Page 28 of Protecting My Nanny

"I've got a charity event in a few days. It's a last-minute thing, and I could use some help," Shane begins.

"Sure, do you need me to watch Jaime?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"No, I'll arrange for someone else to watch him that day. I was thinking you could help me with the event?" he says.

I laugh softly, trying to contain the excitement rising within me.He wants my help."What could I help you with?" I ask, curious.

"I need someone to organize the gift bags for our guests. It's something I'd usually ask Kristen to handle, but she's swamped at work and headed out for vacation soon. Plus, it's a paid job, and I thought you might appreciate the extra money. You'll have a budget, and all the decisions—from the contents of the bags to the setup at the event—will be yours."

"I... I've never really done anything like that before. Are you sure you trust me with this?" I ask, uncertainty lingering in my voice.

"Of course I do," Shane assures me. "Kristen is expecting your call if you accept and need any help. Besides that, you could always do some research, and if you still need advice, I'm here."

"Wow, Shane, that's great. Thank you," I say.

"Wonderful," he says, taking my hand and locking eyes with me. "Thanks to you, Nicole," he adds, his voice sincere.

For a brief moment, it looks like he wants to kiss me, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns to leave but stops at the door. I wait, half-expecting him to walk up to me and press his lips to mine. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a large rectangular card with elegant writing on the front.

"Your ticket," he says, handing it to me.

"Wow, you want me to attend too? I don't think I've ever been to a fundraiser," I say, admiring the beautifully crafted invitation. "What do I even wear?"

"Something elegant, formal," Shane replies.

"Shane, I don't have anything like that…" I start to say.

"There's a budget for your wardrobe as well. We need our organizers looking their best," he says with a wink. "Kristen will send you an email with more details later. Enjoy your day, Nicole, and thanks again."

He flashes one last smile before walking out, leaving me standing there, invitation in hand, heart racing.

I spend the next few days diving into the event's details—the guest list, the types of people attending, the charity the event is meant to support, and the best techniques for becoming an event organizer practically overnight. After a lot of research and a few sleepless nights, I settle on the perfect selection of items for the gift bags: luxurious bath products, artisan chocolates, elegant stationery, and a few high-end skincare samples. The display I decide on is simple yet sophisticated: a long table covered in a crisp white cloth, with bags marked with the Vesitech logo and the charity's name in elegant script. The words "Thanks for Your Support" are written in fine lettering beneath the logo.

Arranging the bags turns out to be surprisingly easy—even enjoyable. However, it's my dress that causes me the most stress. The budget Shane gave me is overly generous, and the fact that Iget to keep the dress adds even more pressure. This won't just be an expensive dress—it'll bemyexpensive dress, and possibly the only one I'll ever own.

I spend an entire day scouring 13 stores before I finally find it—something stunning. It's an elegant black dress with a classic, form-fitting silhouette. The dress is short-cut, stopping just above the knee, with a subtle slit on one side and delicate lace detailing along the neckline and sleeves. It's sophisticated yet understated, a dress that whispers rather than shouts elegance. Instantly, I fall in love with it.

Each day leading up to the event, I try the dress on, admiring the way it hugs my curves and makes me feel like I belong in the world I'm about to step into.

On the night of the event, Shane sends a car to pick me up. The babysitter, a lovely older woman who works for a reputable nanny service, arrives on time. I give her the list of numbers and Jaime's usual nightly schedule, making sure everything is in order before I leave.

As the car pulls up to the venue around 6 p.m., I can hardly contain my excitement. I step out, feeling like a different person, someone confident and ready to take on the world. I'm not just attending a celebrity event—I'm an organizer. And I'm wearing the kind of dress that one of them would wear.

I make my way to my seat in the rear of the auditorium with 15 minutes or so before the show is set to begin. The stage is bright with colorful decorations, and a live band plays a lively tune. Shane stands at the front, surrounded by staff and spectators, too busy to notice me in the crowd. As I settle into my seat, I spot Balina Porter making her entrance. Even I have to admit she's stunning. Graceful, with a look that exudes confidence and mystery. Her smile suggests she knows more than anyone else in the room, and her hazel eyes are captivating. She gives me a quick smile as she passes.

For a moment, I imagine what it must be like to be her, noticing the way people look at her with admiration and envy as she glides down the aisle. She walks up to Shane, who's greeting guests near the stage. I watch their interaction closely. They seem happy to see each other, but not in a way that worries me. A quick exchange of smiles, a kiss on the cheek, and she moves on to her seat in the front row.

The auditorium fills up quickly, and soon everyone is in their seats. Shane takes the stage. The band plays an opening number, and his smile sends my heart fluttering. As he begins his welcome speech, I'm still buzzing with excitement, barely able to believe I'm here among such well-known people. It's overwhelming in the best way.

Halfway through his speech, my phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. I decide to ignore it, but moments later, a text arrives. I glance at the screen, and a wave of fear washes over me.

You're being noticed by more pairs of eyes than one. Back to the shadows, little Nicola.

My heart drops. I quickly scan the room, searching for anyone who might be watching me, but the crowd is too dense. Every shifting shadow seems ominous, and my anxiety starts to build, my heart pounding in my chest. Feeling scared and alone, I slip out of the auditorium and find refuge in a nearby restroom. I make sure no one sees me enter, then lock myself in a stall, pulling the small canister of mace from my bag. I sit there, trembling, for what feels like hours. It's probably just two, but it feels like an eternity.

Finally, I muster the courage to leave. The final act is on stage—a children's group singing the farewell song, accompanied by the band. Instead of returning to my seat, I find a corner where I can stand with my back against the wall, and no one can sneak up on me.

When the show ends and the lights come up, the crowd begins to disperse. Some people gather in groups, chatting animatedly, while others head for the exits. I spot Shane making his rounds and speaking with the big names in attendance. I watch as he moves from one person to the next, working his way up the aisle until he reaches my empty seat. He scans the crowd, looking for me, and I decide it's time to stop hiding.

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