Page 7 of The Billionaire and the Nanny: Part 2

Because I shouldn’t have said what Isaid.

I was lucky enough to be hired for this position, given room and board and even a credit card for my own personal use. How gray my bedroom appears is of no consequence. Once Olivia and I are finally alone, I sit the baby in my lap in the rocking chair and give her tiny hand a shake.

“Hello, pumpkin. You and I are going to become thick as thieves, weare.”

The baby stares at me with big blue saucers, like her father’s. A line of drool is poised to fall from her lips. I wipe the sliminess with a burp rag. She makes a soft noise, and I can only wonder what she must be thinking of all this. Where’s my mommy? Her wide eyes seem to want toknow.

Suddenly, I’m filled with sadness for this precious angel. Criminal or not, her mom is her mom, and they’re not together, which breaks my heart. I pluck a fluffy rabbit off the dresser and wiggle it around in front of her, hoping to elicit a giggle or even the tiniest of smiles but—nothing. This cookie is tough to crack. It’s going to taketime.

I read her the scintillating bestseller, Goodnight Moon, then around nine, I decide it’s bedtime, regardless of what she’s used to, I give her a nice warm bath, put her in soft, fuzzy jammies and place her in bed with her bottle. Oops. She doesn’t hold her own bottle yet, so I put her in my lap and give her the bottle of milk myself, rocking her until she falls asleep. If I’m going to be a full-time nanny, I’m going to need personal time no later than 9:30 pm or risk losing my sanity.

Game of Thronesisn’t going to watch itself!

Everything is going great so far. The staff has gone home, which makes me feel both lonely in the giant house all by myself with the baby but also relieved that I don’t have to talk to lanky giraffe-type women when I’m most tired. Mr. Hawthorn hasn’t gotten home yet, even though it’s late. I wonder if this is how it’ll always be—late nights inside this lonely, dark house.

I shower and dress quickly in case Olivia should wake up while I’m in the bathroom, but luckily, she’s still sleeping. When it comes time to blow-dry my hair, however, guess what? Apparently, the slightest noise wakes Olivia up. Within a minute, the little light sleeper is up and wailing. I run in and pat her on the butt, having read somewhere that I shouldn’t pick the baby up, or else she’ll get used to being coddled. I hate that piece of advice. I feel like a small baby who’s going through changes should be comforted.

So Ido.

But when the butt-patting clearly isn’t enough anymore, I pick her up and try singing to her. The tears rolling off her cheeks are big and fat and full of heartache. “It’s okay, baby. I know…I know…” I assure her. I hear the beeping of a door opening and closing somewhere in the house, and my heart leaps into my chest.

I hope it’s Mr. Hawthorn and not some other staff member, or worse, a burglar. I catch a laugh in my throat. As if a burglar would get past the state-of-the-art security system of a billionaire. Assuming it’s the man of the house, it’s going to be awkward living here alone with him. We’ll be the only adults around at night. Together. Me and the billionaire. Sharing this mansion. With his bedroom just down the hall frommine.

My mind goes crazy with the possibilities, but I shut them off quickly.

Olivia continues to wail like she’s lost it all. Wait, she has lost itall.

Great—just my luck. He couldn’t have gotten home while she was sleeping peacefully, could he? No, it had to be during a night terror from the depths of hell. “Shush, little baby, don’t you cry…” I sing. Ugh, this will be the second time he’ll see me dealing with his cryingbaby.

He appears in the doorway, wearing classic pants, shirt, and tie, leaning against the doorframe in that sexy way male models do, legs and arms crossed to show off healthy biceps. The man definitely works out and takes his vitamins. Good God. Don’t stare right at him, Bailey.

“I think you might have overinflated your level of child-rearing expertise during your interview,” he says. Damn him, for looking so fine and being such an asshole at the same time. Why can’t I tear my gaze fromhim?

“I may have padded the truth a little,” I say, looking at the baby instead. “But doesn’t everyone when they’re vying for a job?” I pace the room back and forth, changing Olivia’s position until I find one that seems to calm her down a tad. “Shh….baby…shhhh….”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he says flatly. “If you lie to me or stretch the truth again, I’ll fire you on the spot and find someone else. Are we clear? I can’t have a baby crying in the house when I get home fromwork.”

Ugh, what decade are we in—the 1950’s? Civil War-era?

My frustration reaches a new high when Olivia begins crying harder, as she desperately tries to fall asleep on my shoulder. “But crying is what babies do half the time,” I retort, even though I know I should stay quiet. Just appease your boss, Bailey. But no… “They cry. If you don’t want to hear her, maybe you could build us a soundproof apartment on the roof?” I mean it as a joke, but wow am I tired from a full and stressfulday.

Oof. What the hell is wrong with me? BUT…it’s true! He honestly expects to not hear a baby in his house? A baby who’s lost everyone important to her in one week who’s just arrived at unfamiliar surroundings without her mother? I don’t care if he fires me for the comment. The lack of compassion and understanding being displayed by this man is staggering. I don’t care how handsome he is, he doesn’t get to be a jerk and expect me to acceptit.

A strange smirk spreads across his face. “You like answering back, don’tyou?”

Ermmm…

“Only when I find something to be unfair. Sorry, sir. But to be truthful, you also kept details about the job from me until after I’d signed on. I’m good with children; I can do this job just fine. She just needs time to adjust. See? She’s quieting down already.”

As if on command, Olivia goes quiet and then falls asleep nestled against my shoulder, and I gently place her back in hercrib.

Slowly, Zayden steps up to me, gaze fixed and intense. I almost hear my heartbeat pounding through my chest. His stare sears through me like x-ray vision. “You have a mouth on you, Miss Rainville, and I have better uses forit.”

There’s a fine line between this moment overstepping professional boundaries and being the most thrilling of my life, and the difference is in my reaction. I should be disgusted, but I’m not. Not even close. The man smells delicious, his late-day stubble creates a dark mood over his features, and my body shakes from how close he stands next to me. My breathing trembles, as he hovers.

Is he going to kiss me? What’s even crazier is that I actually want him to. The man who hired me, pressing his lips against mine. I wouldn’t mind at all. I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life—but he infuriates me like no one else, and that sends currents running through mybody.

The balls. The nerve. The cockiness. He thinks it’s all about him, doesn’t he? I shouldn’t be interested in him at all. “I have a tendency to speak my mind,” I explain through nervous gasps. “I’ll won’t do it again. Just had a frustrating first day isall.”

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