Page 55 of One Sweet Lie

“Which ones?” I asked. “All I’ve heard are compliments.”

He placed his hands on the counters behind me, caging me against his chest.

“It’s not appropriate for my son to see your extensive bra collection or get glimpses of your hardened nipples.”

“I doubt he knows what he’s looking at.”

“He also doesn’t appreciate you prancing around his house in tight-ass-shorts without panties.”

“These tight-ass-shortsaremy panties.”

“I’m paying you enough to invest in pants.”

“Then it sounds like I need a raise.”

He let out a growl, and I kept my face stoic even though it turned me on.

“Look,” he said. “I’ve been letting you get away with certain antics because you’re my longest lasting nanny—” He pressed his forehead against mine, and I resisted the urge to inhale hisscent. “—but you need to revisit my guidelines on proper attire, or we’re going to have a huge problem.”

“Whenever I get a break from your children, I will do that.” I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, wait. I haven’t had an off day since my last one. Do you remember it, by chance?”

He looked like he was about to explode.

Prying his fingers from the counter, he looked me up and down before walking away.

I pressed a hand against my chest, attempting to calm my racing heart.

I forgive you for still liking him. You’ll get over him soon enough, though.

Before I could pull out a game for the twins, Miss Banks, the kitchen manager, waltzed toward the granite island with her usual brown bags.

“I’m here with today’s breakfast!” She announced.

“I have organic, stone pound grits and oats for the sweet babies,” she said, setting out the containers, “with complementing celery and apple juice puree.”

“They haven’t been drinking the puree lately,” I said. “They don’t like it.”

“For his beautiful niece,” she continued without skipping a beat, “I have coconut flour pancakes with mango syrup and a flavorful protein shake.”

“I can guarantee she won’t eat that,” I said. “She doesn’t have any allergies, so is there a reason her food is on the Paleo and keto spectrums?”

“What doyouknow about spectrums?”

“A lot.”

“Well—” She crossed her arms. “I’ve been managing the pantries and meal deliveries at Mr. Dawson’s properties for years. I doubt your definition of ‘a lot’ amounts to much.”

“I’m not trying to offend you,” I said. “I’m simply letting you know what the kids aren’t enjoying. I won’t force them to eat what they don’t like, and I can give you a list of foods that might be better for them.”

“Stay in your lane,Nanny.” She slammed down the utensils. “The menus for Mr. Dawson’s children are prepared weeks in advance, with the help of myself, a world-renowned nutritionist, and a chef who has literally cooked for royalty. Have you ever cooked for royalty?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then I don’t think any of the culinary team members should care what you think.” She shrugged. “Serve everything per my instructions, and I’ll return with the twins’ lunch a little after one o’clock.”

The moment she left, I offered a spoonful of oats to William.

He spat it up in disgust.

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