume a somewhat coherent conversation.

“So, what do I even say—should I call or email? Or both?”

Rey cradles her phone as though she were holding an infant in her hands. What does she do now? Little Rebels is her only employment history as any other job she may have had was either paid ‘under the table’ or as part of her chores at the home. The last thing Rey wanted was to jeopardize this by doing or saying the wrong thing which she truly had a penchant for.

“Here,” Rose slips out from the foldable dining chair, making a beeline for the single bedroom just down the hall. It’s not long before she returns with Rey’s stickered toshiba underneath her arm. “I’ll help you. There isn’t much to this sort of thing so don’t worry. Just gotta figure out the details. When did she call you last?”

They, thankfully, spend the rest of the afternoon and part of the morning in communication with the agency. Rey pays for her friend’s time in Chinese takeout and boba milk tea from their go-to place down the street. To Rey’s surprise (and to the relief of her nerves if she was honest), the agency already jump started the paperwork for international travel on her behalf. Rey is given a rundown of what to expect in the coming weeks, like a flight voucher for whenever her travel booklet came in, and she physically has to hold her chest to keep her heart in. This felt… good.

Different but good.

Rey’s involved in a lively conversation with Rose, pulling apart the last four episodes of their favorite netflix show, when a ding signifying a new email’s arrival, stops them both. It’s another from the agency. This one is different, however, as it contains details of the Solo family, from pictures to likes and dislikes for the children.

Rey’s heart stutters, her hand flying to her throat as an image of Mr. Ben Solo loads up and takes up her computer screen.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: The Solo Family - Details

Mr. Ben Mortimer Solo

Background: Mr. Solo is a businessman who presides over Leia Hall, an estate that has been passed down the Solo family for generations. Sprawling across acres of verdant countryside, Mr. Solo lives alone with his 7 children.

Likes: Mr. Solo did not comment.

Dislikes: Mr. Solo did not comment.

[...] Click more.

 

“Oh fuck. He’s hot.”

Despite herself, Rey couldn’t disagree.

He was.

Like the kind of hot that made her glands itchy, that caused her to rub her wrists together under the table from where she sat. He had tousles of jet-black hair that was streaked with white, an aquiline nose, a full mouth, and a jaw that made the hairs on her neck raise.

“Rose!”

“I’ve never seen a beta look like that, so wide and yummy—”

“ROSE!”

“You have eyes, Rey! Look at him!”

“He’s also my maybe-future boss!”

Rose rolls her eyes as she moves to stand behind Rey, setting her chin on top of her left shoulder. “Not yet he isn’t. Right now he’s just a hot dad in England. Promise me you’ll facetime me ASAP after you arrive.”

Rey sucks her cheek in, her puckered lips momentarily resembling an annoyed pufferfish. “I will do no such thing,” She shimmies Rose off, her chin digging into her shoulder blade. “He’ll think I’m some annoying gen-z’er with no manners and won’t hesitate to put me out.”

She scrolls up on the computer window, exiting Mr. Solo’s picture quickly as though it’d spread malware if she kept it open any longer.

“But you are some annoying gen-z kid.”

Rey’s glare is withering enough for Rose to wave a metaphorical white flag by putting both hands up in surrender.

“I’m just saying.” She continues. “You still blow up my phone with dumb tik tok reels.”

“That make you laugh, by the way.”

Rose sighs dramatically, opting to starfish on the couch in distress, sending a flutter of throw pillows across the floor. “Well I’m no mime, Rey. I can’t help but share the same brain cell with you.”

Rey’s tiny efficiency fills with bouts of laughter as the sun begins to crawl slowly across the sky. Rey finalizes her paperwork sometime between lunch and dinner, submitting everything in PDF’s to Miss Katana. She receives a confirmation email concerning her documents and is instructed to wait until the arrival of her travel documents via mail for further action.

Rey tries to go to sleep that night but for the first time in a long time, she can’t. Reality is finally better than sleep, better than whatever dreams await her at the end of her pillow.

Now she needed to make sure she was able to charm the socks right off that Mr. Solo. In the quietness of night, she pulls open her computer again and does further research. His residence (which was as ridiculously big as she had fathomed), his address, the names of his children. They all sported the same jet black hair as their father except the littlest one whose name was Juniper. Her hair was a light auburn shade, nearly a dirty blonde.

Rey tries to commit their names to memory. She wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Would Mr. Solo be in attendance? Or just his assistant like last time?

Rey felt her stomach turn.

She hoped for Dopheld.

Though, she’d never bet on odds. If she were to interview with him, she’d be prepared.

Mr. Solo would be lucky to have her, or so she told herself as she dozed off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Rey has memorized approximately four out of the seven children of Mr. Ben Solo. 

There’s Juniper, age 6. 

Teddy, 7.

Noah, 8.

Eloise, 9.

And… and? 

She’s ticking off her fingers, currently wiggling her thumb like doing so would conjure the forgotten name to the forefront of her mind. She didn’t have the best memory in the world (if it wasn’t for Rose’s constant text reminders, Rey definitely would’ve been out of food weeks ago). She knew that, knew that so well in fact that all her bills were on auto-pay, knew it in the way that she used Apple Pay for everything because she always forgot her stupid purse at home. However, in Rey’s defense, seven names were a lot to start; adding likes, dislikes, and hobbies, and it was no longer a wonder why it amalgamated itself into a large, formidable minefield.

Rey had done the appropriate prepwork required. She had made flashcards (that were currently rubber-banned inside her carry-on) and changed the lyrics to an old Green Day song to aid her in recalling the key points she couldn’t squeeze into her memory. She hummed it to herself even now because if she could survive Plutt, she’d surely survive an in-person interview even under the gaze of Mr. Solo’s.

Rey continues to quiz herself as Rose’s beat up Kia Soul zooms down I-95. Who was it after Eloise? Was it Frederick? Or perhaps Theo? 

Think, Rey, think! 

