Page 14 of The Nanny's Bossy Billionaire

“I’m sorry,” I say, lifting her and seating her gently on the couch. “I have to go.”

“What’s the matter?” she asks, deflated.

“Nothing, darling.”Every-fucking-thing“Stay and have fun, I need to leave.”

I approach the boys on my way out.

One of the strippers is still on their table and Ryan is about to take a shot while Lee, Wyatt, and the others cheer him on. I know Ryan is well past drunk because sober, you couldn’t get him to drink from the same cup as anyone, let alone take a shot from a stripper’s belly button.

“Great, right?” Wyatt asks him after he’s slurped it.

“Awesome.” Ryan agrees with a goofy smile, his eyes bright.

I look at my phone. It’s 2:04 a.m.

“I have to leave,” I tell them.

“But we just got here,” Lee protests.

“We got here three hours ago, Lee.”

“Really? Has it already been that long?”

“Yes,” I say. “I have Lisa tomorrow. Zoey will kill me if I get home at five in the morning.”

“Bye, Xaviboy,” Ryan says cheerfully, taking a swig of another drink.

I collect Vanessa, who has no qualms about ditching the random guy she was with when I offer to take her home. Whatever hopes she had of anything happening shrivels and dies the moment we get into the limousine and she notices my dark mood.

I’m seething. Not at Vanessa. At myself. Andher.

I wake to the sounds of tiny feet.Lisa’s here, I think. Since she figured out how to work the elevator, she comes and goes as she pleases. Which reminds me again, I need to set a password on the elevator.

As much as I adore Lisa, my home isn’t exactly a place a five-year-old should come running to at odd hours because of my predilection for being unclothed. I hear her little feet run toward her room, and I throw the covers off, pulling on sweatpants and a T-shirt.

I hear another voice that makes me pause. It’s not Zoey. The voice calls out again, and I’m out of my room in a flash.

I descend the curving stairs leading from the mezzanine into the living room and my feet come to a halt when I see the woman standing by the east side glass wall looking at the view of the Hudson River. My bare feet are soundless but perhaps it is because the roaring in my head has drowned them out.

It couldn’t be.

I takein the mass of ash-blonde hair piled atop her head to the graceful line of her neck. She’s wearing a pink cotton shirt tucked into calf-length jeans and sketchers. Simple clothes that she manages to make look downright obscene with that… ass.

Fuck, I’m hard.

Because there stands the object of my obsession. She’s returned as suddenly as she left. And in my living room.

What the hell kind of game is she playing?

I walk toward her slowly, my bare feet soundless on the warm marble floor. “Brooke?” I say softly.

She jumps and whirls around in shock. Which freezes on her face when she sees me. She pales, then blushes furiously as she recognizes me.

“Wha—Xavier…” she squeaks. “Um.” She tries again, clearing her throat, then it dawns on her. “Oh my God! You live here.” It’s a statement rather than a question.

“I didn’t know.” She tries to meet my level stare. And fails.

“Are you sure about that?” I say coldly, folding my arms across my chest.

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