Page 50 of The Billionaire & the Nanny: Vol. 3

That triggers me. Not sure if it’s because she doesn’t trust me with my own children or because it’s true that I’m untrustworthy right now. “I’d never hurt them, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Go ahead and go .”

“Logan, the way I see it, you all need watching over right now.” And then, she disappears down the hall .

I guess it’s true, I could be considered a sick person right now. Can’t sleep, drinking too much, depressed as fuck…I wouldn’t want someone like me caring for the kids either. Somehow, I have to get my ass back in gear. I can’t go on like this, hating myself for losing Paisley. I need a plan. Part of that plan must be therapy of some kind. If I ever have the chance to talk to Paisley again, I’m going to want her to know that I’m serious about doing better .

She deserves that. She deserves more than that, really, but therapy is a start .

I spend the day hanging with the kids part of the time and doing video calls with work the rest of the time. “Daddy!” The Terribles attack me, a wonderful feeling to have little arms and baby’s breath surrounding me, reminding me of what matters, but at times, I’m irked and need a moment to regroup or talk with my team .

I don’t know how working moms do it .

To make matters worse, the kids keep asking for Paisley. “Where Paisy go, Da-yee?” A question I hear no less than fifty times a day. The answer is always the same. “She went home, guys. But she loves you.” It’s all I can bring myself to say .

It’s hard to feel whole. For all intents and purposes, my children should be enough for me. Nothing should feel like it’s missing when I’m with them. But it’s a tough day, one where it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what’s bothering me .

When the kids sit at their little table to color some pages, I sit with them. Their chairs are like tiny stools for my butt, and I feel like the Jolly Green Giant sitting at their table, but I pull out paper, too, and start coloring. Only my drawings are about buildings—lines and cityscapes and trees. The kids color and watch me work with fascination. Whereas they’re filling in Mickey’s shorts, I’m designing something .

Something curvy, something colorful, something beautiful. Something that reminds me of the woman who saved my ass and almost saved my soul. If I can’t be with her, then I’ll pay homage to her. I work and color and draw until I’ve created an addendum to the urban center project, and it’s the missing ingredient .

Another video call comes in, and my engineers and architects are all thrilled with the end result. The final approval is tomorrow, and they feel they’re ready, but I’m not. There was and has been something missing from the design this whole time. Now I know what it is .

“So, we’re ready, boss?” my head engineer and project manager wants to know. His eyebrows appear hopeful, but their work is not done yet, unfortunately .

I have to see this come to fruition. I have to see this as part of the New York skyline. She’s my muse and she was right in front of me all along. “We’ll ask for an extension,” I inform him, and six members of the team all standing behind him drag their faces .

“Excuse me, sir ?”

“Ask for an extension. We’re not done with the design. I’ve just emailed you all a new building I want built next to the library to complement it .”

“But, sir…we can’t…we’re all exhausted. Perhaps we should talk about it, and — ”

“Make it happen,” I say and hang up the video conference .

---