Page 4 of My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked 3)

He rested his hands on his legs and leaned forward. “Would you believe I’m an international bestselling author?”

I gasped.

“Are you all right, love?”

“Yes,” I squeaked. “You wouldn’t happen to use a pen name, would you?”

His left brow raised debonairly. “As a matter of fact, I do. Taron Taylor.”

The bated breath I had been holding came out in a rush. “Oh.”

His lips curled up. “Have you heard of me?”

I nodded and, unfortunately, I could feel my cheeks burn.

“A fan,” he said, ever so pleased. “I love fans.”

“I never said I was a fan,” came rushing out of my mouth before I could stop it. I didn’t want to be rude to him. It was a conditioned response to men. A defense mechanism, if you will.

He didn’t believe a word or seem to take offense. “Which book is your favorite?” He flashed me a disarming smile.

It was enough to almost make me blurt out how much I loved Silent Stones, but I stopped myself. “I think our platinum premium account would suit you,” I suggested instead of answering.

He laughed this deep, rich laugh. “Aspen, was it? I like you.”

I tucked my long, brown hair behind my ear. “Um, the account has a competitive APY, no fees, online and mobile banking—” I started to ramble, amusing him more.

“Sounds brilliant.”

“I’ll need your passport, individual tax identification number, and—”

His phone rang, interrupting me. He held up his finger. “One moment please. I must take this.” He answered and walked out but kept me and his nephew in his line of sight. He kept smiling at me and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe this was happening. I had the exact same thoughts, but wondered why he felt that way. And why did he think we had met?

Henry had cried himself to sleep against me. I stroked his baby-soft brow. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I had to keep myself from tearing up. When I looked back up, Mr. Wickham or Taylor or whoever he was, was now pacing, running his hands through his gorgeous hair. I mean, his hair. It was just hair.

“What the bloody hell am I going to do now? I don’t have time for this.” His voice, while raised, was discreet given he wasn’t in private. I still couldn’t believe he was here, and that I was holding his sweet nephew. I shifted him on my lap, trying to get more comfortable. It was amazing how much heavier they felt as they slept. I missed these days, though Chloe and I did snuggle on the couch when we watched our favorite shows and stuffed our faces with popcorn.

Mr. Wickham paced and paced some more, talking more quietly. “Stella, I can’t just pick someone off the street.” He glanced at me and his nephew before abruptly stopping. His lips curled and his eyes brightened. “Let me call you back. I think I have an idea.” He hung up without another word and shoved his phone into his pocket. He walked back in, his lips pressed together, assessing me even more than he had previously.

“Ms. Parker, do you like your job here?”

“Um . . .” That was an unexpected and uncomfortable question given the morning I’d had.

“Hesitation,” he said, pleased. He shut the office door and leaned against it.

I couldn’t help but stare at him. The picture on his book cover didn’t do him justice. Which was ridiculous. Because my second thought was that this was inappropriate. Closed doors had become something of a taboo. You’d be surprised at some of the salacious stories that had circulated around the bank.

I bit my lip. “Mr. Wickham—”

He pushed off the door. “Please call me Miles.” He took his seat back, grinning between me and his nephew, who, by the tender look he gave him, he was obviously fond of. “You see, Aspen, I’m in a bit of a bind. I came here because of my sister’s last wishes and to work on my novel.”

I wanted to say it was about time—I needed that book—but instead I attentively listened.

“She loved Carrington Cove,” he said wistfully.

“I grew up there. It’s a beautiful place.” My parents still lived there. Chloe and I lived in Edenvale because it was cheaper and closer to work.

He clapped his hands together. “Splendid. I think a bit of kismet is at play here.”

“I’m not following you.”

He gave me a charming grin. “I’m in need of someone who can be both a nanny to my nephew and a personal assistant to me.”

I laughed, startling Henry, who I quickly soothed back to sleep. “You’re kidding, right?” I looked around for a recording device. “Did my new boss put you up to this?”

“I assure you, I’m not having a laugh at your expense. I’m in earnest, and somewhat desperate.”

I blinked an inordinate amount of times. “No. No. I’m not a nanny.” And I certainly couldn’t be his personal assistant.

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