The radio hums about some teen angst in the background, the Florida coast blurring past them in shades of greens and blues. It was a particularly scorching day in the middle of summer—the sun was high, the clouds nonexistent. Rey leans her head against the window, teeth clattering at the vibrations elicited by the highway. She thinks, hard , trying and failing to evoke the child’s name who she was forgetting. What did they look like? Black hair like their father? Beauty marks? 

She shuts her eyes, lips pursing as she tries to pull the name from the orifices of her mind. 

Juniper. Teddy. George. Eloise…and…. and… fuck, who was next? 

It’s like her mind’s locked up. No information going in. No information going out. 

After several other failed attempts (like Green Day humming) she realizes it’s futile for the time being. Instead of nurturing the growing knot of tension in her temple, she gives herself a respite by downing a bag of Swedish fish to calm her travel nerves.

It had been a fool’s errand to try to bypass her worry wart-ness by occupying her thoughts with details of the Solo family. Despite always wanting to travel, Rey hated heights, turbulence, and the thought of an explosive death after nose diving thirty thousand feet. Her lexapro was working overtime to counterattack her knotty stomach and honestly, did she really need that window seat? Surely, the aisle was tons better than a bunch of clouds anyway. 

Rey’s tongue whorls against the roof of her mouth, her foot tapping a hole right into the metal belly of Rose’s car. 

What if her travel documents grew legs and walked out of her backpack? What if she got all the way to the gate and was denied travel because her passport was out sunbathing somewhere on the east coast without her? 

“What if I get there and I can’t remember his kids names, Rose?” 

Rey’s front teeth bite into the fleshy side of her thumbnail. She had already done a decent number on her index finger, bitten it down nearly to the quick. Had she packed enough underwear? The emails from Miss Katana stated she’d be expected to stay for a week. How much underwear was too much underwear? Had she overpacked? 

“What if he turns me away immediately?” Rey turns to her left, not surprised to find Rose cool as a cucumber, fingers slicing the moving air outside the car window. “What if he thinks I’m ugly!” 

Rose scoffs, sparing her a single look before turning her eyes back onto the road. 

“This is not a blind date, girl. You’re babysitting his kids, not hooking up with the guy.” 

“ Still ! What if he takes one look at me and decides he doesn’t want an ugly nanny?”

“Rey, you are a total babe. Shut up .” 

“But Rose—”

“Please don’t make me pull over on this highway right now.”

Rey lets out a dejected breath as she leans back against the headrest, bringing the back of her hand up to her hairline. 

“I just—I’m just nervous. I don’t know if it’s just my pheromones but I’m feeling super nauseous.”

Rose lets out a burst of air, similar to a noncommittal, micro laugh . Rey’s eyebrows knit, head cocked in offense.

“I love that my issues are comical to you.”

Rose just wafts at the idea, turning off the radio by sliding close the spotify app on her phone.

“It’s not that. It’s just you need an alpha so bad, it’s laughable.” 

“I do not. I am perfectly well on my own.”

Just a little travel unease was all. Nothing she couldn’t handle (even if she was halfway to a charlie horse with the leg bobbing she elicited against Rose’s car floor). 

“So an alpha-scent doused rag wouldn’t sate you completely?” 

Rey went silent, her periwinkle nail polish suddenly the most interesting thing in the car. 

A rag with her alpha’s scent would do plenty of things. 

Sate her was amongst the ton. 

Rey didn’t spend too much time researching alpha-omega biology but knew enough that it would work similar to an analgesic. She’d happily be in lala land, leaving her with no agency to safekeep (amongst little else). 

“Nothing a lexapro paired with a buspirone can’t handle.” 

“Not as quick acting as an alpha though and you know it.” Rose’s clicks on her blinker, merging onto the right most lane as she veers off the highway. “Though to tamper your unease, you will be fine. I promise . I am a facetime call away if you need me.”

Rey nods along, hand grabbing at the base of her own throat as if to keep her heart from jumping up into it. 

Rose was right (albeit frank as ever). 

Rey counts to ten, inhaling as she does so before letting the rush of air out of the mouth. 

Everything was going to be fine. She had triple checked her bags, her flashcards were as memory-friendly as pinterest had advised, and even if her plane did crash, she would hopefully be too comatose on benadryl to even witness it. 

Rey thanks her, assenting.

“Also, it’s Theo.”

“ Huh? ” 

“The one after Eloise. You were stuck on that card for so long, I had to read the word over and over on the back of it for a solid twenty minutes.” 

Rey mentally facepalms. It had been on the tip of her tongue. Of course it was Theo!

“I totally knew that.”

“Right.” Rose nods her head too fast, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn mockingly. “Totally.” 

“I did!” 

“Right. No, you totally did.”

“I did, Rose!” 

“I believe you.” She returns to her music app, selecting some song from a playlist titled ‘roadtrip bangers’. “You totally have the best memory. A true brainwiz to boot.”

Rey shakes her head, opting to retreat back to her flashcards instead, listening to Incubus as their destination loomed closer with each passing mile.

—

The plane, in fact, does not crash to Rey’s luck. 

Despite having booked a window seat, she trades with a freckled kid for the safety of the aisle, opting to focus on the busy movements of the air staff instead. Somewhere between her layover in New York and the Atlantic Ocean, she finally memorized the names of the Solo children and their ages, and even manages to lock down most of their hobbies. 

Rey’s pretty proud of herself to say the least.

Until the turbulence. 

The bloody turbulence. 

She takes the maximum amount of Benadryl allowed on the bottle but rest does not come easily. When they touch ground, Rey’s a scared, wet cat hanging onto the limb of a metaphorical tree. 

She’s pried off the seat below her, really crowbar’d off if she’s being honest, before she’s safely on European soil.

She better get this damn job because she was never doing that again. 

—

On Rey's arrival to Heathrow, she’s pleasantly surprised to find a man in a fitted tux waiting for her in her terminal. He even wears a hat with no visible creases in his suit whilst holding a sign with the words REY NIIMA in black, bold letters. She speedwalks over to him, announcing she was the girl he was waiting for, and they lose no time in making their way through the maze of moving bodies. 

