Page 17 of The Billionaire & the Nanny: Vol. 3

Paisley

A week goes by.Logan might say he doesn’t want anything between us, but each time we pass each other in the halls, he pauses as though deliberating whether or not to grab me, throw me in a room, and fuck me .

Our only safeguard are the kids. Because I’m only here when the twins are here, he’s unlikely to touch me when they’re around. And because the little suckers take up ALL my time when I’m with them, I’m highly distracted. Which is a good thing .

Because I can’t stop thinking about him .

His hands, his hard body against mine, his perfect ass and washboard abs. But more than his physical qualities are the way he talked to me during sex, how he made me beg for his cock. Never would I ever have dreamed of being with a man who talked to me that way. Yet he’s the first thing I think about when I wake up, the last person I think about when I fall asleep alone in bed, and every moment in between .

Talk about obsession .

Is he as obsessed with me as I am with him? I can’t imagine that he would be. He’s forgotten me already, I’m sure. When his stare does linger, I’m sure it’s purely physical, because there’s nothing about me that would interest a man like him. Billionaires with billion-dollar projects don’t just fall for girls who take care of children .

* * *

B ack at my apartment,it’s 6 AM. I’m getting ready to leave for work when Caitlyn drags her skinny, half-naked body into the kitchen to make coffee. “Ah, a Paisley ghost sighting,” she says when she sees me. “Well, hello, stranger.” She smiles .

I grab my bag and keys. “Hey. What are you doing up early? I thought you didn’t do mornings.” All week, I’ve been hoping not to run into her, so I wouldn’t have to explain the complex situation that is my work and personal life .

“I have another callback. The interview’s at nine. If I get it, this will become a full-time gig .”

“Great news! Well, I’ll see you later .”

“Wait, Paisley…” She props a fist into her hip and gives me a curious look. “How’s it going with Logan Raider’s kids? You leave super early, get home super late, and the days you’re off, I barely see you .”

“Oh. It’s good,” I say, hovering on the edge of truth. Should I tell her? She is my best friend in NYC, has been ever since Lucia ditched me in high school all because I wasn’t an alcoholic like her. But I know how much she obsesses over Logan. I’m not sure telling her would be the best idea. The inquisition would be endless. “The twins are a lot of work, but it’s getting easier every day .”

“I don’t mean the twins. I mean with him . Do you see Logan a lot? Does he walk around in his underwear? Does he ever bring anyone over for sex ?”

“Caitlyn.” I suck in a breath. “I see him very little. He leaves early and arrives super late. Like me.” I tap the couch. “Well, gotta go. See you in a couple days .”

“Bye, lucky little slut.” I hear the sneaky smile in her voice .

At the door, I bristle. If you only knew, honey …

Another day without the twins tying me to a chair and setting me on fire goes by. Not that two-year-olds would, but you never know with these kids. Once they mercifully fall asleep, I carry them to their toddler beds before he arrives home. Kissing them on the foreheads, I think about my mother and all she went through with my brothers, and the nightly guilt sets in. I should’ve been an easier teenager for her .

I close the door, making the monitor app is running on my phone. Then, I go about cleaning up the play room, getting it ready for tomorrow. When I close the door, I notice the handprint identity panel isn’t working. Note to self: tell Logan so he can have it fixed .

Next order of business is to make myself a cup of sweet orange tea. After a hard day’s work, it’s a small pleasure to help me relax. I must fall asleep hard on the den’s comfy chair where I’m hiding out, because I wake up to rock music playing somewhere in the distance. Did Logan get home while I was asleep? I check the time. It’s past midnight. Most likely it’s him. According to him, he spends a little time with the twins before work and after work, but I’ve yet to see if he actually does, because I’m usually in my room plotting to open an accounting firm or I’m asleep like I was now .

I need to tell him about the handprint panel being broken. I could text him, but something compels me to seek him out. First, I want to confirm it’s actually him I’m hearing from somewhere in the house, and second…I just want an excuse to see him .

Taking off in search of the music, I walk through the lonely, state-of-the-art home. As beautiful as it is, as much as it still amazes me, there’s little life to it. There’s more love in my parents’ middle-income home in upstate New York than there is in this sleek penthouse. The music grows stronger as I reach the stairs at the end of the hall. It’s coming from down below, the floor underneath us where I never go .

A set of spiral steps leads me into the belly of the house. Down here, it’s darker with wooden floors and wooden ceiling beams. For looks, I imagine, because the whole skyscraper is made of steel. The rock music grows stronger. It’s classic 80s. I follow it all the way to a room on my left. The door is ajar. I stand outside of it, heart pounding. Assuming Logan is here, should I be lurking in the dark? Though he said I have full access to the house, I think he meant upstairs. For some reason, this whole basement level feels restricted .

Peeking into the room, quarter eyeball at a time, the mystery comes into view. It’s a home gym, replete with every type of machine and free weights you can imagine. In the middle is Logan Raider in long shorts, sneakers, and no shirt, massive hard body glistening with sweat. He’s finished a set of chest presses and takes a breather before doing another .

I watch him with complete fascination .

He’s a large man. I can’t believe I had sex with him just a week ago. It’s hard to believe, and I often find myself pretending it was only a dream in order to forget him. But there’s no forgetting this specimen of flawlessness. His movements with the weights are rough, his breathing coarse, his body gloriously shiny. He’s working off some serious stress. I’m not sure this is a good time to approach him, but I figure he’d want to know about a broken security panel .

I venture a light knock at the door. “Mr. Raider ?”

Sweet Child O’ Mine blares from invisible speakers. Logan sets down his weights and cocks an ear. My heartbeat bangs against my ribcage like crazy, my stomach filling with a mixture of dread and lust. When he stands, he’s an ancient god sculpted from clay. Utter perfection. I want him so badly, and my core, slickening with wetness, knows it .

It was a mistake to come here .

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