Page 2 of The Nanny's Bossy Billionaire

This is another level, I thought,even for him.

“How much does he owe?” Stella asks.

I take a breath. “Two hundred and eighty-nine thousand dollars.” My heart skips a beat every time I say that number out loud. We do not have that kind of money. Not even if we pool all our savingsandsell off Mom’s struggling antique shop.

“Holy shit! That’s a lot of money.” Stella states the obvious.

My bun is suddenlytoo tight. I sit and whip off the band, massaging my throbbing temple. “I know. I just… I’m so tired I want to take a nap, and hopefully, when I wake up, this will all have gone away.”

“We’ll figure something out, okay,” Stella says, rubbing my shoulder.

“Thanks, babe.” Then I remember the shirtless guy. “You’re ignoring your…guest,” I say, for lack of a better word.

“Jake? Oh, he’s just leaving.” Her voice drops. “By the way, girrrl, the mechanics of what that guy’s tongue can do needs to be studied… now if only he had a personality to match, I’d be set for life.”

This is something I did not need to know. Ever. “Eww, Stella.”

She laughs. “I know, I love you too. Get some sleep.”

A few hours later, I’m still in bed when I hear Stella’s excited yelp, and in seconds, her footsteps get nearer until my door crashes open.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” She’s fanning herself with one hand and the other one is holding her phone.

“What is it?” I sit up.

“I just booked Cherise!” she says, and my eyes pop.

“Cherise as intheCherise?” Cherise is one of the biggest pop stars on the scene, on tour in New York next month. Stella had been raving about going to oneof her concerts.

“How—” I begin.

“Word of mouth, I guess. Her manager just called. They need an extra make-up artist for both concerts—in Madison Square and Newark. I can hardly believe it!”

“Well, I can. You’re so good at what you do. She is lucky to have you on her team.”

“Aww! Thanks, babe. You know we have to celebrate, right?” She starts texting someone.

“Yeah. I’ll get champagne.” I shuffle off the bed.

“No. Forget that. We’re going out.” She puts her phone down and looks at me. I know that look. It’s almost pointless to argue with Stella when she gets like that. Still, I try. Loud music and sweaty bodies are so not my idea of unwinding.

“It’s a Friday,” she says, “and after the day you just had, you could use a drink or three.”

“Yeah,” I agree, “but we can do it here.”

“Not at home. That’s depressing alcoholic behavior,” she says. “We need a night out.”

“Stella—”

“Brooke, come on.” She holds both my hands. “I don’t want to go by myself. We’ll come back early. I promise.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”

She beams, gives me a quick hug, then picks up her buzzing phone.

She looks at it for a second then sends me a look of triumph. “And I just got us into the Empire! C’mon, we need to get ready.” She’s already shooing me toward her room.

“Hey,” I protest. “I can get dressed by myself.”

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