Page 73 of Fiery Romance

“I don’t remember asking for your commentary,” I growl.

She tilts her head to the side. “The best things in life are the gifts you don’t ask for.”

“Your opinions are gifts?”

“My offer is.”

Regan looks up and waves excitedly at Island. She’s perched at her coloring station, hair braided and eyes bright.

I purse my lips and consider my next move. I already know this conversation will get heated and I don’t want Regan to see me fighting with her nanny, so I sweep my arm out toward a small door at the back of my office. It’s bracketed by two large potted plants, gifts from Cody to ‘brighten up’ my space.

“Back here.”

Island waves to Regan as she passes my desk and the oversized cabinets. I motion for her to walk in first.

The monitoring room in my adjoining office is a miniature version of the sprawling intelligence base at HQ. The desks are filled with monitors that allow me to tap into any feed with one click. It was Andre’s brain child.

What’s important about the room is the fact that it’s a step away from my main office. It allows me to keep an eye on Regan while having private, out-of-sight conversations with my team.

I inch the door slightly closed so Island is out of my daughter’s line of vision and then fold my arms over my chest.

Island inhales a stabling breath. I try to ignore the way her chest balloons beneath her low-cut blouse. The entire ensemble is a man’s walking fantasy. A white top that clings to her dark skin and cuts off right before her navel. A skirt so short it might as well be worn for a game of tennis with a slit up the thighs that teases she might not be wearing panties.

Had I not been present at her salon today, I know some of the guys would have tried to flirt with her. My consistent and fiery scowls kept them at bay.

I drag my eyes back to her face, ignoring the roaring of my blood. “Speak quickly. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Annoyance flashes through her face. It’s tucked behind her smile in a quick adjustment. “Regan mentioned Abe many times. She kept telling me how excited he was for the play.”

I let out a pent-up sigh and make a mental reminder to always have Regan wearing headphones when I make important calls. Nothing is sacred.

“And?” I grouse.

“And I understand that you might be busy doing…” she gestures to the monitors, “whatever you do, so I’d like to help. I’ll take Abe to his play practice in the evenings if you can’t.”

“Why would you do that?” I ask suspiciously.

“Because I want to.”

I study her face. She means that. There is no other reason than that she wants to help and is willing to brave my wrath to see it done.

Nosiness. The same kind that allowed her to step in when Regan was being torn down by her previous nanny.

It’s a very dangerous trait to have. Especially around people who would take advantage of her kindness.

Even more so around people who would not welcome the interference.

“Miss Hayes, your supervision is only required for Regan. Abe has his own routine.”

“Which is what? Being the janitor?”

I bristle. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.”

“Trust me, it’s pretty easy to understand this situation.” She takes a step, her eyes bright and passionate. “Abe probably broke one of your precious rules and you went harder on him because he’s a boy and he’s your son and you can.”

“Do not,” I step into her too, “push me too far, Miss Hayes.”

“Or what?”

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