Page 39 of One Night With The Nanny

“I do apologize. I’m worthless lately,” Max said.

Banks sighed wearily as he backed through the door and held it for Max. “I think it’s great,” he said, even though his tone suggested otherwise. “You work too hard and I’m glad you’re finally doing something about your sad personal life. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I won’t need that statement I prepared, just in case you were the bodies-in-the-basement kind of sad. This is just an inconvenience for me because it requires me to do my job,” he informed Max testily, making him grin.

Banks always went above and beyond, and his dry, caustic demeanor belied his fanatical devotion to Max and to absolute perfection. Nothing happened in Max’s orbit without Banks’s knowledge and approval.

“I’d like to order something…custom for Mr. Marshall and I need it by tomorrow night.”

“How ‘custom’ are we talking?” Banks asked with another bored sigh. He shuffled his planner and folders so his iPad was on top. “I can think of a few jewelers who can deliver overnight if you already know what you want.”

“No. Not jewelry. I was thinking more…”

“Like cologne? I know someone who—”

“Not a cologne.” Max rolled a hand and cleared his throat suggestively.

“I see,” Banks said as he tapped. “Custom leather BDSM and kink toys?”

“Yes.” Max ducked his head, giving his cheeks a moment to cool. His lips felt like curving and God help Max if he started grinning. “That will work, although, I’m not exactly sure what he would like.”

“Hmm…” Banks chewed on his lip while he browsed. “In that case, I’d suggest an assortment of things you like. That should appeal to his curiosity.” He glanced up and cringed at Max. “Assuming you know what you like.”

“I confess that I don’t entirely know, but there aren’t many things I don’t like and I do like that Mr. Marshall is so assertive and I would like to encourage…more of that.”

Banks made a thoughtful sound. “That would appeal to most people, I’d think. I’ll look into this. Perhaps something along the lines of a starter kit, in case he’s unsure as well.”

“Thank you, Banks,” Max said as he went to his desk to check his email.

“Have you decided on dinner and where you’d like to stay?”

“I have. Call George and ask for my usual table and I was thinking the Plaza. I’d like dinner to be relaxed, but privacy will be the priority for the rest of the night.”

“Of course, sir. More orchids?”

“Please. Mr. Marshall is very fond of his orchids.”

“Already noted,” Banks muttered at his iPad.

There were no emails from Reid so Max turned his attention back to their evening. “Hot pink. In regards to that custom order, if it’s an option: go with hot pink. If not, black.”

“Noted.”

14

Friday, 6:48 p.m. …

It had been close to two decades since Reid had gone on a “real” date and his gut was screaming that he was losing control. But he was feeling good about his ensemble as he turned in front of the mirror. Normally, Reid dressed like James Bond when he went out, preferring precision tailoring to show off his best features and exceptional taste.

For his date with Max, Reid had actually gone to the back of his closet and selected a Fendi double-breasted black wool blazer and a pair of high-waisted pleated trousers. He completed the look with a sheer black sweater in lightweight cashmere and patent leather loafers, hoping the comfort and extra glamor would give him a hit of confidence.

He couldn’t explain why he was so nervous as he showered and Reid decided to skip shaving, accepting that a two-day beard would compliment the more casual lines of his suit better than a face covered in razor burn and cuts. He told himself it added to his swagger as he spritzed himself with his favorite cologne and checked his hair one last time.

“Oh! That’s nice!” Dash exclaimed from the sofa and pointed when Reid came out to pace in the living room. “Never seen you wear a suit you could breathe in before,” he teased, making Gavin snort from his armchair.

“This isn’t a hunting expedition,” he murmured and Reid held up his hands, shrugging.

“Normally, I have no interest in looking decent or respectable, but the goal is to look like a competent, upstanding, and suitable prospect for Max, in case anyone should recognize him while we’re out tonight.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Dash replied, returning to the book Reid had loaned him about understanding girls with ADHD.

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