Page 3 of Protecting My Nanny

"Well, I assumed my pre-interview could cut down on time, and given you've been holding off the Atlanta investors for weeks and the rumors of them considering our rivals as potential replacements, I thought you'd want to take this one as soon as possible. Apologies, sir," she says, even more plainly this time, before planting her eyes back on her computer screen.

I hate it when she's right. "Fine," I let out coldly, heading to my office doors. As I grasp for the handle, I stop myself, taking a deep breath, realizing how lost I truly would be without her.

"Kristen, thank you," I remark.

This time, she smiles. "It's my job, sir. There's no need for thanks. You just keep the paychecks coming," she says, turning back to her screen.

As I enter the office, I adopt my coldest demeanor. The priority of taking care of my orphaned nephew requires diligence on my part—more meticulousness than any face I'd put on when interviewing someone for a job. This is his life, and I'll be damned if he doesn't get the best. Stern and strong, I walk into the office, yet as she stands and turns, acknowledging my presence, I find myself thrown by her perfect smile and wide eyes.

Another charmer, thinking a few bats of her eyelashes will land her the gig.

"Mr. Matthews, it's such a pleasure to meet you," the girl speaks, extending her hand toward me.

Ignoring her charming smile, I keep my armor up and my attitude hard. "Yes," I respond. "Pleasure's all mine. And you're Nicole, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes," she says cheerfully, her eyes and cheeks full of warmth. I grasp her hand firmly, looking into her deep green eyes, before quickly turning and walking around my desk.

"Please take your seat," I tell her as I take the grand leather recliner that sits behind my large oak desk. "I assume you know the job and who I am. So I'll ask you first to explain both those things to me, to the best of your knowledge."

She takes a deep breath. "You're Shane Matthews, CEO of VesiTech. One of the youngest people to ever become a billionaire. You hold the weight of a company that shapes the world on your shoulders. But you're very private—not very personal on social media, no vacation pics, girlfriends, nothing to tell who you really are under the designer suits and glam. But I do know from Kristen that you're a good boss, and from the fact that you're scouting for nannies, a loving uncle. The job... well..."

Her smile fades, and her eyes widen.

Broken already? I haven't even gotten to the heavy questions. How disappointing.

"I guess I'll start with condolences," she says, looking deep into my eyes. "Kristen also told me about your circumstance, and... I think it's just awful. I won't say I know what you're feeling, but I lost my parents not too long ago. I was lucky enough to have been a bit older than Jaime, that poor child." She seems to trail off in thought. "My little brother, like Jaime, wasn't so fortunate. I know the process they go through," she says, looking back up at me. "You don't really know how much it's affected them, or if they ever really get over it. You just smile and try to be there for them as much as you can, but deep down inside, you know you can never replace what they've lost. It's part of what makes me think I'm a good fit for this job. I know a great deal about dealing with children, and an even greater deal about dealing with grief. I think I can help Jaime, be there for him like I was for my brother, and like he was for me. I think Jaime deserves that, and I think you want it for him."

Looking into her green eyes, I feel my heart begin to warm. She's somehow penetrated my armor. Her words are sincere, her tone relaxing, and her accent easy on my ears. She's fresh to the city, to the country, even, I surmise.

"Your accent—European?"

"I'm from Italy, Mr. Matthews."

"Shane is fine," I correct her. I admire her respect. She is fairly young; early twenties, I guess. Much younger than my 38 years. "Your parents... May I ask what happened?"

She hesitates for a moment. "There was an accident in my village," she begins, then goes into a story about a fire that took her family house. I learned to spot a liar in grade school, a necessary tactic when you swim with sharks as much as I do. Her response feels rehearsed. Her changed tone, shifting eyes, and fidgety hands when she says it tells me she is lying—not about them being dead, that much I can see, hear, and read in her—but the manner in which it happened. She feels the need to fabricate her story, and that draws my curiosity a bit.

I'm not as bothered by her avoidance as I might normally be. Something about her, the way she carries herself—if she's lying, it is likely for a good reason, and I see no need to dig deeper. Not yet, at least.

Her background seems genuine, as far as I am concerned. The job is hers, but I'm not quite ready to tell her that yet. Her perky attitude and cheerful tone annoy me, though I imagine Jaime would be quite taken with it. She'd be good for him. I run her through the typical questions: her motivations, criminal background, her views on child-rearing and discipline. All are answered well in that cheerful tone that's starting to grow on me.

"I think I've heard enough," I tell her.

She sits there quietly, eyes wide with anxiety. There is something about the green in them, a rare tone I haven't quite seen before.A polished, darkened jade, full of life and wonder. I find myself getting lost in them again, imagining how they'd shine in the moonlight.

Wake up, Shane. No time for daydreaming. Work is your lover. Back to business, I tell myself.

"The job is yours, if you'd like it."

She jumps in her chair, clutching her hands together, trying to hold back her smile and maintain her posture. "Thank you, Shane, you won't regret it," she tells me. It is the first time she's used my name, and it sends a jolt through my chest hearing it come from her.

Get it together, Shane, I tell myself.

I give her a smile. "I have a meeting, but go see Kristen on your way out. She'll give you the details," I say, extending my hand to her. She rises from her seat and grasps my hand. It's warmer this time—she is warmer.

A few days pass and she's at the mansion, getting the rundown from the temp nanny, learning the ins and outs of the large house and the schedule we all like to maintain here. Jaime takes to her instantly, and I notice the immediate difference in his attitude.

Just a week after her arrival, I pass by the two of them in the living room as I head to my home office in the eastern wing fora bit of work and possibly some afternoon football. Clutched in my hand is a beer and a bowl of pretzels. Nicole takes note of me.

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