Page 15 of Faking it with the Billionaire
“You look mad,” Bristol says as she stares at me.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
Mitchell waits for her to buckle herself into the booster seat before he pulls out into traffic.
“Is Daddy going to be mad at me?” Bristol asks. She snaps her seatbelt and shifts in her booster seat to face me.
I don’t know Kyler well enough to determine if he’s going to be upset, disappointed, or just overly concerned. Perhaps it could be a bit of all three.
* * *
Kyler isn’t home when we arrive after school. I have a key to the front door, so I let Bristol inside and do a quick sweep of the place to make sure it’s just the two of us.
I’m not his daughter’s nanny. I’m her bodyguard.
Why isn’t he home?
“I’m hungry,” Bristol whines. She drops her backpack by the front door, along with her coat and shoes.
“What time does your dad normally get home?” I ask.
Bristol shrugs. “He picks me up from school.”
“Jackass,” I mutter under my breath.
Bristol’s eyes widen. “You have to put a dollar in the swear jar.” She grabs my hand and drags me into the kitchen. On the marble countertop, there is a glass gallon-sized jar stuffed with one-dollar bills.
“How about we don’t tell your dad what I said?” I try to bargain with the kid. It’s not the dollar that’s the issue. I don’t need her tattling to Kyler about the situation. He’s already questioning my ability as his daughter’s bodyguard. I don’t need to give him any more ammunition.
“Make it two dollars.” Bristol holds up two fingers.
The kid knows how to negotiate. I nod and grab two one-dollar bills from my wallet, stuffing them inside the clear jar.
“Who gets all this money anyhow?” I ask.
“Daddy says it’s for my college fund, but I’m saving up for a unicorn!” she squeals excitedly.
I’m not going to be the one to burst that bubble. At least she’s not saving for a horse or some other expensive creature that she could actually buy.
My phone pings and I grab it from my pocket, glancing at the screen.
Kyler: I’m running late. I’ll be home to make dinner.
Damn right, he will. My job isn’t to cook and clean for the Greyson family. I’m supposed to be protecting Bristol, and if I’m distracted with entertaining her, I can’t do my job.
“Is that Daddy?” Bristol asks, trying to peer at my phone.
I show it to her, and her eyes narrow, trying to read the text. It takes her a minute before she seems to comprehend what it says.
“Can you make me a snack?”
“Didn’t you have lunch at school?” I lean back against the counter, folding my arms across my chest, giving her the most pointed look imaginable.
“Yes, but that was hours ago. I’m starving,” she whines like she hasn’t eaten for weeks. “I’m going to die if I don’t eat.”
“That isn’t going to happen over a couple of hours.” I head toward the fridge and yank it open, having a glance inside. “See anything you want?” I ask.
She shrugs and then points at the fruit bin.
