Page 25 of Protecting My Nanny

Shane

John from HR ends the meeting as he always does.

"Before I go, are there any questions or concerns you might have for me?" he asks.

"Nothing now. As always, thanks for your hard work," I reply.

"A pleasure, Mr. Matthews. I'll file the employee commentaries along with your responses right away. You have a wonderful day," John says with a smile. Standing, he gathers his laptop, tucks it into his bag along with his notepad, and extends a hand to me across the desk.

We shake hands, and he heads out. Kristen steps in before the door can close, closing it behind her. Always prepared, she has her laptop in hand as she takes the seat John has just vacated.

"Any major concerns?" Kristen asks.

"A few of the employees feel they'd like to see me more involved like I used to be... you know, before Jaime."

"They mentioned your nephew?"

"Not directly, but they alluded to it. As far as they know, I'm still grieving for Claire. But they also noted that meetings used to be more frequent and productive, and that things have changed since I lost my sister."

"What do you think?" Kristen asks, her tone professional but filled with concern.

"I'm stuck dividing my time between Jaime and the office," I admit. But in the back of my mind, I know there's a third distraction, one that I can't quite shake off.

"Shane, maybe it's time to let someone help you out with this. To choose a number two."

"Kristen, there's..."

"I know that trust comes hard for you, but this is what people do when they take on a family," Kristen says, her voice firm yetunderstanding. "Delegating duties is a regular part of business, especially for a CEO. Shane, your dedication is admirable—no one could run this company the way you do. But you're only one person. You need a right hand, someone you can trust to handle the day-to-day operations, keep the employees motivated, and give you the time you need with Jaime. Perhaps a certain executive you've taken under your wing?"

"You mean Oliver," I say.

"He seems to know things well enough, and you seem to actually like him."

"It's a lot of responsibility... I'll think it over."

"I know you have a history with these kinds of things," Kristen continues. "Trust is hard-earned with you, and for good reason, I'm sure..."

"I'm just cautious of our reputation. The staff and our company all rely on leadership they can trust, and..."

"I get that, sir," Kristen interjects. "I know, but consider if maybe you're being a bit too hard to win over. That's all I ask. Trusting someone, especially after a betrayal, always takes a bit of self-sacrifice as well."

I exhale deeply, knowing she's right—again. "Thanks, Kristen. That's all for now."

"Okay, sir," she replies, leaving the office.

As I lean back in my chair, thoughts of Robert suddenly pop into my head. Memories of all the times he was there for me, supporting and backing me up. Strangely enough, Oliver reminds me so much of him. Both ambitious, smart, and capable individuals. These qualities made Robert an exceptional partner, but unfortunately, according to the FBI reports, they made him an even better criminal. The mere thought of him now sends my blood boiling as I reflect on the trust we once shared and how swiftly he shattered it. I cannot afford to repeat the same mistake I made with Robert.

As I leave early for the day, my mind is a whirl of thoughts about the employees and the idea of promoting Oliver. Robert's betrayal creeps back into my mind, frustrating me, but the smooth jazz on the radio and the thought of seeing Nicole and Jaime help calm my nerves. I imagine Nicole by the pool, her bikini-clad figure more stunning than I've ever allowed myself to imagine. With each day, my excitement grows to see both of them. It's a feeling I've never experienced before—a taste of what it's like to have a family, something I've been missing for far too long. It's what Claire and I were deprived of during our childhood. I always wondered what motivated others to desire a family, but now I'm finally starting to understand.

I cruise down I-85 under a misty gray sky, eager to get home. The rain beats against my windshield, a steady backdrop to the soothing jazz flowing from the speakers. As I turn off the highway onto the forest-lined road leading to the estate, I get a call. A familiar name flashes on the car's console screen:Balina Porter.

I hesitate for a moment, then hit the green button.

"Hello," I say.

"Is that Mr. Unobtainable himself?" Balina's voice is light, teasing.

"I guess you read the article?" I respond calmly.

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