Page 7 of Nanny for My Billionaire

“Friday’s good,” she tells me, and after a bit more talking, we eventually hang up.

I wonder, not for the first time since I hijacked her job, why the real Anna Thatcher has not called Adam and asked him why he didn’t pick her up at the airport. But I soon figure it out when I step downstairs, intent on invading the ice cream I bought earlier.

Adam has left his cell, screen unlocked, sitting on the kitchen table. He couldn’t have gone far if he left it like that, but it’s because I am just that worried about whether he’s already heard from her that I press the buttons needed to check his call and text logs to find out.

I see that she texted him about ten minutes ago, saying,Sorry I never got there, a family emergency came up. Can I fly out there tomorrow instead?

I feel guilty for doing it, but unable to stop myself, I reply to her message:Actually, the position is filled now. Sorry.

Then I delete the entire conversation and exit out of the phone. Adam steps into the kitchen just as I am pressing the exit button.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“You probably don’t want to leave your phone just sitting out on the table with the screen unlocked,” I tell him. “You’re lucky I found it like that instead of one of your boys. Some kids get into the games and start spending money.”

“Yeah, I was just coming to look for it,” he said, as I hand it to him.

I nod, trying not to act guilty even though what I’d just done was completely crazy, and some people might even consider it illegal. I can’t believe I had the balls to go into his phone, and what I’ve gotten myself into, but I just can’t seem to stop. I should really just tell him the truth, right here, right now.

But what would it solve if I do? He still needs a nanny. I still need a job. If he kicks me out, or worse, those adorable boys will be left with nobody to take care of them again. Although, I could always point out that I was a qualified nanny who was willing to do the work. Maybe he’d overlook the fact that I’ve just impersonated Anna Thatcher and entered his home under false pretenses, only to just now scare off the qualified person he’d been looking to hire.

The trouble is, I can’t really explain even to myself why the heck I am doing this. It isn’t just for the job, and even though it started off just a little bit vengeful, I certainly am not here to get revenge beyond just being a bitch over him not recognizing me. But this is way over the top, and bound to end up causing trouble.

“Well, anyway, I came back down here because there’s a pint of ice cream with my name on it,” I tell him then. “I got you one too, if you want it.”

He snickers. “How come you’ve been here a few hours, and you already know more about my refrigerator than I do? I’m a chef, for goodness sakes.”

I giggle. “Dunno. I’m just special that way.”

I freeze, remembering that I’d said those exact words to him once before. In the kitchen of his father’s cabin during our ill-fated ‘try it on’ weekend. Adam had insisted on doing the cooking most of the time, but on that last day I’d made sandwiches for us and bought ice cream for dessert. The conversation now seems eerily similar. If he stepped up behind me and started to kiss the back of my neck, it might even be an exact duplication.

“I could use a pint,” he says, brushing past me to open the bottom drawer on his fancy refrigerator. “Moose Tracks? How did you know I’d want that?”

I cringe inwardly, but say, “Oh, Hilda told me.”

“Yours is Rocky Road?” he questions, bringing it along with his as he steps over to open a drawer and pull out a couple of spoons.

“Yeah, it is,” I say, wondering if he would make the connection. I’m almost convinced I’d bought the same ice cream flavors we’d had at the cabin just because I wanted him to realize who I am. Because I wanted—what? To pick up where we left off? Why would I even want that, when I already know how much of a jerk he can be when he doesn’t get his way?

He hands me my pint and takes a seat in one of the chairs, setting his pint on the table in front of him and unlocking his phone screen. I hope that Anna hasn’t responded to the ‘position is filled’ text I sent, or he might figure out I’m not her even if he can’t see the texts I deleted. Since she works for an agency, she’s far less likely to care that he sent her away than an individual nanny would be, and she might never respond to him again.

If I’m lucky, anyway.

We sit together, eating in comfortable silence. At least until Adam finally breaks it with a chuckle.

“What?” I ask curiously.

“You’re awfully ballsy for a nanny,” he points out. “You’re too much of a take-charge kind of girl. I mean, you stormed right in and took the boys to a park I still have no idea how you know exists, then breeze back in sporting ice cream you weren’t even sure I’d want and even turned off my phone screen for me when most people would have probably just left the thing alone.”

“Sorry? I mean, next time I’ll just leave it sit there so the boys can press the button that calls some game executive, or whoever that Elliot guy is.

He shakes his head. “How do you know about Elliot Ross?”

I know because he told me the guy was his business partner three years ago when he’d called during our little cabin excursion. I sure as hell can’t tell him that, though.

“Just a guess. Maybe the kids or Hilda mentioned it,” I shrug. “Anyway, I’m tired and I know that you’re going to want to go in and help at the restaurant tomorrow. I’m off to bed now. Goodnight, Adam.”

He smirks as I get up and start to walk away from him. “Good night, Anna.”

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