Page 28 of Nanny for the Bossy Billionaire

I follow the maid out of the room because I don’t want to risk being late to dinner. I really don’t have the energy to fight with my parents tonight about my tardiness.

When I walk into the dining room, it’s empty. So I sit in my usual chair, on the left hand side of the head of the table.

I distract myself by leaning my chair as far back as it will go without toppling over. It’s something I used to do as a child.

“Naomi,” Dad says as he and Mom walk in. He takes a seat at the head of the table. “Your mother said you were here. I could hardly believe it.”

“He was willing to put money on it,” Mom says as she sits across the table from me.

“Is there any reason you decided to come two days early?” Dad asks.

“No, I just felt like it this year,” I reply.

“Really?” Mom raises an eyebrow.

“Really…”

“So you don’t need any money?” Dad asks.

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, it’s always lovely to have you back home,” Dad says.

Then without missing a beat, he and Mom practically pretend I don’t exist for the rest of dinner.

It’s not ideal, but I guess it’s preferable to being the center of attention and having them scold me for my life choices all night long.

The next twodays consist of meals much like my first dinner here. I spend the time in between those meals avoiding my parents. I hang out with my friends as much as I can get away with, because they too are busy with their own Thanksgiving preparations.

Finally, the evening of my parents’ Thanksgiving party arrives. I’m grateful, because it means I can leave tomorrow.

If I didn’t hate being in this house as much as I do, I probably would enjoy the decorations and maybe even have a good time. Mom is the consummate host. Even though the mansion looks like a mausoleum most of the year, around the holidays Mom goes all out with decorations. Each year she hires a new designer to give their crypt a warm and cozy feel, and they usually outdo themselves. This year isn’t any different.

I am hiding in the dining room where the huge spread that spills from a cornucopia on the table awaits the guests who are mingling in the great room. I have folded myself into a sitting position in the corner of the room when the door opens.

I look up and it’s my cousin, Edward. He is my father’s younger brother’s son. We don’t get along because our fathers don’t get along. Apparently, they never really liked each other, but things got to a fever pitch when Dad inherited the company from their father.

From what I heard, my Uncle James always resented Dad for being the firstborn son, the son who was groomed to take overLitmus Industries.

When we were younger, I tried to get closer to Edward, but it became clear very quickly that he had inherited his father’s hatred for my dad, and by extension, me.

Edward scans the room. When he finds me, he smirks. “Being antisocial as usual?”

I climb to my feet. “Why? Do you want to socialize with me?”

He huffs. “Hardly.”

“What do you want Eddie?” I smile, knowing he hates the nickname.

“It’s Edward, and I don’t want anything from you.”

“Is that why you came looking for me?” He doesn’t respond, so I add, “Just say what you came in here to say so we can both get on with our lives.”

“Well, I was hoping I would run into you tonight so you could offer me your congratulations.”

“Congratulations for what?”

“Oh. I guess your father didn’t tell you.”

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