“Hope the flight was up to standard, Miss Niima.” The man, who was her private chauffeur (so cool!) and also named Chewy, quips as he expertly leads her, definitely not his first time having done this prior. “We’ll need to take a detour to customs and immigration first. It’s usually pretty quick especially since we are towards the end of tourist season. We’ll go to baggage claim shortly after.” 

Rey just nods along, feeling a weird mix of excitement and somehow complete and utter dread. 

The commotion of the airport does little to help. The overhead announcements, the constant shoving by of travelers, the intrusive designation scents. Rey wants to plug her nose, to clip a clothespin on her nostrils to keep it all from assaulting her olfactory system. She didn’t like feeling out of sorts especially when she had done her due diligence and made sure she dosed up on her suppressants. As an omega, she has to. Especially since she is yet to be mated like seemingly every one else in her life (except Rose, of course).

She follows close behind Chewy who’s long legs make it so she has to speed walk to keep up. His shaggy, brown hair slides past his shoulders—it dawns on her then that she can’t smell him at all. 

Beta ? Maybe. Incredibly potent suppressants? Absolutely . 

Did all of Mr. Solo’s employees douse themselves so effectively? 

All Rey felt was relief. She was nearing her heat and the last thing she needed was a mishap in her usual routine. She remembered to bring her favorite thick, alpha knot in her carry on for later reprisal. She was due any day as it were and she wanted to be prepared. 

A house with no designation scents was the perfect place for a private heat in her own room. She’d be quiet about it too, gag herself if her heat reared its needy head at her halfway through. 

In the meantime, heat details aside, she continues to tredge behind Chewy, chest swelling in hopeful anticipation as they reach Immigration .

—

The drive out of the airport was unpleasant. To Rey’s horror, Europeans drove only as well as Americans. Though once they were cruising along the English countryside, Rey felt herself relax into the leather interior of the all-black car. It smelled like lysol and some other leather conditioner that made her constantly check to make sure it didn't seep into her jeans. She wanted to look professional. She had packed an A-line skirt and some baby-blue top she had thrifted from some cheap vintage boutique back home. She had also made sure to pack her Mary Jane’s with cute frilly socks she had had since she was fourteen.

She had also packed her peace sign earrings and of course, her collection of chunky bracelets which she wore now. She’d take them off later in hopes of appearing older but right now, Rey just wants to be herself—before she is forced to put on her game face later on.

They passed by rolling hills, long stretches of nothing but endless greenery that reminded her of the golf courses littering most of West Palm, a super city right on the Florida coastline. Rey’s used to swamps and beaches, here in London… well, Rey held a mini funeral for the thought of sunbathing any time soon. 

“You are amongst our first guests,” Chewy quips as he pulls into another vast winding road. “There’s at least half a dozen of you. Mr. Solo has also preassigned your rooms. He’s a stickler like that, always an eye for details… and control.” 

Rey bites the side of her index finger again, leaning her elbow against the car door. “He won’t have to worry about me. I’ll sleep just about anywhere.” 

Give her a pillow and a blanket and she’d make do in some far off corner. Though she did prefer a bed, she didn’t need one, all thanks to Plutt’s eagerness to provide shelter and comfort.

“Mr. Solo doesn’t care for humility if that’s what you’re playing at here.” Chewy gave her an uninterested look as the once gravel road turned butter smooth, the vast greenery from before shifting into tall, exacting hedges that adorned a curved drive-way. There was a column of fat baby cherubs holding various pottery jugs, some with bows and arrows, others in mid-flight. Water spouted from various sections, but it wasn’t that that caught Rey’s attention, but rather the ridiculously large house that stretched across its acre. “Actually he quite dislikes meekness. So beware.” 

Rey was no longer listening, though she really did have a response to this on the tip of her tongue. 

“Is this the Solo residence?” 

Maybe they had pulled onto the wrong road. Rey did it all the time back home, especially whenever she went camping in the everglades, finding herself stuck in knee-deep wetlands or a would-be miniature swamp. 

Chewy levelled her gaze against the rear-view mirror of the car. It sported a flinty look, one that said “ don’t ask stupid questions ”. 

“I’ll retrieve your bags for you, miss. Do let the internal staff know so they can show you to the rooms in the West wing. Once you're settled, your belongings will be brought up to you.” 

“There’s no need. I’ll bring it in myself.” 

Chewy opened her door for her and she stepped out, the sun blinding her so that she needed to use her hand as a temporary visor. It was ridiculous, the largeness of it. The homestead looked less like a home and more like the final stop on an architectural ego trip. It sprawled unapologetically across the manicured land, flanked by immaculate lawns that gleamed too green, too perfect, like something from a high-definition windows screensaver.

“If you insist. They are waiting for you in the foyer.”

Rey gulped, looked back over her shoulder at Chewy before he nodded at her once before slipping back into his black Lincoln SUV. Rey turned back to the house and let out a sigh, making a mental note to call Rose as soon as she had a single moment to do so. 

-

Okay, maybe Rey was way in over her head here. 

There was a British show that she really liked to watch when she’d sit and binge Chili’s takeout with Rose, called ‘Supernanny’. It featured an incredibly bright woman who had the ability to rear seemingly any terrible child into something that actually resembled an ok-human being. Her name was Jo Frost and Rey was surrounded by the replica archetypes of such women. 

Rey, a fresh-faced eighteen year old whose resume barely harbored the ranks of the much more experienced and tough personnel about her. She didn’t like to think she was a pushover as she could put her foot down whenever William triplets tried to persuade to let them stay past their bedtime, but she could also be easily swayed at times. She didn’t like “rearing” with an iron fist, but rather by example and often with love. 

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing to come in here!” A bustier woman wrapped Rey up into a bone-crushing hug. She thanked the heavens for turning her head in time or else she’d be face first into the woman’s generous cleavage. After a suffocating moment, the woman pulled back, still holding Rey by the arms as if inspecting a piece of fruit at the market. “You’ve got that soft look about you. Have you ever changed a diaper in the middle of a blackout with three screaming toddlers hanging off your legs and a casserole burning in the oven?”

Rey blinked, looking out towards the small group, pressing her mouth into a shaky line. “Uh, no.”

