Page 23 of Nanny for the Bossy Billionaire

“Ummm… I was just evicted, and I don’t know where to go.”

I don’t have to say anything else before he kicks into gear. He pushes a button on his key fob and his trunk pops open. He grabs two of my suitcases, one in each hand, and starts carrying them to his car.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Well, I’m not going to leave you sitting here crying on the street. I’m taking you home.” He throws my third suitcase in his trunk.

“Home? As in your house?”

“Yes.” He points at the suitcase I’m sitting on. “Do you want to keep sitting on that or are you going to let me put it in the car?”

I jump up as if the piece of luggage bit me. He promptly snatches it off the street and carries it to the car.

He closes the trunk and utters to me, “Get in. Let’s go.”

I’m not sure how I feel about him ordering me into his car, but I oblige because he’s all seriousness.

Once we are buckled in he pulls away from the curb and starts toward his house.

After about 10 minutes of driving in silence, I turn to him. “What were you doing in my neighborhood? You literally live an hour away.”

“I felt like tacos and my favorite taco place is down the street from where you live. Good thing, huh?”

“Thank you,” I say after a moment.

“Don’t mention it.” He glances in my direction with a thin smile.

“Mr. Harris, I really am sorry about the whole Chef Aranda thing.”

“First of all, my name is Reid. Enough with this Mr. Harris business. Secondly, it’s all forgotten.”

“Really? Is it? Because you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for the past month. I understand it and I don’t blame you, but I need you to know that I am sorry. I see now how manipulative my plan was.”

He shrugs. “Well, what you did wasn’t the most ethical, but if I’m being honest, I was a little bit more of a dick than the situation required. Life is a sequence of transactions. I know that, but I let myself forget it where you’re concerned.” He is suddenly a little sheepish. “All you did was remind me. Anyway, like I said, it’s all forgotten.”

I don’t know why, but I feel sick that he might see any part of our relationship as transactional, but he is right. That’s how I was treating it.

We spend the rest of the drive in silence.

When we get to his mansion, he shows me to the guest room, then helps me with my bags.

“This is where you’ll be staying.”

“I promise, I’ll be out of here as soon as I can find my own place.”

“You can stay as long as you need. As you know, no one is using this room. I sometimes feel guilty that I have all the space that isn’t being used. So I’m actually glad you’re here. Basically, all I’m saying is take your time.”

With that, he turns around and walks out of the room.

I’ve had quite a day. So I call the bar and let them know I won’t be making my shift tonight. Then I collapse on the bed.

I’m not sure how I feel about this. I am grateful to have a roof over my head tonight, but I’m not sure about being a live-in nanny. What’s more, I don’t exactly know how to feel about living in the same house with Mr. Harris—I mean Reid.

Normally I only see him briefly in the morning when I arrive, and then again just as I’m leaving.

And honestly, every time, I want to jump his bones.

I don’t know how all of this is going to work.

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