Page 3 of Falling for the Single Daddy

“I invented games,” I tell him. “For example, once, they tried to challenge me by bouncing up and down on their parents’ bed. That wasn’t allowed. So I took them to the park and told them to see who could jump up and down the most times. By the time we got home, they were exhausted.”

His lip twitches again, and he efficiently types something on his phone. Keeping notes, I guess. I shift in my seat and then take a sip of my iced tea. I wouldn’t have said I got nervous during interviews before meeting Gray. “But what if you couldn’t take time to do something like that, but they were still behaving hyperactively?”

“There’s a time and a place for every style,” I say. My voice falters briefly, but I force myself to speak more steadily. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that throws me off my game. But it’s not weird. It’s not creepy. It’s just him. “I prefer to take a more creative approach. If I had to be stern with the twins, I would. But that was rare. Once I developed a relationship with them and they respected me, I could mostly have conversations with them. Convince them to control their behavior rather than force them to.”

“How would you do that?”

“For example, once, my employer asked me to bring them to a speech he was giving. They didnotwant to go.” I smile at the memory, but it’s tarnished by how the stockbroker ogled me from the podium. My skin crawls just thinking about it now. “So I explained to them that this was important to their daddy. I hada long conversation with them. I had to go over it several times, but eventually, they understood. The boys were very motivated by challenges, so if I could turn it into a game, that would always help.”

“It must’ve been hard leaving them,” Gray says.

“It was,” I admit. “But I never forgot that I was there for a specific role. There are two big mistakes nannies make—caring too much and not caring enough.”

His lip twitches into an almost-smile. A tingle dances down my spine and to my core. I squeeze my legs together under the table. What the heck is wrong with me? I hope none of this shows. It’s just his gaze, his arms, the swells of his chest, the attention. He’s hot, mature—Shut up, brain.

“My property is under surveillance,” he says. “Inside and out. Since I will be leaving my daughter with you, I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Of course,” I tell him. “She’s your baby. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I have access to the cameras in real-time, and the footage is recorded on a server with almost infinite bandwidth. I don’t delete old footage. All my cameras have audio, too. This may seem paranoid—”

“It doesn’t,” I tell him honestly.

“My previous nanny was stifling my daughter’s creativity. I only learned about that because of my surveillance. The cameras have lights on them, though, Callie. When I’m actively watching them, they glow red. I think it’s fair for you to know this just in case…”

He trails off. Again, my skin sizzles.Just in case I’m getting changed. Just in case I’m in a bikini and using the pool, and you’re watching me, and my body is covered in water, and I imagine you wanting me as badly as I want—Oh, God. I really need to stop.

“I get it,” I say. “That’s completely fine.”

“Do you read?” he asks.

I nod.

“What sort of books?”

“All sorts,” I say, not wanting to admit the truth.

“What genres do you read most often?”

Could I lie? Why don’t I want to tell him? If I lie, though, he might ask me specific questions. “Romance,” I murmur.

His eyes widen slightly. I don’t have to tell him they’re steamy romances. I don’t have to tell him that. Sitting here, I almost feel like we’re in one of those stories now. I don’t have to tell him that, before I met him, I could never imagine the faces of the romance heroes, even if the author described them. But now, they have his face. They’re all Gray.

“Ah,” he says. “Why romance?”

How the fuck is this relevant?I almost snap. But that would be a mistake.

“They’re a break from everyday life,” I say, shrugging, hoping he doesn’t make the obvious point that all fiction fits that description. “I guess they give me a perfect version of reality, too. But I like classics, too. And crime. I’ll read anything.”

“Emery reads a lot,” he says with evident fatherly pride. “She devours books. That’s why I asked. Maybe keep her away from romances, though,” he chuckles.

Okay, he’s laughing. Any awkwardness I imagined was probably in my head. I have to remember that this is one-sided. I’m the one looking at his corded arms, andmymind is trying to tug me to silly places. He’s not thinking about me that way or losing his head.

“I’ll encourage her,” I tell him. “I’ll take her to the library or the bookstore and help her discover her own relationship to books rather than forcing one on her. I believe all kids should have that, Mr., erGray.”

Before he can reply, footsteps pitter-patter around the corner. I turn to see a girl with boundless energy, her eyes wide and bright, her hair black and slightly messy in an adorable way. “Oh, hello!” she says socially, sounding very precocious for a seven-year-old.

“Hello,” I say, smiling.

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