Page 4 of Single Dad Billionaire Boss

“The mind reels,” I muttered. “You’re a social worker. You’ve lost your job, and my daughter’s nanny has run away. And while I don’t hate her—or you, for that matter—I also don’t trust her recommendations.”

“I understand. I only called because Kristen said she promised you I would. I didn’t want you to think I was unreliable too. I’m the opposite, actually. I work with children. Group counseling on social skills and emotional regulation, mainly. Some individual trauma work, too. I don’t watchBlueyand play tea parties or whatever it was that Kristen did.”

“At least you know aboutBluey,” I said ruefully. “Just give me your name and number and if I decide to open interviews, you’ll be contacted.”

“Thank you. I hope you find someone Zoe’s comfortable with. She was so sweet when I met her.”

“You met her?”

“A few weeks ago, yes. I had a display table on play therapy at the health fair at the park. Kristen came by with Zoe. She loved the fidgets I had out—the big ones, I mean. I hid the small ones, of course, because they aren’t safe for little kids. But she spent most of her time on the coloring pages.”

“Did you have markers?” I asked. “She’s crazy for markers.”

“Yes,” Ella said—I could hear the smile in her voice. “I had crayons out, too, but she went right for the markers. They were washable. I promise.”

The sound of the young woman’s voice eased something inside me. “Okay,” I said. “That’s good to know you’re acquainted with her.”

I wrote down her name and number and hung up. I buzzed Marsha, relayed the information and told her to run a background check, and then left for Zoe’s school. Ten minutes later I was in the pickup line with my name placard propped on the dashboard of my Mercedes. Zoe was already waiting for me when I drove up to the door. Her face lit up under a dark mane of messy hair, her barrettes as useless now as the nanny who had fastened them that morning. The school aide opened the back door of the car and secured Zoe in her booster seat.

“Daddy! Daddy! I didn’t know you were picking me up!”

“It was a surprise,” I said as I turned around to squeeze her foot. “Did you have a snack?”

“They did apples and crackers today.”

Zoe gave a shrug that made me want to laugh. “So, you ate that, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah, I was happy,” Zoe said. “It’s the square ones, not the fish ones. I like those square ones best.”

We drove back to my office building, making small talk about her day, but when we stepped inside the lobby, I took her hand and said, “Daddy has to make a few calls still, so you get to play with the climber. Do you have your gym shoes in your bag?”

Zoe frowned. “No, Daddy, I’m sorry. I don’t know where they are.”

“It’s okay,” I said, squeezing her hand as we moved across the polished marble floor. “You can climb barefoot. No slippery shoes, right?”

“I could fall and break my teeth and my whole head!”

I laughed. “Maybe not that bad, but you could get hurt.”

“I push buttons now?” Zoe asked when we reached the elevator, and my heart melted. That was the first full sentence she had ever uttered—when she was two and a half—and ever since, it had been a special game for us.“You push buttons now?”I sometimes said, and Zoe would giggle and reply,“Yay!”and push the button. Otherwise, it was like today.

I scooped Zoe up over my shoulder and hung her upside down to let her push the button for my floor. Zoe squealed with laughter, and I set her down and we hugged each other tight. My heart felt as if it would burst from all the love swelling up inside me. We took the elevator up to my floor, and then Zoe bounded out and went straight for Marsha’s desk, where a juice box sat waiting for her. Marsha was on the phone and typing something into her computer, but she gave Zoe a quick smile and a wave and Zoe took the juice box.

“Thank you!” Zoe whispered and she followed me into my office.

Zoe kicked off her shoes, and while she slurped her juice, I helped her remove her socks. A second later she was on the climber, her juice box forgotten on the floor. She waved back at me from halfway up and demanded I take a picture. I took several and then gave her the quiet sign and listened to the phone message waiting for me. Marsha had run a background check on the nanny applicant and checked her social media. Ella Clark. No criminal history, graduated from USC with honors and some substantial student loan debt. Presently living in a studio apartment in a decent neighborhood but no doubt needed a roommate to afford it.

I kept an eye on Zoe while messaging with the nanny agency. They currently had a waitlist, which meant it would be two weeks before they could get me a candidate to interview—and I was leaving on Monday for Singapore. I sighed and buzzed Marsha to have Ella Clark come in for an interview. I didn’t see much of an alternative.

For the next half hour, it was all work, and after a conference call with my marketing team in which we went over the projections for next quarter, I kicked off my shoes and socks and joined Zoe on the climber. She was sitting on the platform with the curtains drawn, so I crept up the side and flipped the flap open. Zoe squealed, I laughed and started tickling her, and then the door to my office swung open. It was Marsha. She cleared her throat and did her best to suppress a smile.

“Mr. Sanders, a young lady by the name of Ella Clark has arrived for her interview.”

I could tell by Marsha’s feigned formality that she was trying not to laugh. I looked over my shoulder and forced my face into a more dignified expression. Judging from the way Ms. Clark’s face fell as our eyes met, I must have swung too far toward sternness. Either that, or she noticed I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Embarrassed, I smiled politely and climbed down.

“Thank you, Marsha,” I said, moving behind my desk. I sat down and began putting on my socks and shoes.

“Will Zoe need to wait out here?” Marsha asked. “I’ve charged the tablet for her.”

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