Page 43 of The Billionaire & the Nanny: Vol. 3

He could be at work, and I could be dealing with this alone. He could also hire backup to help me, but I’m grateful that he’s the one helping. Anyone outside of this, familiar with the divorce case, might say he’s doing it to be Super Dad. He’s only doing it for custody of the kids, but I know it’s not true. I know he loves them and loves taking care of me as well .

Upon waking from one of my feverish dozes, I find Logan sitting at the edge of my bed, painting my toenails pink with Becca. “Hi, Paisy,” he says, imitating Becca’s name for me, except it’s way cuter hearing it coming from a deep voice .

“Hi, Paisy,” Becca follows her father’s lead .

“Hi, guys .”

“Pink?” He holds up a bottle of nail polish. “Or purple?” Then another .

“Black,” I reply .

“Blaaaack?” Becca giggles. “Da-yee, Paisy wants black .”

“If Paisy wants black, then we’ll get her black. Because we love Paisy. Don’t we, love bug?” Silver eyes smile at me. I look away and blush, then glance back at him. Did he just say he loves me? Butterflies flit through my belly, the good kind, not the ones that have been making me sick lately .

“Yes,” Becca replies with utmost assurance. “We love Paisy .”

* * *

I f I was goingto get sick anywhere, I’m glad it was here with Logan. Though there’s been nothing glamorous about running to the bathroom every hour, I feel like I’m at home. I feel like Logan’s my husband and these children are my own. I know I shouldn’t think that way, because he’s not and they’re not, but I can’t help it .

Home is where your heart is, and mine now feels like it’s in Logan Raider’s penthouse .

Which is still so hard to believe .

After a week, Logan finally returns to work but only because I insisted I would be alright without him. He needs to catch up and burn the candle at both ends now to get the final project ready in time for city approval, and I won’t get in his way. I’ll be a fly on the wall, a bug on a rug, a ghost for a host. I’ll just work on my business stuff while he comes home late every night .

Whatever it takes to make sure he’s happy with his project .

The kids are going back to Miriam for a week to make up for their being sick here at their father’s, and I think she’s going to have a coronary when she finds out I was sick, too .

“So, this whole time, they could’ve been with me but they’ve been with their sick nanny instead. Nice.” She huffs at the door, keeping the kids at bay so they don’t run back into the penthouse. Miriam has definitely caught on their preference of me over her and it’s become a silent, seething rivalry .

“Logan was here, too. It wasn’t just me. They needed him.” I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m not supposed to talk about anything Logan does or doesn’t do. But it doesn’t hurt to mention that he was home caring for his children, I suppose .

It’s like a fire has been lit under her butt. The thought of the four of us, home together, behaving like a family during a health crisis, brings out the envious bitterness in Miriam. “They needed their mother is what they needed,” she spits. “One day you’ll understand, Miss Carrington. Hopefully not too soon .”

She leaves and I’m left wondering what she means. She’s afraid I’ll get further involved with Logan, isn’t she? She’s afraid I’ll one day get pregnant with his baby and she’ll have to face the fact that he moved on with his life without her. What an attention whore .

As I’m closing the door, the doorman steps out of the elevator holding an envelope. He hands it to me and tips his hat. I don’t have any money for him, but he waves me away. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. Mr. Raider does enough for me, as is.” He smiles, tips his hat again, and leaves .

The envelope is made out to me, even though it’s been couriered, not mailed. Miss Paisley Carrington. What’s so important that it’s been sent here by hand instead of mailed to my apartment? Even though I technically still live there, because I still pay my rent, I haven’t seen my place nor Caitlyn in almost two weeks. Someone knows I’m not living there anymore. Someone knows I’m here full-time .

Inside is a subpoena from none other than my father’s law firm. They want me to come and testify at the hearing next week about the things I’ve seen as Logan’s live-in nanny. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe my own father would allow for me to be put on the stand when he knows I don’t want any part of this .

Logan apparently has received notice at work, because he calls me. Enraged, he hisses through the phone, a sound that still reminds me of those first days of working here when he was curbing his anger any way possible. “This is insane,” he yells. “I don’t know what they’re trying to pull, but you can’t do this .”

“What choice do I have, Logan?” My heart pounds against my ribcage. I don’t want to upset him, but a subpoena is a subpoena .

“Paisley, they’re going to ask how often I’m there, how much of the kids’ time you spent with them versus me spending with them …”

“And I’ll tell them the truth, that you’re a wonderful father who doesn’t hesitate to run home when his kids are sick, who feeds them and holds them when they’re crying. It’s the truth, Logan .”

“But it’s not always like that. I do spend lots of time away. They’re going to use that to make me look like a bad parent.” I hear him pound his desk as he grunts. “This is fucking ludicrous that your own father would put you in the middle .”

Logan put me in the middle, too, by inviting me back .

I did, too. I could’ve said no and refused, but I couldn’t help myself either .

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