“Well, bless your brave little soul.” The woman tsk’d , then called out to the others without looking away. “Girls, we got ourselves a gentle one .”

There were chuckles as four pairs of eyes settled on her and it was like being a chicken egg under a heat lamp for hatching.

“Poor thing,” said a plump woman, smiling warmly. Her green eyes caught the sunlight through the lobby glass, sharp and glinting like a cat’s. They currently took up the West Wing’s lobby (who had a hobby inside their own house?) after Rey had been slightly ambushed. She had been brought up here after being escorted through by Mr. Solo’s wait staff—silent sentinels with nearly no emotion except a curt nod and a robotic “follow me”, before being shown who her direct competition was. “I’m Martha Greenberg. And you are?” 

The eyes are on her again. Her face reddens and she thinks about that alpha-soaked rag that Rose had brought up on their way to the airport nearly a day ago now. If any of the ladies about her could smell her, she was sure she reeked of anxiety. Being scented would sate her for sure, but a doused rag would make all of her conternations come to heel. 

“I’m Rey.” The words came out as a single breath. “Rey Niima. I’m from the states.” 

“As if your accent wasn’t a dead giveaway, HA ! God, you could be my granddaughter! Are you sure you should even be here?” A nameless lady with bottle-cap glasses lets a guffaw of a laugh. It's cacophonous, echoing in the pristine lobby like uncorked lightning. 

Rey moved her mouth to say something, anything, but what was she supposed to even respond? Thank you? No, I probably shouldn’t be here?

Please don’t eat me alive? 

Martha waved at the woman disparagingly, shaking her head. “Hush Lorraine, we don’t want to scare the pup until orientation, at least .” 

Lorraine rolled her eyes in response, pulling out a tin of licorice from her mini purse instead, popping one into her mouth. 

“Come, I’ll show you to the rooms,” Martha grabbed Rey’s forearm and tucked it into the crook of her own. Her scent was muted, Rey couldn’t discern under the layers of powdery aldehydic. They walked through a wide arch, stepping into a corridor that resembled more of a museum (minus the warmth and possibly, the comfortable, muted lighting). Crowned molding kissed the impossibly high ceilings and thick cream-colored runners cushioned their steps. Rey squeezed the handle of her baby blue carry-on, trying hard not to gawk like some poor person (which she was). “You must be exhausted. I have grandkids in the states and they are usually too jet lagged to do anything when they arrive. Are you tired?” 

“A little.”

“You’ll find your European legs soon enough.” She patted her on the shoulder in a way that was supposed to be encouraging. “Or you won’t. Either way, it’ll be something to watch.” 

They turned a corner. More doors, more half wall tables decorated by artificially colored plants. 

Rey gulped. 

Why did it feel like she was willingly trekking into a wolf’s den with her jugular exposed? 

They stopped in front of an unremarkable door from the rest, except this one had two inverted white swans that blended into the wood. 

“Mr. Solo hand-selects his staff, you know. Every year or two, he opens the house to a handful of candidates. Nannies, tutors, house managers—you name it. Only the best survive. Only the best,” the woman opened the brass knob with a thick, wrinkly hand. The room opened like the front cover of World Furniture Magazine. For a split second, Rey felt like she had walked into IKEA. “You and Lorraine are vying for Nanny, Ananya and I are head to head for tutors, and Zuri and another lady who’s not yet here, are for house managers. It’ll be quite the games this year. Yes, indeed.” 

Rey was gobsmacked. For someone who always had something to say, she had been forced mute on multiple occasions just today. 

Lorraine? 

Games?

“I should also inform you that you’ll be roomies with Lorraine. She’s in the room next door. They like to keep us together. We have our possible new boss to thank for the arrangement.” 

“Okay.” 

Martha’s smile stretched and Rey wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or her fried neurons, but she swore something sharpened there. 

“Get some rest. Tomorrow is when the real fun begins!” 

She cackled, closing the door behind her with a resounding click. 

Rey let go of her carry-on. It hid the floor with a dramatic thud! 

Her neck was stiff. Her shoulders were too tight like she couldn't fit properly inside her own skin. Rey searched for her phone, thinking of Rose immediately and for the first time since arrival, she wished her passport had gotten lost like she had dreamed up on the drive to the airport. That every little dramatic scenario she had concocted had somehow come true and she was back in her apartment, watching some shitty show with her best friend, muttering about how unfair life was instead. 

This was teetering on too much. 

She sank onto the too-large mattress and let out a deep sigh. She dialed Rose and waited for her to pick up with bated breath only to further realize how late it was back home. 

She could cry. She really could. 

What the hell had she gotten herself into? 

Chapter Text

Rey felt nauseous.

She’d just endured what was possibly the worst sleep of her entire life, and considering the fact that she slept on a lumpy, discounted mattress she’d bought off someone on Facebook Marketplace, that was saying something. It wasn’t the furniture’s fault as the bed here was absurdly comfortable. Like too comfortable. The real culprit was her hindbrain.

The stupid little voice in the back of her mind that told her she was teetering on the edge of some terrible, culling volcano.

Dramatic, honestly. The worst part of it all, Rey couldn’t shut off her meekish omega to save her life. She kept spiraling, replaying every possible scenario where things could go horribly, embarrassingly wrong. What if she tripped? What if she said something weird? What if she wore the wrong thing to this “orientation” that was now just over an hour away?

And, of course, Lorraine was still hogging their shared bathroom. Rey hadn’t even showered yet, and she was painfully aware she looked like hell. Puffy eyes, frizzy sleep hair, general post-travel disarray. She hadn’t even taken out her stupid retainer yet (state-sponsored, courtesy of Medicaid, not because she could actually afford orthodontic perfection). She was in no shape to face the other women as she didn’t have the mental armor for that right now, let alone her maybe boss.

She just needed ten minutes, a cool shower, and she’d be set.

Or so she hoped.

Rey ran a hand through her short curls as she combed wearily through her carry-on bag. She needed to call the one person in the whole world who always had a plan—who somehow, miraculously, always knew what to do.

