Page 53 of Holiday Hire

My scowl deepens.

Phoebe answers, "He's leaving after breakfast. I saw there's a noon flight with plenty of seats left."

Lance's eyes narrow. He demands, "You meanwe'releaving."

"No," she says.

Ace cries out, "You can't take Phoebe! She's our nanny. Dad, tell him!"

"Yeah. We haven't had our beach party yet," Isabella pipes up, her eyes widening.

Arrogance fills Lance's expression. He adds, "It doesn't seem to make sense for her to fly back on her own tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Dad, tell him he can't take Phoebe!" Wilder demands.

I squeeze my fist tighter. I always knew this was coming. I had prepared all sorts of things to tell the kids when it was time for Phoebe to leave, but I can't think of one of them right now. I glance at her, and my heart thumps harder.

She stares at her plate, biting her lip. Her anxiety adds more fuel for my hatred of the man sitting next to her.

Lance announces, "Your dad's firing her tomorrow. And I don't see any point in letting her go through that. If she comes with me, she won't be alone and upset on the plane."

Before I can think about the repercussions, I blurt out, "Who said I'm firing Phoebe?"

Lance arches his eyebrows, challenging me. "She said come Monday, she won't have a job."

"No, that's not what I said," Phoebe interjects, glaring at him, then refocusing on me. She takes a deep breath, lifts her chin, and squares her shoulders, claiming, "I'm staying until tomorrow, until you make your decision."

Willow says, "Decision? What decision? That's a ridiculous statement. There is no decision to be made here. You're perfectfor the boys, and you're a great nanny. There's no reason that you would leave. Alexander, reassure her."

I don't say anything. A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard.

"Dad, Phoebe can't leave. Tell her she's staying," Ace whines.

"Yeah, Dad. Besides the beach party we haven't had yet, who's going to make sure we have food at our house? I'm getting used to it now," Wilder chimes in.

Lance puts his hands in the air, stating, "It's okay, kids. Phoebe doesn't need to work anyway. We're getting married. I've got plenty of money. Once she pops out a baby, she'll have her own nanny, won't you, babe?"

A wave of heat floods my veins until nausea pummels me. An image of Phoebe in a wedding dress saying "I do" to the idiot in front of me and then with a big belly, bearing his children, taunts me.

Paisley chirps, "You're getting married?"

"Yeah, you're getting married?" Willow follows with a doubtful tone, then glances at Phoebe's hand.

Phoebe shakes her head. "No, we're not getting married. Lance has never asked me to marry him."

He claims, "I've talked about it quite a bit."

Dad narrows his eyes, questioning, "Have you asked her father for permission, son?"

Lance straightens up in his chair. His expression turns solemn. He reveals, "Phoebe's father isn't in the picture."

Phoebe's cheeks turn bright red. Shame and embarrassment cross her expression, and it makes me want to kill Lance. I don't know what the story is, but it's apparent she's upset about it.

Mom coos, "Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that."

I want to ask her what happened to her father, but now isn't the time.

Willow tilts her head, her eyes in slits. She hurls out, "So you've gotten down on one knee? You've given her a ring?"

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