Page 47 of The Billionaire and the Nanny: Part 2

Bailey

It’sa warm day in Perrysburg. Warm enough for my dad to open the garage and let a little air into the workshop. Which means the house can finally use the A/C unit, and I don’t have to feel like a genie in a bottle anymore.

I love my family and all, but I need to get out. Luckily, today’s the perfect day, as I have an interview with an elementary school in a neighboring town. Just last week, I was considering moving back to NYC and looking for a teaching position there. After all, I always wanted to live in New York. That is, until he-who-won’t-be-named gave me a bad taste in my mouth forit.

But that wasthen.

It’s time to moveon.

It was what it was, and yes, it could’ve been beautiful, but life isn’t about what could’ve been. It’s about what you make it while you’re here. What it is while you’re living it, and for six weeks, I haven’t been living. That’s not me—time for that to change.

Because the weather’s warming, I finally get to wear one of my cute dresses I haven’t worn since summer in NYC last year. It’s pretty but not too flirty, solid yellow but not too bright for a teaching interview. As I check how I look in my bedroom mirror, I see that the yellow matches the pillow that Zayden bought me, and for a second, I think about changing. When all my items arrived in a big box shortly after moving back home, I nearly threw everything away that reminded me about Zayden, but then I remembered something…

I’m in control of my life. No guy gets to decide what I keep and what Itoss.

And so I kept it all but displayed only a few things—the lights, the blanket, and the yellow pillow.

My hair came out great, thanks to the weather outside, so I grab my portfolio and purse and head for the front door. Mom sees me and smiles. “Well, look at you. Now, that’s the Bailey I know and love.” She comes up to me, examines me as a mother should from head to toe, then kisses my cheek. “Good luck on the interview, honey. I know you’re going to be off the chain.”

“Mom, no one says that anymore.”

“Rock it? You’re going to rock the interview?”

“Mom, just stop, please.”

“Oh, fine, you’re going to do great. Thatwork?”

“Perfect.”

Just as I’m about to head outside, though, I catch a flash of shiny, stretchy black. The kind of black you see everywhere in NYC but is oddly out of place here in Perrysburg. My mom sees it too, and we both fly to the window to peer through the blinds. It’s a car. A limo. And it stops in front of my house.

“Who in the rotten hell?” Mom says next tome.

“Oh, no…”

My heart begins to beat like spring after a long, dead winter. I know who in the rotten hell, and I don’t want to be caught standing here staring out the window at him. Can’t give him the satisfaction. Assuming it’s him, of course. My dad walks out of the garage and stands on the sidewalk. Mrs. Miller across the street comes out in her muumuu, covering her squinty eyes with herhand.

“Is that who I think it is?” Mom moves away from one window and goes to another to see better. That’s how long the limois.

“I hope not,” I mutter, a nasty storm brewing inside my stomach.

Suddenly, the side door of the limo opens, and out steps Zayden Hawthorn himself sporting one of his more casual looks—jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a hipster-style blue scarf. It’s definitely him—the angles of his face, his strong nose, those eyes…and he’s holding pink roses. Shit.

Shit, shit, crap, fuck.

Fuckity-fuck.

I spin, my back to the window. “It’s him. What do Ido?”

“Want me to get your father’s shotgun?” Mom murmurs, narrowing the blinds.

“Not funny.”

“I didn’t mean it to be. That’s the man who put you under for a good two months. I’ve got no problem letting him know he’s an asswipe.” She heads for the door on a mission.

I appreciate her ferocity but I can handle this. I have to handle this before my dad does. “He’s also the man who employed me for five. Don’t say anything to him, please. I’ll deal with it,” I tell her, pushing myself into the space she’s occupying and opening the door partway.

Dad’s already talking to Zayden. To my surprise, they’re shaking hands and Zayden’s giving him a big, buttery greeting, though my dad’s not completely buying it. Zayden spots me standing in the doorway, and all time seems to pause like it did when I lived with him. It’s the first time our eyes meet after so much time apart, and my brain splits in half. Part of me wants to run into his arms, but the other half knows better.

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