Page 18 of Single Dad Billionaire Boss

“My boss. When I told him I had this interview, he asked me to stop looking for another job and stay on as nanny at least until school is out in May.”

“Is that something you want?” Celia asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not just that.”

Again, Celia waited patiently until I cracked under the weight of the silence. I sipped my coffee and put the cup down on her desk.

“I told you about the binder, right?”

Celia smiled. “The dad’s OCD bible, yes. Other than the peanut allergy, you said Zoe didn’t have special medical needs or anything like that, so I smell a control freak.”

“Basically, yeah, but I think he’s overprotective because her mom died.”

“And thus, the binder of doom?” Celia asked, and I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m not sure either how that kind of micromanaging is healthy for her,” she added.

“The binder is more for him, really. It’s like a security blanket—reassurance that whoever takes care of his daughter can meet her needs. What’s weird, though, is Zoe isn’t restricted from having fun. You would think somebody that overprotective wouldn’t encourage her to climb up the big treehouse thing in his office. Kid’s actually pretty brave. Jacob didn’t even mention the dangers of the slippy slide I got for the backyard.”

“I broke my collarbone on one of those when Molly was four. I hate those things.”

“Ouch,” I said. “But the thing is, Ceel, Jacob doesn’t forbid her to go to the trampoline place or swimming or anything you’d think of as risky. He took her to a trapeze class a few weeks ago, and she is excited for this ski trip they do every Christmas. Can you imagine a kid that size knowing how to ski?”

“Not really. Both of mine were still chewing their crayons in kindergarten. I wouldn’t have trusted them on skis.”

“Right? Anyway, the problem is, since I left him a note on the binder one time, we’ve been leaving sticky notes for each other. It started out as just jokes and then we were having a conversation. I thought because of that, maybe we were friends?”

“You’re asking me?”

“When he didn’t want me to look for other jobs, he basically said he only cared about what I did as it relates to Zoe. He might as well have said that I was as much a friend to him as the microwave. I felt like I was just another employee, someone who takes care of his daughter when he’s at work and that’s all. It really hurt my feelings.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“No. I felt stupid enough as it is. We were never friends. He didn’t look forward to finding the notes the same way I did. He never missed a day though, not once. Even when I got there on Monday mornings, there would be two or three notes waiting for me. It was like a game between us. I don’t know why I took it so seriously, but I got to where I counted on that.”

Celia leaned back in her chair and folded her hands over her stomach.

“Let me see if I have this right,” she said. “You’ve been working as Zoe’s nanny for a few months now. You love her, the money is good, but when your boss asked you not to look for a new job until May, he said something that undermined what you considered a friendship with him. You’ve been passing notes like a couple of high schoolers—and it was fun—but the notes made you feel seen, made you think that your boss saw you as more than just an employee. When he put you in your place, it was hurtful to you on a personal level—not to mention that it ruined your playful flirtation.”

I felt the blood rise in my cheeks. “We weren’t flirting,” I said.

“You have feelings for the dad. This felt like a rejection.”

“No,” I said quickly, and Celia reached for her phone.

“I’m going to take off my therapist hat for a minute and look through my texts from you.”

“Wait—what? Why?”

“I haven’t counted the exact number,” Celia said, scrolling through her phone, “but let’s just say you mention ‘J’ a lot when you text me.”

My cheeks were positively burning now. “It’s not like that,” I said, springing to my feet.

“Ella, sit down. I’m not judging you. If you feel defensive, let’s take a breath and look at why.”

“No,” I said, heading for the door. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, but I think you have the wrong idea. I’m sure you’ve got a busy day today, and I need to get going.”

“For your ten-thirty session?” Celia asked. “You work here, kiddo. I know your schedule better than you do. We’ve got a few minutes, have a seat.”

“Thanks, but I need to go.”

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