Page 18 of Billionaire Babysitter

If anything, the vista I open the door onto is even worse than that. Lucas is lying on his bed in shorts and a tank top, three half-empty bags of chips surrounding him, his laptop on his chest. He’s propped up on a mountain of pillows, a blanket flung over his legs, and he’s even cracked open a beer. This is a man with no cares in the world.

He jumps when I walk in, dropping his bag of chips, scattering them all over the bed. “Sophie, what the hell are you doing? I thought I said I didn’t want to be interrupted!”

I set my jaw firmly, standing my ground and taking a deep breath so I don’t just start yelling. “No, you told thechildrenyou didn’t want to be interrupted. You toldmethat you would look after them for an hour so I could have a shower.”

“I am,” he says weakly. At least he realizes the stupidity of his argument. At least he’s gotsomeself-awareness.

“No, you’re not! I thought I could trust you! I thought I could trust you with them for just a little while. And you’re not even having a meeting!” I say, storming over to the bed to see him just watching TV on his laptop.

I slam the lid shut, which makes him jump again.

“Hey!” he yells in surprise. “What the hell was that for?”

His outrage tips me over the edge, and with more of a raised voice than I’d like, I shout, “Look at yourself! You told them all about responsibility, and you’re shirking it in here! Get up, get dressed, and go and get those kids their dinner. I’m tired of it always being on me to make sure your life doesn’t fall apart. I’m tired of always having to do your job!”

“Okay!” He throws his hands up and brings them down on the bed with a thump before getting up. “I’ll go and feed them! Will that make you happy?”

“Yes!”

And it does leave me feeling victorious to have won, except now the anger is dissipating, it’s leaving me feeling even more tired than I was an hour ago. All I wanted was a break. How stupid was I to think I was going to get one.

I turn and storm away before I can hear Lucas make any more excuses. I hear him call after me, but I don’t turn back. It takes all the strength I have not to slam the door, but that frustration comes out in tears. I can’t be seen like this. There’s no way I’m crying in front of anyone in this household.

I slip back into my room, pressing my back against the wall so I can hear if Lucas really does get up or not. To his credit, five minutes later, I hear his door swing open, his footsteps in the hallway, and then him speaking to the children, asking them what they want to eat.

It must be the shock of it, because my first thought is to think that it’s kind of sweet. Ridiculous! It’s not sweet. It’s the bare minimum.

At least he’s doing it now. I let a single frustrated tear roll down my face and I slump onto the bed. Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes of me time. Ten minutes so I can feel human again. Then I’ll go back out to being a full-time nanny. Then I’ll go back and keep doing the job that Lucas doesn’t want and isn’t able to do.

Then I’ll go back to job hunting so I can get out of this hellhole.

CHAPTER 12

LUCAS

“Uncle Lucas,” says Chloe, a glint in her eyes telling me all about the mischief she’s about to try and make.

“Yes?” I say, drawing out the syllable in uncertainty.

“What’s your favorite candy?” she asks with a sweet smile.

I hesitate, my mouth twisting into a frown. I’m not quite sure how to answer that. I’m a savory man myself, preferring chips and crackers to any chocolate. And I can’t quite tell where she’s going with this, either. Wherever it is, I can tell it’s no good. “I like dark chocolate,” I say. “You know, the really dark stuff. Like ninety-nine percent cocoa.”

Chloe makes a face of abject disgust, sticking out her tongue in horror. “Ew!” she says, squeezing her eyes shut as she imagines it. “That’s yucky! It’s not even sweet at all! You can’t call that candy, Uncle Lucas. You can’t not like candy.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief, blinking at me with that sad, desperate look she gives when she’s trying to get what she wants. The problem is, I can’t figure out what it is shedoeswant. Andthat’s troubling. This little girl is devious. Where she has a will, she finds a way.

“Fine,” I say, defeated. “I guess I like fudge as well. You know, the kind with nuts in. Sea-salt fudge. That’s what I like.”

Chloe purses her lips while she considers this. Her eyes narrow, and I think I’m going to meet the same disapproval as before. But then, she says, “Better, I guess. At least that’s actually sweet.”

I sigh in relief. I’m not sure why getting her approval is so important, but the thing about kids is that they make you want to agree with them. That makes you want to please them, and they make you want to give them their own way. It’s a dangerous combination.

Then she looks at me with those big, cheeky eyes and says, “Uncle Lucas, what’s Auntie Sophie’s favorite candy?”

“Why?” I say to deflect from the fact that I don’t have a clue. I’ve never asked.

From the kitchen, Sophie calls, “I like anything caramel.”

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