Page 15 of Billionaire Babysitter

“People thinking they’re ours.”

I hesitate. “I guess it’s a natural assumption to make.”

He just grunts and walks on ahead, leaving me to deal with the swirling emotions in my gut. I can’t say Iwantpeople to assume we are together or that the kids are ours, but I also can’t say I hated the idea of someone thinking we were a family. That I could be a mother.

When I get a new job, I think it’s not just my career prospects I need to reconsider. I think I need to let a part of me that I’ve kept tightly locked up all this time out.

CHAPTER 10

LUCAS

Having other people in my home is reminding me of two things: that I hate working from home, and that I love living alone.

Sophie is definitely worth the money, though. The bill is going to be considerable, but she’s doing something I am simply unable to do. I still regret saying yes to Jason, but at least with Sophie here I won’t have to explain to him that I murdered his three small children.

She’s not great at keeping them quiet, though. Most days this week I’ve been more or less able to ignore them despite the annoying giggling and cackling, but today I impressed upon them just how important it was that I was left in peace and quiet so I could do some important meetings. And this morning was wonderful. It was almost blissfully silent. I think Sophie must have taken the kids out, because there hasn’t been that much quiet in the entire time they’ve been here.

But this afternoon, at the exact moment I log on to start video-calling one of my senior managers, we’re interrupted by an uproarious shriek coming from my living room. Couldn’t they atleast take that out onto the balcony? It’s not like it’s cold outside. I smile weakly at the interruption and do my best to get on with talking important facts and figures.

We do manage to get through everything I wanted to, but it takes about half an hour longer than it should have done, which is more than a little frustrating.

To top it all off, my manager makes a snide comment about the children running rings around me as he logs off. Nobody runs rings around me. Definitely nobody is snide with me usually. I thought I’d instilled more of a sense of fear inside everyone than that. And still the damn children are giggling.

Someone has to go and teach them their place.

I take a deep breath and march out of my room. As I head down the corridor, I remind myself that I shouldn’t yell. Yelling hasn’t given me any good results at all so far. The last thing I want is to deal with any more crying children.

Walking into the kitchen shows what has become a typical scene in my home. The four of them are sat on the living-room floor, staring intently at some game Sophie has set up for them all. There are pieces scattered everywhere, and no doubt half of them have been drooled and nibbled on. Whatever it is they’re playing must be hilarious because every time Sophie pulls a card out of the pack, they all dissolve into hysterics.

In a way, I suppose, it’s cute. Sophie has the kids’ total attention, hanging on to her every word like she’s giving them all the secrets of life. There’s no background distraction, because it’s simply not needed. It’s just the kids and their new favorite person beaming at them like she thinks they’re adorable.

Through her eyes, I can almost see it.

But I’m not interested in being open-minded right now. I march up to them, loom over the game, and fold my arms. “What part of ‘can we be quiet today’ are we struggling to comprehend?”

“We're not causing any bother,” Sophie shoots back. “We're playing in the living room and keeping out of your way. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Somehow, Sophie’s got making me look like I’m being an unreasonable asshole down to a fine art. I grunt as I try to figure out what to say next. “Well,” I say, “can’t you keep it down just a little bit?”

“We’re sorry for being too loud, Uncle Lucas,” says Noah.

“It’s just the game!” says Chloe, sticking her nose up at me.

“Game!” echoes Ava.

I catch Chloe’s eye and I swear the emotional manipulation is something she’s been preprogrammed with. She blinks sweetly and sadly at me, her eyes wide, and says, “Please, Uncle Lucas, do you want to play? Just one round? It might make you feel better.”

Everyone stares expectantly up at me. I should say no, I have work to do. I want to say no. Instead, what I hear myself saying is, “Fine, okay.”

The kids erupt into a cacophony of cheers and even Sophie lets herself smile at me. It’s nice to see, actually. She’s seemed down in the dumps lately. It’s good to see her happy again.

They sit me down on the floor next to them, handing me a bunch of cards and several little pieces. “The rules are easy,” says Sophie, which in board-game speak is always code for them being impossibly complicated. And as expected, they are full ofexceptions and statements that feel like I need a manual to keep track of. How the kids can follow this is beyond me.

There’s a reason I hate games.

Ava sits on Sophie’s lap and rolls the dice for her. Sophie whispers the numbers into her ear, and she yells them back as Sophie moves their piece across the board. She groans as it lands on the penalty square, drawing three more cards and laying down two yellow sevens.

At the same time, Chloe and I both try to play a seven, too fast for Noah to even read the cards. He sighs a little in disappointment.

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