Page 5 of The Billionaire and the Nanny: Part 2

She’ll do fine, I decide.

And in any case, I don’t plan on having the baby at my house very long. “Great, now that everything’s settled,” I say, clapping once and throwing my bag over my shoulder. I check my watch. Time to head back to the office. “You’ll report to my home tomorrow morning at seven. These fine people will give you the details. Please be on time,” I say then clear the room like a guilty party, entering the hallway while those in the room fall into quiet discussion.

Taking a deep breath, I let out a longsigh.

Damn, I felt claustrophobic in that room. Not a pleasant situation to be in, having to hire someone that both social services and I could both agree on. Having to even think about a baby I never knew a week ago at this time. But my life was thrown off course for a bit there, though I’m glad I can get back on track now that the nanny will start tomorrow.

Some men find the prospect of being a father exciting, but notme.

Too much shit swirling around my brain. Too much heartache I can’t even think about, much less face. All I know is that I need to get my car back from the valet, need to speed through the city streets in my Bentley GT, and need to make it back to the office—STAT. The sooner I feel like myself, the better.

My copper number comes speeding out of the garage to a hard stop in the MetroLife driveway, I tip the driver handsomely, and take off, shifting through gears with professional precision. I love driving. I love my car. I love being where I can think clearly, make decisions, and having people kiss my ass forit.

This curve ball cannot and will not interfere with my life, business, or daily habits not even one iota. I expect Bailey Rainville, the baby whisperer, to ensure of that with her round-the-clock guaranteed service, which is why I’m paying the nanny agency the big bucks. Sure, the child and nanny will have everything they need, and I’ll even continue to pay the mother child support once she’s out of prison, but that’s where my involvement ends. I won’t have a role in the child’s life beyond my financial responsibilities.

I never wanted to be a father. Never. And I won’t.

The last thing I expected was to get some random waitress pregnant, someone I don’t even know, which is worse, but I’ll pay what I have to pay. It was a stupid move on my part—I’ll accept that. As long as they leave me out of getting to know the child, I’ll be fine. This baby is nothing but a small blip on my radar.

But the nanny…now she’s more my speed. And loves “learning new things.” I chuckle to myself. I wonder which new things she’s more apt to gofor.

I check my side-view mirror before switching lanes.

If there’s any reason to keep the baby longer than necessary, it’s to make sure I see that fine ass every day. Fine asses are a dime a dozen, but this one was particularly striking because she was determined, too. The other nannies gave up too soon. The moment I told them they weren’t right for the job, they started crying and left the interview. Can you imagine them quitting the moment the baby’s crying gets out of control?

No, I need someone who won’t give up so easily, won’t quit or take no for an answer. I like that. Fuck yeah, I do. And she doesn’t even realize her own beauty which is sexy…as…fuck.

Can’t wait to see her again at 7 am tomorrow. I should’ve told her that the house uniform consists of tight skirts, no bra, just for shits and giggles.

I arrive at my building on the Upper West Side, home of JetFlash, my company that rents and sells private jets to the wealthiest of the wealthy. I got here from a middle-class family. From a fresh-faced kid in school to being worth over $2.5 billion at the age of twenty-nine. Pulling up to the valet, I grab my bag and my wallet from the passenger seat. JetFlash is where my heart belongs, where I feel most in control, where I can breathe once again.

Carlos, my valet, takes my keys with the smile I pay him to give me every day. “Welcome home, sir,” he says, taking my car as smoothly as I give it tohim.

“Indeed,” I push the revolving door into my platinum-lined foyer and breathe a sigh of relief.

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