“Pick up, come on, pick up.” She paced the room barefoot, her toes sinking into the plush carpet below. She looked at the time above Rose’s contact name (Tico Trouble 🌹), noticing it had to be just past midnight back home. Rey telepathically apologized to her best friend, hoping it carried across the atlantic ocean and into their shared apartment, holding every particle of how much she meant it.

Ring… ring… ring…

Rey squatted down, bringing her knees to her chest as she hugged them like a flotation device. Possibly (and irrationally) if she hunkered down like this, maybe her phone signal would transcend through space time continuum and—

“Rey…? Are you dead?”

She fell over. Flotation devices be damned.

“Rose!”

“Are you okay?” Her voice was sleep-ridden. She could imagine her then, clicking on her bedside lamp, her hair in a skewed, haphazard bun. “Did you get kidnapped? You said you were gonna call after you landed!”

“I did call but it was too late!” Rey took a seat on the bed. “And no, unfortunately, I haven’t been kidnapped. I’m at the Solo residence and Rose, it’s fucking huge. I don’t belong here. I need you to come get me.”

There was silence. Rey peeled the phone away from the side of her face to see if Rose was still on the line. She was.

“Rose.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning. The only reason I will get up right now is if you are actually in danger, which you are not! It hasn’t been twenty-four hours and you are already running.”

“I do not run from things, Rose.”

There’s shuffling in the background followed by a sleepy groan. So what if she was overwhelmed? So what if she felt like she might cry if she didn’t pack her bags right now?

“You totally do.” More shuffling, followed by a yawn. “Something makes you uncomfortable and you run. I read it in a book once, you have an avoidant attachment style.”

“Don’t therapize me right now.”

“You are going to be fine, Rey Niima.” Rose mumbled, not unkindly. There’s the faint noise of a wrapper being opened, possibly her not-so-secret stash of granola bars she kept in her night table. “You’re spiraling. New place, new people, all those damn kids. Plus, let’s be honest, you didn’t sleep on the plane, did you?”

Rey stayed silent.

“That’s what I thought.”

Rey closed her eyes and sighed, shifting onto her side and tucking the phone under her cheek.

“I just… I already feel behind. They’ve all probably done this a hundred times. One of them hugged me and asked if I’d ever changed a diaper in a blackout, like who even asks that?”

Rose gave a quiet snort before swallowing a very loud, definite mouthful of granola. “Sounds like hazing. Just nod and pretend you have. That’s how I got my last job.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I’m resourceful. Look I know things are weird right now but you’ll find your rhythm, okay? Just give it a day. If it’s awful, you can plot your escape, just not yet.”

“I hate it when you are right.”

A loud, obnoxious kiss rang through the receiver. “Whatever you say, boo. Text me on WhatsApp when you meet him, alright? Not iMessage. You are running up my damn phone bill.”

Shit. “I’ll venmo you the difference, promise.”

Her best friend reassured her it was fine and she didn’t need to worry, to which Rey only insisted harder. “I want a full report. Especially if he’s hot!”

“Have a goodnight, Rose.”

She could hear the smile in her voice. “Have a good morning, Rey-bee!”

She hung up before star-fishing on top of the bed’s duvet. She felt tons better, probably more than she deserved. Rose was right, Rey maybe she did want to run away. It was always the safest option. She didn’t do well when she didn’t feel totally secure, when all of her ley lines weren’t bolted and reinforced into the ground. She wasn’t sure if it could be attributed to her designation or a shard of glass embedded somewhere in the flesh of childhood, but she decided not to dwell on it too much.

Her phone buzzed. Rey brought it up to her face.

Little Rebels Nanny Agency 7:02am

[Today’s itinerary attached. Click more for details.]

-

Rey had about twenty minutes to ready herself after Lorraine finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with curlers perched like sentries in her head. She didn’t say good morning, just offered Rey a once-over and mumbled something about "rookie nerves" before disappearing into her side of the adjoining room. Rey stood there for a beat, debating whether she should say something or leave it alone before, like a starter gun going off, she snapped herself into focus.

She brushed her teeth in record time, somehow managed to shower, pin up her hair, and change into the only outfit that felt semi-professional but still like her: high-waisted trousers, a tucked-in cotton blouse, and her peace sign earrings (because even if she was wildly underqualified, she could still show up as herself).

She, thankfully, was able to store away her retainer. The last thing she needed was to show up with those on, heaven forbid.

Little Rebels Nanny Agency – ORIENTATION DAY ITINERARY Confidential. Do not share or distribute.

8:00 AM — Breakfast with Children Location: West Wing Conservatory Note: Casual introductions. No structured activities. Please observe child interactions, meal preferences, and group dynamics.

9:30 AM — Group Interview (All Candidates) Location: Parlor A Led by Mr. Ben Solo Note: Arrive five minutes early. Do not bring personal items.

11:00 AM — Rotating Individual Interviews Location: Private Study (Assigned Upon Arrival) Note: You will be called in one at a time. Please wait in the outer corridor.

1:00 PM — Staff Luncheon (Optional) Location: East Lawn Note: An informal opportunity to meet current household staff.

3:00 PM — Trial Activity Assignments Location: West Garden & Library Wing Note: You will be assigned to one of two stations. Activities include reading aloud, garden games, or general child engagement. Expect observation.

5:00 PM — End of Day Check-In Location: Conservatory (Back Room) Note: Brief debrief with agency coordinator. Opportunity for questions, feedback, and clarification.

Rey stared at the screen and blinked. Would it be so bad if she faked a medical emergency?

It hasn’t been twenty-four hours and you are already running.

Rey was too proud to admit that the words had stung. She took a deep breath, she could face this. She wasn’t going to let her nerves best her. She rolled her shoulders back, tucked her phone into her back pocket before she exited her room.

I’ve got this.

Again, quieter this time. I’ve got this.

-

All six candidates, including Rey, were dutifully picked up by a too-quiet houseworker, a short, stout lady no older than sixty, who led them off into the intricate maze that was the manor. Rey had lost track a few hallways ago, and because she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying and taking in every little detail, she had been consequently pushed to the back of the herd.

