Page 7 of Single Dad Billionaire Boss

“Is there a problem?”

“No,” I said, feeling suddenly anxious. “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a mistake. It’s more than twice what I made working full-time doing social work.”

Jacob looked genuinely confused. “You’re taking care of my daughter,” he said. “It’s both a sacred trust and a demanding task. I’m well aware of what is required to essentially parent her in my absence. If anything, the wage is too low relative to the job.”

Jacob slipped a pen out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me, upon which I happily signed and dated the contract. I gave everything back to him and he quickly looked it over.

“I’ve emailed you a copy of Zoe’s schedule,” he said. “The arrival and dismissal times for school, what activities and snacks she likes. Help yourself to anything in the pantry. I’ll be home by six today. While Zoe is in school, your time is your own. If you get a call from the school or my office, however, I expect you to answer right away unless—”

“Unless I’m running off to get married,” I said, and then immediately regretted it when I saw Jacob’s brow draw down. Too soon, I thought, and a heavy silence hung between us as I struggled with whether to apologize. Thankfully, Zoe came bounding out of her bedroom at the top of the stairs a few seconds later.

“My socks!” she squealed, careening down to us, and then she began galloping around and twirling her frilly socks above her head like a lasso. “They got stuck together!”

“Whoa there, cowgirl,” I said, catching hold of her. “What happened here?”

I took the socks, which were knotted together, and quickly untied them. Then I bent down, put Zoe’s socks on her feet, and took out my phone.

“Now, go get your shoes,” I said. “I’m setting the stopwatch on my phone. Can you find your shoes and put them on in one minute or less?” Zoe nodded, and I shouted,“Go!”

Jacob looked on fondly as his daughter bounded upstairs and into her bedroom, whooping and hollering the whole way. I started the stopwatch and shouted some words of encouragement.

“When she hurries she makes a mess,” Jacob muttered. “Never mind that she could fall and hurt herself in her rush to beat the clock.”

I wanted so badly to tell Jacob that playing beat the clock was one of the best ways to get children moving—not to mention that I had no intention of letting her hurl herself over the banister and break her neck. But sarcasm would not win me any points, I thought—especially with a man who was trying to educate me on the life-threatening dangers of running indoors.

I began counting down out loud from twenty, and soon Zoe came hopping out onto the landing while trying to put on a shiny Mary Jane shoe.

“Careful,” I said. “Don’t hop on the steps. Just walk down. I’ll even stop the timer.”

I paused the stopwatch, and once Zoe was safely at the bottom of the stairs, I noticed her father was watching me. His mouth was tight, but he gave me a nod of approval and then knelt beside his daughter. He whispered something in her ear, and then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Jacob closed his eyes and smoothed his palm over her hair. And in that single gesture, he won me over. I still didn’t find him pleasant, but he loved his kid, and that helped me forgive him for being so exacting about everything. At least a little.

“Did I beat the clock?” Zoe asked me, her smile bright.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Great hustling. Now let’s get the hair done. What do you like? Headband? Ponytail?” I crossed my fingers that she wasn’t going to name some new TikTok trend. My skills with hair extended to the messy bun I was wearing and perhaps a flat iron if the occasion demanded.

“Hair clips,” Zoe said, and she fetched some pairs of matching navy and white barrettes from the console drawer nearby. I looked at her skeptically.

“These are not gonna hold that hair,” I said. “Not all day, not even half a day.”

Zoe shrugged. “It’s just gotta be pulled back, not perfect.”

“Oh, my sweet, summer child,” I said, “you have no idea.”

I rubbed my hands together and laughed in my best imitation of a cartoon villain. This sent Zoe into peals of laughter, and in no time, I had chased her up into her bedroom, where I sat her down in front of her vanity and began to brush her hair. Thankfully, there was a bottle of spray detangler nearby, and for the next ten minutes, as I coaxed out the knots, I let her watchDaniel Tigeron the PBS kids app I had downloaded on my phone.

This child is going to have to sleep with her hair in a braid from now on, I thought. Or maybe even a satin sleep cap. Not only were the knots ridiculous, Zoe Sanders hada lotof hair. And by the time I had secured the top in a hair tie and braided it, I felt as if my arms were going to fall off. I gathered the braid with the remaining masses and fastened everything into a low ponytail. It didn’t look TikTok-worthy, but it was out of her face, so that was a win for me. Plus, the social emotional stylings ofDaniel Tigernever did a kid any harm.

Somehow, I managed to get Zoe to school with a couple of minutes to spare. When I returned to the empty house, I noticed a sticky note and a set of keys waiting for me on the console. Apparently, instead of taking Zoe to school in my car, Jacob had wanted me to use “the Land Rover in the garage with the booster seat.” Noted. I’d simply grabbed the extra booster seat from the coat closet and secured it in my back seat.

I spent the rest of that morning in a couple of counseling sessions at the health department, after which I drove back to the Sanders’s house and swapped out my car for Jacob’s Land Rover. White, immaculate, and still smelling brand new. I drove it to pick up Zoe, and as soon as she got in the car, she began telling me about how her class had practiced for a show they were putting on the next day—a cross betweenThe Little Mermaidand something about conservation, it sounded like. Zoe was playing the part of the coral reef, she said; and when we arrived home, she gave me a little preview in the kitchen while I doled out some fresh fruit the housekeeper had left for us. Jacob FaceTimed to check up on her shortly after she began, and Zoe immediately switched gears, bubbling over about a classmate who brought in a “hamp-ster” that day. Apparently, the hamster, whose name was Dustin, had escaped its rollie ball and scurried around the classroom until the teacher caught it.

“It pooped under the sharpener, Daddy!” Zoe cried.

“If a bunch of screaming kids were chasing me,” Jacob said, “I’d poop under the sharpener too.”

After Zoe hung up with her father, the two of us went outside. We sat down on the sloping concrete driveway with some chalk and proceeded to draw the adventures of Dustin the Hamster. Zoe drew a squiggly oval of orange and brown with a pair of jack-o’-lantern eyes.

“That’s Dustin,” she declared, and I rubbed my chin.

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