Page 18 of Triplet Trouble For My Billionaire Boss

I’d nearly forgotten it was her first day. My lips press into a thin line as a flicker of guilt winds its way through me. Robbie’s probably asleep by now. I didn’t even check in.

I push the thought away, though it lingers like an itch I can’t quite reach. There’s a weight in my chest I’ve gotten used to carrying, but tonight it feels heavier. Robbie deserves better than this—better than me.

Guilt prickles at the edges of my thoughts, but I shove it aside as I head inside. I take the stairs two at a time, the familiar path to my home office on the second floor automatic. My stomach growls, but the idea of food doesn’t appeal. What I need is a drink.

I step into my home office, the familiar space dimly lit by the glow of the hallway behind me. The sleek, dark furniture is accented by polished wood, the faint smell of leather and aged whiskey permeating the room.

Crossing to the small bar tucked into the corner, I pour myself a drink. The amber liquid swirls in the glass as I walk to the armchair near the unlit fireplace. I sink into the seat with a weary exhale, the glass cool against my palm as I take a sip.

The whiskey burns pleasantly as it goes down, but it doesn’t chase away the gnawing guilt. It hasn’t worked before, and it won’t work tonight.

My thoughts wander, as they often do, to Robin. Robbie’s hazel eyes are hers, just like the brown hair that always fell over her forehead when she laughed. I named him after her when she passed—Robin to Robbie—though she never got to hear the name spoken.

She died minutes after he was born, and I’ve spent the last five years trying not to drown in the guilt of that, too.

I take another sip of whiskey, the silence of the house wrapping around me like a cocoon.

This is why I hired Annie. She might not know how to be a nanny, but Robbie likes her. And that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Footsteps in the hallway pull me from my thoughts. I pause, the glass halfway to my mouth, listening.

The sound grows closer, and I turn my head just as a cautious shadow crosses the threshold of my office. Annie stands in the doorway, glancing into the darkened room, her expression curious and uncertain.

I don’t say anything to alert her to my presence, just watch as she peers cautiously into the room. Had she heard me come in?

I hadn’t realized Ellis assigned her rooms so close to my office. That might need to change. I tend to work late, and if she’s a light sleeper, this setup won’t work for either of us.

I shift in my seat, the faint motion catching her attention. She jumps slightly, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me,” she says, letting out a breathy laugh.

I smirk, though she can’t see it in the darkness. “We don’t have ghosts,” I say dryly. “Nothing to worry about.”

She hesitates again, then steps into the room like I invited her in. I don’t want to talk. I want to be left alone. But she doesn’t get the hint, walking farther in.

“Can’t sleep,” she says and laughs a bit. “New place and all that.”

“Is your room not to your liking?”

“No, it is. It’s a wonderful room. Just not used to it yet, you know?” she says, still walking comingtoward me slowly.

I don’t answer.

She’s wearing thin sleep pants and an oversized shirt, a stark contrast to the professional outfits she wore to the office. It’s unassuming and simple, but I find myself wishing for the pencil skirt again.

The faint light from the hallway catches on her oversized shirt, highlighting the way it slips off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin and making it appear almost transparent in the backlight. My gaze catches on it, and I quickly look away, annoyed with myself.

“I just heard a noise,” she says, glancing around the room. “I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.”

“Just me.”

She stops a few feet from me, her bare feet light against the floor, and the subtle scent of something soft and floral—her shampoo, maybe—reaches me. I take another sip of whiskey, trying to ignore how close she’s standing.

She nods but doesn’t leave. Instead, she looks at the empty chair across from me.

Don’t sit. Just leave, I urge.

But she does. She slides into the big, comfortable chair, sinking into it and curling her legs under her. “Long day?”

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