Rey didn’t mind. She fathomed it gave her some sort of vantage point. From her view, she could ogle the “competition” (which felt silly to even think up) without being so obvious about it. Martha walked at the front, confidently chatting with another candidate Rey hadn’t caught the name of yesterday—she styled a blonde-grey pixie cut and a pretty but severe, cobalt business suit. She deduced that it must be Zuri’s challenger, vying for house manager, if her outfit choice was anything to go by.

One woman, Ananya, kept fiddling with the collar of her blouse, meticulously leafing through her planner (should Rey have brought one with her too?) as if memorizing something. Lorraine, of course, walked like a woman with tenure, back straight, heels biting the rug, a grievous chignon that she was sure was hiking her eyebrows up to her crown.

Rey smoothed her own shirt, resisting the urge to check for pit stains. She looked down at her empty hands and felt the overwhelming need to suck on the glands on her wrists to self-sooth.

The hall curved again, and then, without ceremony, they stopped at a set of tall, narrow doors framed by climbing ivy. The houseworker pushed them open, and the group was led out into a quiet courtyard. Stone paths wound through a small, manicured garden—hedges trimmed into soft shapes, climbing roses brushing the sides of the manor, the air heavy with jasmine and something citrusy. It felt oddly…peaceful.

They followed the path a short ways, which led them to a wide glass structure nestled at the edge of the greenery.

The conservatory.

It looked like something out of a storybook—half greenhouse, half dining hall, domed and gleaming.

“Stop there.”

Rey nearly ran into the back of Zuri.

“Thank you, Sara. You are dismissed.” The voice was razor sharp. Rey turned around slowly, tracking the woman in question who disappeared quickly down their walkway. “The children are already seated. Orientation will proceed as scheduled. You are here to be evaluated—formally and informally. Any deviation from the provided itinerary will result in your immediate disqualification.”

Dopheld Mitaka.

He looked precisely as Rey remembered on her initial interview on Zoom, except now, rendered in real-world dimensions, he appeared incredibly disagreeable. He had a stern, hawkish face about him, all stark disapproval that was only heightened by his impeccably pressed suit.

Rey wiped her clammy hands against her trousers. Dopheld’s beady eyes swept across the group like a retinal scanner.

“Though only a portion of you are here to work directly with the children,” he said, voice even and impersonal, “this initial setting is required for all incoming household staff. It provides us with a consistent baseline for assessment. Observation in natural environments tends to reveal more than structured interviews ever will.”

Lorraine gave a light chuckle. “Well, that won’t be a problem. You’ll find that I’m quite capable of wrangling some children, Mr. Mitaka.”

He pressed his mouth into a stern line.

“This is not a test on your ability to wrangle children, Miss Clark.” His words were clipped. “We already know you can handle the task. The question is whether you can do it here. With these kids. In this house. You’ll find that the Solo children are… peculiar. Intelligent, outspoken, and, for lack of a better word, unfiltered. They are used to independence. Routines must be implemented but good luck on doing so. It’s not something they’ve responded well to in the past with other staff.”

Lorraine muttered something clipped and vaguely judgmental, but thankfully, she wasn’t asked to elaborate.

Dopheld glanced at the dark folder he’d tucked beneath his arm, flipping it open briefly, eyes scouring over something unseen before snapping it shut again. He let the silence stretch just long enough for it to be uncomfortable.

“Mr. Solo will join today’s evaluation at his earliest availability,” he said, his voice returning to its usual clipped professionalism. “He has an exceptionally demanding schedule. Until then, I will be conducting your assessments.”

Then he glanced toward the conservatory doors.

“As a final note, under no circumstances are you to mention their late mother. It’s a sore topic, as I’m sure you can understand.”

For some reason, Rey hadn’t even thought about the possibility that Mr. Solo’s wife had passed, she had honestly just assumed divorce. It made her stomach twist and her chest fill with something heavy and familiar. Rey understood all too well what it was like to grow up without a mother, the way it made the world feel tilted and terribly incomplete.

Without thinking, she brought her left puffy gland to her mouth and sucked. She thanked the anonymity of being behind everyone else, so no one could judge her for it. She should have grown out of the childish habit long ago but even now, as an adult, she still found its comfort. Her mouth sealed against the ruddiness there, the earthy taste of her own scent grounding her.

Dopheld didn’t pause for sentiment. He simply gave a tight nod and walked a few feet ahead, pulling the conservatory doors wide open.

Warm air spilled out immediately, thick with the smell of jam, toasted bread, orange blossoms, and something faintly medicinal. It was also loud, like the kind of loud where it took her sheer will power not to shove her index fingers into her ears.

Cutlery clanged against porcelain. Voices overlapped like tangled vines. A high-pitched shriek was followed by wild laughter, then someone shouted about a dog—Rey didn’t catch the full sentence—and somewhere beneath the table, a child was clearly crying.

Rey unlatched her mouth. A thin line of saliva caught on her bottom lip before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

Oh.

This had nothing on the William triplets she usually reared.

She stepped forward anyway, because what the hell else was she going to do?

-

The conservatory ceiling arched overhead, all glass and iron latticework that filtered the early morning light through the various vines that crawled across its belly. It was like one of those showrooms in those HGTV magazines, with a too-big table lined with vases of oversized pink chrysanthemums. Rey rubbed at the back of her neck as seven pairs of skeptical eyes turned to regard them, faces as clear and fresh as raindrops.

They really do take after their father, Rey thought before Lorraine easily pushed past her, making a bee line for a chair that was situated right in front of a tiered ensemble of powdered tarts and breakfast muffins. While, yes, she had seen pictures of them weeks ago on the agency site, seeing them in person, it was like their mother genes hadn’t even tried. Rey hadn’t met Mr. Solo but it seemed she wouldn’t have to.

Little pieces of him were all around her. Except Juniper. Rey could still tell her apart, even though she had the nastiest glare on her face as Martha, the tutor, took the empty seat beside her on the other side of the table. She had all that auburn hair that stuck out like a sore thumb, and in a way, it looked a bit like Rey’s.

