Page 26 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"I thought you were a potter?"
"A clay artist." She all but stamps her feet. So fucking cute. My lips twitch.
"Hold on a second," I hold up my hand. "So, you’re a potteranda nanny?"
She draws in a breath. "Yes," she grits out. "Being a nanny is my full-time job; being a clay artist is my hobby."
"So, you’re a nanny potter?"
"You make me sound like Harry Potter," she grumbles.
"Just as long as you’re not a pothead."
"Of course, not." She draws herself up to her full height. "I am responsible, and very good with kids. I can provide you with references." She scrambles around in her ragged backpack, the same one she had last night, and which she insists on carrying over one shoulder, and why had I noticed that?
She produces a sheaf of papers.
"Why would I need to see your references?"
"Uh," she scowls, "because I am here to take care of your daughter."
"No." I straighten.
"No?" Her jaw drops. "What do you mean,no?"
"I don’t need a nanny. Goodbye."
I begin to close the door.
She throws up her hand. "Wait, I’m not making this up. The agency told me I was being sent to take care of the daughter of a well-known celebrity."
"I didn’t ask any agency for a nanny."
"But… but…" Her forehead crinkles. "They called me and sent me an email to confirm." She whips out her phone, starts up the steps to offer it to me.
"I’m not interested," I growl.
She pauses, one foot on the step above. "What?"
I peer over my shoulder, then step forward and close the door behind me. "I didn’t ask for a nanny."
"Are you sure you didn’t ask and forget?"
"Are you accusing me of a faulty memory?"
"I am saying," she takes a deep breath, "that I need this assignment."
"Too many debts, huh?"
She straightens her shoulders. "What do you mean?"
"You certainly left Australia in a hurry after your boyfriend dumped you, and in the middle of the bush, no less. You barely had enough money to buy your ticket back home. And not only do your student debts beckon, but your failed aspiration to be a—what was it?" I snap my fingers. "A potter." I nod. "Your failure to become a potter haunts you."
"Fuck you," she snarls.
"No, thank you."
The color leaches from her face, "How… How do you know all of this?"
