Page 27 of Falling for the Nanny

“California!” my mother exclaimed. “Honestly, David. What is it about you that drives every woman in your life running for the opposite coast?”

I wasn’t offended in the least, but I saw Cat’s smile slide off her face. “Her daughter had a baby,” she said, like she was defending me.

I shook my head. She’d soon get used to it. My mother thought the world of me, but she also thought it was her job to make sure I didn’t think the world of myself. She took it upon herself to tell me my house was too big and the carpet in my office was a little drab, and had I considered cutting my hair? She did her usual routine now, as I helped her up to the guest room that was luckily always made up. Cat’s face grew stormier and stormier until finally, I made an excuse that brought the two of us downstairs while Lily helped my mom unpack.

I nodded toward my office where I could shut the double French doors behind us. It was a near violation of our last rule but considering that we were still in full view of the landing should my mom or daughter come down the stairs, I thought we were safe.

“Cat, you have to stop glaring at my mother,” I said without preamble.

“But she–”

“Yes, and she’s going to do it all day, every day as long as she’s here. It’s how she shows her love for me.”

Cat’s eyebrow hiked up skeptically. “Telling you that the guest room walls remind her of a prison cell is how she shows she loves you?”

“Yes, because she’s right.” The guest room walls were a burnished dark gray that looked elegant as hell in a certain light, and exactly like a prison cell in another. With the all-white bedding and sleek, minimalist furniture, I could see why she made the comparison.

“Okay, but she wasn’t right when she told you your tie hadn’t been fashionable since before Lily was born.” Cat looked mad all over again. “That was just mean.”

I felt strangely touched that Cat was up in arms on my behalf, but it was completely unnecessary. She wasn’t my nanny, after all. I was a grown man who had grown up in front of the firing squad of my mother’s criticisms. They hadn’t bothered me as a child, and they didn’t bother me now. I took a step forward, closing some of the space between us. “Look at me, Cat. Do I look upset?” I gave her my most impassive stare.

“No,” Cat admitted, “but you never do.”

I couldn’t help smirking at that. “It’s because it takes a fucking shitstorm to upset me. It takes millions of dollars being lost on a bad deal. It takes my stock prices plummeting or my CFO cooking the books and running off to Mexico, leaving me holding the bag of debt.”

Cat absorbed this, the stubborn set of her chin relaxing slightly. Then she said, “You basically just described three different ways of losing money.”

“That’s right,” I confirmed. “As long as business is good and Lily is happy, shit doesn’t bother me.” Except when you get under my skin and I can’t get you out.

As though she’d heard the unspoken part of my declaration, she took a step closer. Now only a few inches separated us. An absolute violation of the last rule. “What about me?” she whispered. “Do I bother you?”

My groin tightened reflexively at her soft whisper. “You bother the hell out of me,” I admitted. “That’s why we have rules.”

Cat glanced around at the empty room as though to point out that we were breaking a rule now. My palms itched I wanted to put them on her so badly. I wanted to feel her soft, silky hair between my fingers and feel her smooth, warm lips beneath my own, heating and parting and allowing me in.

But before I could give in, fate intervened in the form of a sharp series of raps on the French doors. Rhythmic and irritating.

“It’s my mother, isn’t it?” I asked through clenched teeth as Cat looked at the person over my shoulder.

She nodded in confirmation. “Lily isn’t with her.”

I was glad about that. Hell, I was even glad for my mother’s timing. Another few minutes and she might have caught me breaking every rule I’d set for myself. Her unexpected visit was irritating as hell, but maybe it was for the best.

Maybe this was what I needed to keep my hands off of Catherine Bowen.

CHAPTER 17

CAT

I’d never bothered to imagine what David’s mother might be like. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who had a mother, but rather one that had sprung fully formed from the eye of a god wearing a three-piece suit and a Rolex. If I had though, I would have pictured someone austere and haughty. A woman who told me how she liked her coffee prepared like I was the maid and warned me to keep my hands off her son.

Francesca King did not fit the bill at all. Despite my initial impression of her as overbearing and unkind, she proved me wrong that first afternoon. Out of David’s earshot, her pride came through in everything she said about him. I started to wonder if maybe the way she acted in front of him had more to do with keeping herself in check than him.

“Did your father design that?” she asked when Lily showed her the tree house on the edge of the property. “I bet he did. That looks like my David’s genius in action.” Then she leaned in closer to me to whisper, “But don’t tell him I said that.”

“I won’t,” I whispered back. “But why not tell him yourself?”

“Because his whole life, all anyone has ever said to him is how great he is, how smart.” Francesca made a face. “You know what that does to a man. Turns them into self-righteous bullies.”

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