“Fetch, Bingo!”

The command brokered from somewhere down the line. There was a blur of movement as she pulled out a high-backed chair, trying her best at a warm welcoming smile towards Teddy, one of the younger twin boys (who grimaced in return, might she add), before she saw it.

A meaty, porkchop of a Tibetan mastiff.

Its paws, easily the size of frisbees, pressed hard into the side of the table causing it to scrape over, as the animal stood on its hindlegs, sniffing about with all the enthusiasm afforded to it in the world. Several gasps erupted from the sides of Rey (not Teddy, however, no Teddy merely giggled) as they watched in abject horror how Bingo’s wet, pink tongue lolled saliva across a plate, stealing a half-eaten jelly smeared slice of toast.

Somewhere on the other side of the table, Lorraine shifted in her seat with an audible sigh, arms crossed tight against her chest.

“Father said Bingo’s not allowed in here, Eloise!”

“What will you do, Noah? Tell him?”

“I will!” The little boy snapped, his face flushed pink to the ears, curls bouncing as he leaned across the table.

“You won’t!”

“I will—”

“Okay, shut up!” another voice snapped from the far end. “Both of you are making it worse!”

The room swelled with overlapping voices and the scrape of chair legs as Bingo gobbled down more human food, tail thumping happily under the table. Silverware clinked and rattled as little hands darted for plates, a juice glass tipped and sloshed, and pockets of arguments broke out among them. It was like watching a tiny village burn to the ground in real time.

Rey glanced toward Mr. Mitaka, who might as well have been carved from stone. His expression was unreadable, his eyes lazer-focused as he jotted something on whatever forms were tucked inside his folder.

What the actual hell was happening? Was she allowed to interfere? Did she even want to?

A sharp inhale cut through the chaos.

“If your father said no dog, then it’s no dog!” The voice, shrill and unmistakably Lorraine’s, reared up from behind a saucer-sized chrysanthemum, her face hidden by the bloom. “Children are to obey rules. To be seen and not heard. Put that dog away!”

Silence. It would’ve been less jarring if Rey’s competition had set off a shrapnel bomb.

Juniper wrinkled her nose as if she’d caught a whiff of something rotten, the oversized pink bow in her hair slipping ungracefully down her forehead. Beside her, Eloise rolled her eyes with such theatrical disdain that Rey was almost certain she saw part of her brain. And Teddy, Rey’s seat buddy, stood stiff as a board, looking like he was seriously considering feeding Lorraine to Bingo as a midday snack.

“Lorraine, perhaps we should—” Rey was just as quickly interrupted.

A chair scraped back and Lorraine, no longer hidden by the flower tarp, moved swiftly as she trekked past the row of children, her eyes locked in on the sable-colored mastiff.

“Give me that Bingo! Come here!”

“Leave him alone!” Eloise’s small face was beet red, her dark hair cut into a stylish bobbed sashayed about her shoulders as she stood up on her chair. “Get away from him!”

Mr. Mitaka continued unfazed. Zuri, Martha, and Anaya watched on, feeding themselves to the tiered tree of confectioned goods. Rey’s pulse skittered under her skin as none of them moved to say anything, too shrewd or whatever to jump into the fray. Even Rey knew this was a bad idea, trying to wrangle a dog that didn’t know you, let alone one this hefty.

“Bad boy!” Lorraine’s voice rose as she nearly closed the distance.

Bingo, utterly unfazed, shifted his weight, placing another enormous paw on to the delicate porcelain plate from before. Its jowls swung merrily as it swallowed yet another offending breakfast item into its large mouth, scattering crumbs and stick blobs of fig jam across the polished tabletop.

Lorraine gasped like there had been a murder.

Rey stood up slowly herself, “Lorraine, maybe you shouldn’t do that—”

“Bad dog, Bingo! Bad dog!”

“Don’t grab him!” Eloise cried.

In hindsight, when Rey looked back at this moment in the distant, far off future, she would recall this as the moment where everything had officially gone awol.

Lorraine lunged for the mastiff’s collar. Her mistake, really.

With one enthusiastic jerk, Bingo reared back like an excited colt and scrambled further onto the tabletop, sending a plate of muffins clattering to the ground and knocking a carafe of orange juice across the once pristine linens.

There was a collective gasp.

Chaos erupted. Children shrieked, chairs scraped backward violently, and Rey instinctively reached for a laughing Teddy, to move him out of the line of fire.

“Oh, great heavens!” Martha wailed, wobbling away, abandoning the child next to her entirely.

“Look at what you did now, Eloise!”

Bingo pivoted toward the commotion, clearly delighted by all the newfound attention towards himself. His giant paws skidded across the plates of glazed pastries, sending them hurtling like sugary missiles forcing Rey to duck as to miss a torpedo of a lemon tart. Lorraine continued shouting incoherently, still clutching the dog’s collar in the kind of vice like grip you’d see only in seasoned bull riders, and Bingo, clearly mistaking the struggle for play, twisted happily, dragging Lorraine sideways into the table and chairs, until her silk blouse was smeared purple and red with jams and fruit compote.

“Get OFF!” Lorraine howled.

Rey was a terrible person, she knew, because she was fighting the inappropriately timed urge to laugh.

It bubbled in her throat, hot and traitorous, urging the corners of her mouth to curl up with it. She pressed her lips together and forced herself to focus, to stay composed, because if she started laughing now, she would never stop. And she’d never live it down. Not with Lorraine. Not with the children. Not with the very real possibility that she might lose this job before she even had it.

So, instead, she started forward—toward the wreckage, toward Lorraine, who was flailing pitifully. Rey may not have been her biggest fan, but that didn’t mean she could stand by and do nothing. Helping was instinctual, an automatic response that she blamed on her designation. Maybe if she just grabbed the back of Lorraine’s blouse and yanked—

But then Bingo turned and it was like a shift in the air, like fate cracking its knuckles.

His massive head swung toward her. Tongue lolling, eyes wide and sparkling with manic joy.

And then he locked on. Rey froze mid-step.

No.

Absolutely not.

