Page 3 of The Billionaire and the Nanny: Part 2

Support my claim. He means what does any of this have to do with being a good nanny.

I clear my throat. “All right. How many new mothers know about caring for an infant before they have to? None. They’ve read all the books, like me, read all the articles, like me, and maybe they’ve experienced holding other people’s babies, but that doesn’t mean they’re unprepared for the job. What makes them prepared is that they love children and they aren’t afraid to learn and work hard to be a great mother.”

He says nothing, just watches me closely. “Continue.”

“All it takes is me wanting to meet this baby for the first time more than anything else in the world, and the rest will fall into place,” I add, selling harder. “You’re right, I’m not some old woman with years of taking care of kids under my belt, burnt out and fed up and sure I know it all. Rather, I’m young, motivated, and hungry. I’m well-educated about early childhood development, I am extremely focused and willing to work harder than just about anyone you’ve ever met. I want to do this, I want to be great at it. I want to serve yourneedssir.”

His nostrils flare and his eyes bore into me, seeming to turn black with intensity, and suddenly I know I’ve said the right words. I feel they’re true. How many people have skills but no desire? Experience but no drive? I came to New York City to learn, to grow as a person, and I’m not going to let this man shut me down before I’ve even had the chance to sell myself.

He sits back in his leather wingback chair and takes a deep breath, steeple of fingertips at his mouth and nose. “All right,” he says, and my tummy tugs again.

When he crosses his legs the other way, I catch a glimpse of his legs—thick—his crotch—thicker—and I feel the warmth of my cheeks rising, pissed at myself for having checked him out at a moment as important as this. He notices, and that tiny knowing smirk materializes again. Ugh, now he’ll think I’m totally taken byhim.

Eyes on the prize, Bailey, not theman.

Suddenly, he presses a button on a speaker next to him. “Carmen, cancel the rest of today’s interviews. Inform the agency that…” He looks up at me, that steely gaze burning a hole right into my soul. “I’ve found who I’m lookingfor.”

Holy. Crap.

I’m incredibly impressed with myself. Somehow, I got this cold, soulless guy to listen. How did I manage it? Biting my inner lip, I try not to give off an air of gloating and await further instructions. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, standing and moving past me. In that whoosh of air, I get a whiff of his scent and air displacement. He smells like cleanliness, the woods, and something I can’t even name. All I know is that I’ve never been more attracted to any man in my entire life, not that I’ve been with any. I hope to God I never see him again after this, lest I risk losing focus. “Come with me,” hesays.

I follow him out the door, down the hall, to another room where a group of people sit around a conference table. I’m guessing this is where the family is, and Mr. Hawthorn was just a go-between, maybe an attorney, some sort of middle man in this interview process.

Good, because I’m not sure I could deal with seeing a man this hot every singleday—

“I want this one,” Mr. Hawthorn says, looking at me, checking for my reaction to his every word. “Miss Rainville, this is social services and that’s my attorney, George Harlin.”

His attorney? Wait, he is the father?

He’s the dad I’ll be working for everyday?

I give a small wave to everyone despite my confusion, but I still don’t understand why I’m here. Where’s the rest of the family in need of a nanny? Is the woman sitting in the corner his wife? My eyes are drawn to the baby in her arms, so soft and tiny and out of place in this cold, gray building. That precious angel should be in a beautiful nursery filled with wondrous sights and sounds, not in the concrete jungle.

“Miss Rainville will be Olivia’s nanny while we sort out this mess,” Zayden tells the woman, and shenods.

“Good, then we can make the transition now, Mr. Hawthorne,” she replies, and now it’s clear she is not the mother at all. Just another member of the team working forhim.

The team of people begin shuffling papers for Mr. Hawthorn to sign, pushing a few documents in front of me to sign as well. “If you’re accepting the position,” the attorney says, looking eager to get this over with, “we’ll need you to sign here…and here…andhere.”

Once I’ve signed all forms, I barely have time to rejoice before the woman in the corner brings the baby closer to me, and in the whirlwind of confusion, I see clearly that Olivia is Zayden Hawthorn’s child. I see it immediately in her gorgeous blue eyes. She’s the spitting image of her gorgeous father.

The child is only about six months old, yet something has happened to put her in the middle of some legal situation. My heart goes out to her, and I don’t even know heryet.

“Where’s her mother?” I ask, but nobody answersme.

The woman from social services places the baby in my arms, as Mr. Hawthorn says, “Miss Rainville, you’ll begin at seven tomorrow morning, arriving at my home. You’ll take care of Olivia twenty-four hours a day, full-time, and I’ll provide you with everything you both need. After all,” he says, holding my gaze for a long moment. “You are excited about diving right in to learn. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” I say nervously.

Quickly, the baby gets placed in my arms. She’s beautiful with pale skin, wide eyes and perfect pouty lips, a gift from the universe, a darling spark of light and love amidst this crazy skyscraper town with fast-moving people. And suddenly, inopportunely, in front of everyone watching, Baby Olivia becomes the loudest crier I have ever heard in my entirelife.

Thanks, kid. Way to throw me under thebus.

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