Page 3 of Billionaire's Fake Plus One

“Taxi!” I yell, rushing forward when the passenger gets out. I put my suitcases in the trunk and hop into the backseat. I give the kind-looking driver the address, and he whistles softly.

“Fancy place you’re headin’ to,” he tells me as he pulls into the slow traffic, leading out of the terminal.

“Really?” I ask distractedly as I try to quell the nervousness that suddenly hits me. According to the map on my phone, Broom Street is only an eight-minute drive away.

After Mom’s death, when Zane called to offer his condolences, I blabbed about needing to get away from the house I’ve lived in for almost a decade,needingto get out of the city. I was really glad when he called to ask if I would like to move to Bainbridge Island as a nanny. I had already agreed before I even knew who I would be working for.

I was that desperate to leave. But the truth is: I have zero experience with kids. I’d never even babysat before. I don’t know the first thing about entertaining six year olds, but I’m willing to learn; and when in doubt, I can always consult Google.

To distract myself, I scoot to the middle of the seat to check my reflection in the rearview mirror. As expected, wisps of hair have escaped my bun, and I quickly take it down while the driver drones on about how this area has mostly beachfront homes with beautiful views.

I comb my hands quickly through my hair, then tie it back up in an even tighter bun. I’m turning my head this way and that when the driver slows down and says, “We’re here, Miss.”

My stomach does a weird lurch, and I place a hand gently on it as I glance out the car window. My jaw drops. I can’t see the house itself behind the huge wrought iron gates and the tall trees and beautiful flowers bursting on either side of the long, curving driveway. I spot glistening water, and I just know that there’s a private beach somewhere on the property.

“Good luck!” The driver calls out as he drives away. I take a bracing breath and then press the black doorbell placed strategically beside the gates. The speaker next to the doorbell crackles, and a small voice asks who’s there. I say my name. There’s a moment of silence and then squealing.

“Daddy! She’s here!”

The speaker suddenly goes quiet like someone had turned off the mic from inside, then the gates swing open quietly. I tighten my grip on my luggage and slowly walk in. The gates close behind me, but I don’t look back as I walk down the driveway, the nervousness somewhat diminishing just from the excitement apparent in that sweet voice.

I don’t know which of the girls I talked to, but her excitement is contagious, and I find myself walking faster, eager to meet the girls again. I almost forget that I’ll have to see Lucien’s ugly face too. Okay, so he isn’t totally ugly.

As I take the curve of the driveway, the house comes into view, and I suck in a sharp breath, my feet stalling as I take in the impressive facade of the two-story Tudor mansion: black A frame roof, white stucco walls, with sprawling glass windows the soft morning sun bounces off. Beautiful, well maintained flowers provide a burst of color around the house.

The large front door swings open, and I clamp my mouth shut as my eyes meet the severe gaze of an elderly woman. I quickly walk to her, and she takes a step back to allow me inside the large foyer.

“Hello, I’m Mrs. Garrett, the housekeeper. If you’ll give me your bags, I’ll take them to your room. The master and little misses are waiting for you in the study.” She points to a large, imposing, sturdy door through the living room.

I nod at her, reluctantly loosening my grip on my luggage. “Thank you, Mrs. Garrett. I’m Willow.” I extend my hand, and she shakes it in a soft, warm grip. I smile and walk to the room she has indicated.

The living room is huge and beyond gorgeous. I glimpse porcelain marble tile, white walls, and golden wall sconces. It has vaulted ceilings and wall length windows that let the warm sun stream in.

I knock on the white wood door. “Come in.” A deeply masculine voice calls out, so I open the door with slightly shaky hands.

The study is almost as big as the living room, with the same white walls and tile, but there are clerestory windows to let in bright natural light as well as a huge bay window with a stunning view of the water and a large boat on the dock.

“Hello, Willow. I was surprised when Zane called to say you’d like to work for me this summer. I guess I’m not as narcissistic as you thought, and you don’t mind me stepping over you and the other people I step over when I want to make myself feel important?” He smirks at me, and my stomach sinks. Fuck, he remembers.

I glance away from the window and frosty, tawny eyes snag mine. I hold my breath as those gorgeous eyes hold mine hostage. “Um…Hi.” I whisper.

I try not to notice how handsome he is as I attempt to come up with something to say. I see dark hair neatly trimmed on the sides, a little long at the top, looking silky and soft. A closely cropped scruff covers his sharp jawline and surrounds full, pink lips. I shake my head a little. Do I apologize? I narrow my eyes, the thought rubbing me the wrong way. He deserved insults and more. He acted like a self-righteous bastard, and putting him in his place two years ago satisfied me immensely.

Soft giggling grabs my attention, and I glance to my right to see two brown-haired girls sitting on the floor. Shit, I almost forgot the housekeeper said they were in here. Identical blue eyes stare widely at me. I smile genuinely back, a little surprised at how easy it is to set aside my animosity with their father to interact with them.

“Hi girls!” I walk to them and get on my knees in front of them so we’re eye to eye. “I’m Willow, do you remember me? We met two years ago.”

“You’re the makeup lady.”

The twin in a gray shirt speaks up, “You did our nails.”

“You’re right! I did.” We met when Zane took me to meet his dad and brother. The girls admired my makeup so I offered to put a little eye shadow on them. Lucien shut down the idea vehemently, of course. So, I just put gloss on their lips and polished their nails.

“Now, which twin is which?” I deliberate slowly, looking from one to the other. They giggle hysterically but don’t offer any help. I stare down the one nearest to me and proclaim, “Millicent!”

She squeals, jumping up in excitement. “Daddy! She can tell us apart!” Millie shouts and runs over to Lucien, who’s staring at us with an unreadable expression. My heart does a frantic little beat, and I quickly look away.

“She sure can,” he murmurs softly. “Why don’t you girls give us a minute to talk? You can get acquainted later.” They leave the study amid grumbles and groans. Heck, I groan internally, wishing I could escape with them.

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