Page 1 of Nanny for the Bossy Billionaire

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NAOMI

Of course, I am late.

This is the job that could change my life, and I am late. This is the job that could mean I no longer have to subsist on Ramen noodles indefinitely, and I am late!

As I rush around bodies in the streets of downtown San Diego, I curse the anxiety that kept me up last night. I was so on edge about this interview that I kept tossing and turning in bed. I was finally able to pass out from sheer exhaustion around 4 am. Which of course meant I slept through my alarm.

Generally, I like being on time. Early even. So the fact that I am 20 minutes late is killing me on the inside.

The funny thing is, I don't even want to be a nanny.

It’s just a stepping stone to the thing I actually do want to do.

But at this rate, I probably won't even get the job.

It's such a shame too, because I put a lot of effort into this. I did actual, real-life research to learn what it takes to be a nanny to a toddler. I watched so many videos online of nannies talking about their experiences to know what to expect. I even paid attention to their mannerisms, body language, and how they spoke in an attempt to replicate it.

I practiced in front of the mirror.

I role-played with my friends!

This job interview is the reason I am wearing sensible shoes, a blue fitted knee-length skirt that isn't too tight, and a white button-down blouse under a pink cardigan with simple studs in my ears. My long light-brown hair which I usually let hang down my back is in a respectable bun at the base of my skull.

Yes, this outfit will do. It's working overtime to hide a body that ever since I turned about 15, had people describing it with words like 'voluptuous'.

Once I enterHarris Tech, I am met with more frustration as I have to stop every ten seconds to explain to either a receptionist, a secretary, or security guard where I'm going.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview.”

“Hello, I’m here for an interview.”

“Good morning, I’m here for an interview.”

I sound like a broken record.

Finally, I make my way to the meeting room where I'm supposed to be meeting whoever is interviewing me for this job. I put my hand on the knob, twist and push it open, and my breath leaves me.

It’s him.

The man himself, Reid Harris, sits at the head of the medium-sized conference table. I know what he looks like because of all my research, and I have to say, all the pictures I saw do not do him justice.

I don't know how better to describe him other than… beautiful.

He's sexy and rugged in equal measure. His shrewd green eyes catch the light filtering into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows and also reflects off his artfully styled short brown hair. He has trendy reading glasses perched on the bridge of his angular nose. As he is sitting, all I can see is his upper half; he is in a crisp white button-down, opened at the collar, and a navy blue blazer.

I had assumed some HR lackey would be handling this, but here he sits, right before my eyes. I hope he doesn’t know who I am. He probably runs in the same circles as my parents. I wouldn’t want that to influence his decision.

He makes a show of looking at his watch and then says, "You are late."

"I'm so sorry. I—"

Before I can explain, he cuts me off. "I do not tolerate excuses. So depending on how well this goes, you should keep that in mind if you are hired."

Everything in me wants to talk back. To defend myself. However, I have no defense. He is right. I am late.

I hate being called out like this. I almost feel like I’ve been sent to the principal’s office, and my body reacts accordingly. My legs start to shake. So much so that I wonder if he can hear my knees knocking together.

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