Page 12 of Hired For the Billionaire's Secret Son

Ollie started to roll her eyes and then seemed to remember that he was her boss and stopped. Yep, his new nanny was not going to be deferential or demure. He genuinely couldn’t be more thrilled about that. ‘I saw you stuffing a biscuit into your mouth earlier, so I figured you weren’t.’

‘Smart arse,’ he grumbled, but his small smile told her that he was amused. And she did amuse him. When had a woman last done that? He couldn’t remember.

Hoping that the pizza would arrive soon, he walked over to the kitchen area and picked up the bottle of wine standing on the marble island. He nodded to her half-empty glass. ‘Can I give you more?’

Ollie clutched the glass to her chest and shook her head, causing her curls to bounce. ‘I’m a lightweight with alcohol. One glass is my limit, and I probably won’t even finish that.’

Bo topped up his own glass, walked over to the window and looked out onto the fantastic view of the Øresund Strait. He opened the bi-fold doors and sucked up in a dose of fresh, warm air. He watched the lights of a boat, maybe a trawling vessel, making its way up the straight and asked Ollie another question. ‘How did you become a nanny? I think I remember seeing something about you having an accounting degree. Quite a good one, if I recall correctly.’

He turned round just in time to see a flash of distaste cross her face. ‘Not a fan of figures?’ he asked.

‘I left university and, instead of joining the family’s accounting business, I wanted to travel. I needed a way to support myself so I applied to an agency—Sabine du Foy’s—and I looked after Sabine’s sister’s kids for a year or two. Sabine, as you can imagine, has connections all over Europe and I went to look after the children of another influential family. I’ve been doing this for five years, and have worked for a lot of families.’

‘And were they all good?’

Ollie rocked her right hand. ‘Mostly. Mostly they were fabulous, one or two were less than. It happens.’

He wondered which side of the scale he’d tip when she left. And that reminded him of something else. ‘Ms du Foy said that I was lucky to get you and that you only work three-month contracts. Why? Why don’t you stay longer?’

Those long legs unfurled and her feet hit the floor. Ollie stood up, her expression shuttered. Right, whatever ease they’d developed he’d blown up with his last question. It hadn’t been highly personal, and one he should’ve asked earlier when interviewing her for the position. But, seeing her reaction, he could see it was a hot button for her. And he wanted to know why.

Ollie drained the last of her wine and, when her brown eyes met his, he couldn’t see any of the flecks of gold he’d caught in them earlier. ‘I don’t stay longer because I won’t allow myself to get attached.’ She managed to smile but it was tight. ‘I’m just going to wash my hands; by the time I get back the pizza should be here. If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a quick slice and then go to bed. It’s been a very long day.’

Bo watched her walk away, her spine straight and her rounded hips swaying. If he hadn’t asked that last question, they would’ve shared the pizza, sitting on either side of the island, chatting amicably, getting to know each other.

But his curiosity had blown that possibility out of the water. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. She was his nanny, an employee, and he shouldn’t be getting friendly with her.

Employee.

Hired to look after his son.

Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about how her body must look under her clothes, whether her hair was as soft as it looked and whether her mouth was sexy or spicy?

Good job on making a complicated situation way more intricate than it needed to be, Sørenson.

CHAPTER FIVE

OLLIE,INTHEsmall garden outside the kitchen door, moved her body into a downward dog pose and turned her head to the right to look at Mat, who sat on a blanket she’d laid out on the grass, gnawing on a plastic teething toy she’d picked up yesterday. She’d heard him wake just before six. He’d slept through the night, the amazing child, and she’d gone to him, changing his nappy and giving him a ‘good morning’ cuddle. She’d warmed a bottle for him and he’d happily sucked the milk down. Since he’d looked happy enough, she plopped him down next to her and decided to try and get in a quick yoga routine.

Yoga and running kept her centred and supple, and calmed her constantly whirring mind. But this morning she was finding it difficult to clear her mind. She pulled in a deep breath and wished she’d handled Bo’s question about why she only worked for three months at a time with more sangfroid. She’d answered the question many times before, blithely telling people that she was the bridge between their old nanny and their new. Bo was the first person whom she’d told, openly and honesty, that she didn’t stick around because she was afraid of getting attached. She’d never voiced those words aloud before.

Memories, both sweet and sour, tumbled through her. She’d loved working for the De Freidmans. They’d been a perfect family—three kids under the age of ten, the mother a human rights lawyer, and the father a heart surgeon. The older boys had been mischievous but lovely, but it was four-year-old Rebecca who’d captured Ollie’s heart. Serious and a little geeky, the little girl had asked profound questions, was a frequent hugger and was simply the nicest child she’d ever come across. Becca had loved everyone and everyone had loved her. Their house in Bruges had been lovely, and Ollie had been so happy with her converted attic apartment, the city and the friends she’d made there.

Then everything had changed when Ollie had suggested a check-up because she thought Becca was low on energy. The doctors had done myriad tests on her tiny body and Rebecca had been diagnosed with brain cancer. There had been no cure: if they were lucky, Becca had a year to live.

Although Ollie had been close to the family up until that point, she’d been accepted as part of it then, and she’d become Johannes’s and Petra’s strength and support. To them, she’d been the one person who understood, like no one else could, what the world would lose when Becca passed on. As Becca’s illness progressed, Ollie’s connection to the little girl, and the family, had grown stronger. Every day she’d fallen a little more in love as she’d stored up memories of the precious child she’d have so little time with.

For eight months the De Friedmans had become her world and their house was the only place she’d wanted to be. Calls to Fred, her fiancé, had stopped, his calls to her had gone unanswered and she’d rarely connected with her family. Fred, her family and Sabine had all warned her she was getting in too deep and that she was losing perspective but all she’d been able to think about that was that Becca was dying. She’d needed to spend as much time with her as she could, and had been driven to support the family through what was the worst situation any parents could find themselves in.

In hindsight, she’d lost herself for those eight months. Sabine had even flown to Bruges to talk to her, and she’d tried to get Ollie to take some time off, but Ollie had refused.

And then Rebecca had died and a little piece of Ollie died with her too. Just a week after the funeral, a conversation with Johannes and Petra had ripped her apart...

‘Miss?’

Ollie looked up from her downward dog pose into a round, homely face dominated by the most amazing pair of blue eyes. She stood up, putting herself between Mat and this stranger. While she did not doubt that this lady was harmless, as she was in Bo’s garden, she was still a stranger to Ollie.

‘I was wondering if you’d like some breakfast, miss.’

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