Page 38 of One Sweet Lie

“I don’t want a ‘thank you.’ I want anoff day.”

“I appreciate the fact that you’ve lasted longer than all my previous nannies, and my children seem to like you.” He ignoredmy request and leaned even closer, so close that his lips were nearly touching mine. “And even though you’re still refusing to download my mandatory staff app, I’ve decided to adjust my work schedule to show you how much you mean to me.”

“Are you saying I can go home early today?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m saying I’ll give you an hour to pack whatever clothes you need for a trip.”

“A trip where?”

“If you’d downloaded my app, you’d know that.” He stepped back. “I’m hosting my A-team on my yacht while Olivia is on fall break. You’ll need to tend to the children while we’re aboard.”

“How the hell is that showing your appreciation for me?”

“Don’t sound so ungrateful, Miss Hawthorne.” He smirked. “You said you needed a change of scenery, correct?”

Motherfucker…

FIFTEEN

HARLOW

TheSS Rayasailed across the sea so smoothly that I could barely feel the waves.

Calling it a “yacht” was like calling a McLaren a car. It was a floating hotel with endless amenities for all its guests: Two theater rooms, a business wing, a full-service kitchen, a spa, a hair salon, and lavish guest rooms.

Despite the stunning ocean views, I still felt like I was in Manhattan.

William and Charlotte weren’t the slightest bit calmed by the waters, and their oh-so-generous father was too busy with his team to give me more than an hour’s break at a time.

Tonight was our second night aboard, and he was hosting an ‘all-white’ party on the top deck; Me and the children weren’t invited.

Annoyed and armed with my favorite apron, I strolled past the parlor rooms in search of the kitchen.

I hit the lights and gasped.

“Wow…”

With its sleek white and gleaming state-of-the-art ovens and perfectly organized tools in glass cabinets, this was every chef’s dream.

Walking to the fridge, I saw everything I needed for tiramisu, cupcakes, and turnovers.

I carried them over to the prep station and turned on a range.

“What are you doing, Miss Hawthorne?” Olivia stepped in front of me.

“I’m cooking some dessert.Alone.”

“But you’re not a chef.”

“Okay.” I rolled up my sleeves, refusing to let her bother me.

“You’re supposed to be watching the twins.”’

“I am.” I held up my phone, showing her the nursery camera. “They’re sleeping until bath time.”

She plopped down on a stool, eyeing me.

I don’t care.

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