Rey took a cautious half-step back and turned sharply toward Mr. Mitaka, silently pleading for backup—for a command, a distraction, a tranq dart—anything, but he had sequestered himself into a corner, watching over conspiratorially.

Great. Rey had always wanted to become a dental chew.

“Stay, Bingo. Do not come over here. Bingo—!” With an excited bark, Bingo broke free from Lorraine’s jelly-covered hands, knocking over a large vase with his hind leg, before barreling himself at her, knocking the air straight from her lungs and sending her crashing backward onto the tile.

A filigree of giggles erupted from one side of the room but it was all static as she landed hard on her ass with a muffled yelp, Bingo’s slobbery muzzle smearing jam across her collarbone and neck. A buttered scone landed just past her head with a splat.

Rey stared up at the conservatory ceiling, heart hammering in disbelief as she coughed out hard, Bingo’s joyous face eclipsing her vision. Her outfit was definitely ruined, her dignity absolutely shredded.

Was she alive? Did she still know how to breathe?

This was officially the worst first impression of her entire life.

Above her somewhere, a man cleared his throat. Rey twisted her head, mortification blooming hotter than her embarrassment. She expected Dopheld, or maybe some other staff member with the authority (and upper body strength) to remove the pony-sized dog currently pinning her down. But of course, Rey Niima would never be that lucky. She blinked through the stars in her vision and squinted up at the figure that now loomed right above her.

And it wasn’t just someone.

It was the last man on earth she’d want to see her like this.

He stood there with furrowed brows and dark, unsparing eyes, taking in the chaos like some long-suffering war general. Rey felt her stomach plummet.

It was Mr. Solo.

-

Yeah, Rey must have died and gone to the underworld.

She knew this because she was certain she was on the river Styx, ghostly body tethered to her mortal shame, and that Ben Solo, her potential employer, the man she was meant to impress, charm, and possibly even get to babysit for, was standing on the riverbank, watching her drown in dog spit and jam.

He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there.

Unblinking.

Assessing.

Above her, Bingo gave an affectionate woof, then plopped a sticky paw on her thigh. Rey grimaced as another smear of jelly dragged across lower belly where the blouse had hiked up.

And still, Mr. Solo said nothing.

Was this it? Was she going to be asked to leave? Deported? Marched off the grounds in shame with Bingo trotting happily behind her?

With one smooth motion, he crouched beside Bingo, curled his fingers around the dog’s collar, and gave it a single, firm tug. Bingo immediately huffed and slunk backward, tail wagging but subdued. Rey felt the weight of a small asteroid lift off her ribs.

She lay there a second longer, praying nothing was broken.

Her health insurance was garbage, and the last thing she needed was to end her day at the local clinic.

“Here, let me help you,” his voice was deep and even. He didn’t wait for her to extend a hand but simply squatted down, hiking his pants to accommodate his crotch, and reached for her, his hand slipping around the inside of her upper arm.

It was an assist. A plain simple, efficient thing that would help her get on her feet. Yet, as his palm closed over just beneath her deltoid, something lit up somewhere in her hindbrain like a sparkler.

He squeezed the skin, pulling her up, but instead of letting her go, his hand shifted down, moving to cup just above her elbow.

“Sir—”

“Sit.” and she sat. Thankfully, it was a chair that was so near them they hardly had to move much to get her there. His hand still hadn’t left her. Her brain must’ve been on a two-second delay, probably the beginnings of a concussion, because it didn’t make sense that she could feel him like she felt her bone marrow. “Dopheld, call the staff to clean up this mess. Who’s this child?”

Rey looked up at him through her lashes and felt her cheeks turn liquid lava hot.

Rey was no child. She paid taxes. Had a voter registration card. She even remembered to schedule her dental cleanings every six months as recommended.

“She’s the American,” Dopheld spoke dryly. “Your second candidate for childcare provider.”

Ben’s eyes dropped back to Rey.

Still seated. Still sticky. Still flushed all the way down her throat like she’d swallowed a sunburn.

He hadn’t moved his hand yet. His fingers still curled warm around the bend of her arm.

Rey swallowed. “I’m not a child… Sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Rey Niima,” she said, and wow, her voice sounded even worse out loud than it did in her head—thin and embarrassingly breathy, like she’d just been asked to read the morning announcements at a sex club.

“Age?”

“Eighteen. Well, technically nineteen in May but—”

He stepped back at that, letting out a breath. Then his voice, flat and unreadable. “Get her cleaned up as well.”

He turned and side-stepped her and suddenly all of the children broke into a fit of laughter.

“Father!”

“Did you see Bingo jump?”

“Where have you been? You said you’d join us for breakfast!”

“She smells like strawberries!”

And Mr. Solo, who had just spent the last minute issuing sharp commands like it was second nature, softened instantly like butter.

He knelt to catch Juniper mid-run, giving her a big smooch on the cheek, as Teddy grabbed his arm to which his father hauled him up like he weighed less than an insignificant dumbbell. Noah was the first to broach the subject about the issue of jelly and Bingo to which Mr. Solo just nodded, quiet and patient, pressing another close-mouthed kiss to the top of another child’s hair as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Rey blinked from her seat, both sticky and stunned. 

Lorraine tsked nearby, arms crossed, blouse still stained with quite nearly everything. “Well,” her voice was saccharine and too mocking for someone who looked so ridiculous, “that was one way to make an impression.”

Rey turned just enough to look at her and rolled her eyes, wiping away the jam from her neck, sighing loudly.

She couldn’t wait to tell Rose about this. Rose would hardly believe her. Or the fact that Rey was nearly positive that Mr. Ben Solo was not a beta. Rey couldn’t prove it, obviously, as she hadn’t smelled him. Whatever suppressants he took must be industrial grade or something, because despite his closeness, he’d been scentless. However, his height, broadness, and that distinct alpha arrogance was nearly tell-tale.

When she had applied for the position, the requisition had made it clear that he was a beta. Rey would like to think that she wouldn’t have taken the position otherwise or at most, would have reconsidered.

She’d find out soon enough. Assuming she could survive the day without Bingo's peculiar interference or anything else for that matter.