The Billionaire's Nanny: A BWWM Romantic Comedy Page 7

  “Nope, I’m an only child. My parents died in a car accident when I was eight. My grandma raised me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss. But I’ll have to compliment your grandma some day.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see it might have been too much. There’s a flicker in her eyes. I remember that she’s not in my head, where I’ve already been taking her to India, showing her Cape Cod…as far as she knows, I’m just Maeve’s dad that isn’t around much. I add, quickly, "She clearly raised you with care since you became a good teacher and a good nanny."

  Vanessa’s smile is warm, if I freaked her out, I think it passed. I hope. She says, “She did. It’s hard to be so far away from her, but we talk a lot. She used to babysit, run a daycare, kind of, when my mom was a baby.” She has chosen her words carefully. I wonder what she almost said.

  I’d asked her about her accent when she first started caring for Maeve, so I knew the grandmother is in Atlanta. “What does she think of you taking this job, then?” I ask.

  Vanessa shrugs. “She’s okay with it, I think. Now.” She gives me a mischievous smile. “She doesn’t really trust you, though.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because you hired a girl to take care of your baby after only seeing her wait tables. Badly.” She takes a big sip of the wine. "Why did you hire me? Just because you thought I was good with Maeve? Or is there something else?"

  She’s looking at me so directly. I feel like I have to tell her some of the truth at least. I smile. "It might have been an impulse decision partly spurred by attraction. BUT," I add, cutting her off, "I maintain that it was a good impulse because you have been very good at your job. How’s the wine?" I throw that last bit in there to steer the conversation another way. I’m pretty smooth.

  “It’s fine. Good, in fact, probably goes down too easily for my own good. So, you really never even taste it?”

  My smooth steering just yanking the conversation in another direction I don’t really want to go.

  “No, I don’t. I have a guy for that. Let’s just say that I liked booze a little too much for a little too long and I felt it was best to make a clean break. It hasn’t been very long, so it’s best if I stay cold turkey for now.”

  The usual awkward silence follows that pronouncement. Then Vanessa says, “So. How ’bout them…Mets? Is that a team here?”

  Silence broken, we laugh pretty hard. “No,” I say finally, “That’s New York. If you want to support Oakland, it’s the Athletics, and god help you. But if you support San Francisco, it’s the Giants.”

  “And that would be…baseball, right?”

  Surely she’s playing it up for comic effect, but I’ll take it over the alcoholism discussion. “Yes. Football is the Raiders and the 49ers. Basketball, locally, is the Warriors or, if you prefer an underdog, the Kings, And hockey, if you are so inclined, and I cannot imagine that you are, is the San Jose Sharks.”

  “Into sports, then are you?”

  “Not in the least. But if you’re a man in the business world, you’re expected to have a team and a working knowledge of most sports. When I lived in Boston, I decided to be a Red Sox and Pats fan and I paid an assistant to keep track of them and tell me all the game highlights so that I could say ‘Whoa, what about that 3rd quarter call last night?’ I’m like a parrot, though, only the barest idea what I’m actually saying.”

  This strikes Vanessa as hilarious and she has to set down her wine glass to keep from spilling it as she laughs. I feel like I just made a huge sale, or–I guess–scored the winning run.

  “So,” she says, wiping her eyes and picking up her glass again, “if you got to pick the topic, what would you talk about?”

  “Travel. Kayaking.”

  “Hey, I like to kayak! I’d love to travel some day, too. This wine has made me a little lightheaded, can we walk?”

  “Sure,” I say, rising and then offering her a hand. Her skin is so soft in mine and I realize I’ve never touched her. I let it go reluctantly. “Where would you like to travel?”

  “I’d love to go to Vietnam and Cambodia,” she says, as we stroll. “India sounds exciting.”

  “It is, I’ve spent quite a bit of time there. I really love it.”

  Vanessa’s hand brushes mine, probably by accident, but I take it. She doesn’t pull away.

  “You were in India for the textile mills?” she asks.

  "Yes. I went over expecting to move our operation back to the US. A lot of companies were riding the Made in America wave, moving their factories to South Carolina. But after working with the people a while, I realized that to move the mill would devastate their village. So I stayed and tried to improve conditions there. I figured we’d be better off trying to educate consumers on our end, explain why we were staying in India."

  We’ve stopped walking, and I’m still holding her hand.

  “You sound really passionate about it. I bet you’d make a great guide.” She’s looking up at me, the moon in her dark brown eyes.

  “I’d love to show you,” I say, and can no longer wait. I lean down, taking her head in my hand as I kiss her.

  Her lips soften into mine, returning the kiss, urgent. I pull her to me, my other hand in the small of her back, her body soft against mine.

  As I try to part her lips with the tip of my tongue, however, she pulls away. Puts her hand on my chest. “Corbin, no,” she says softly, not meeting my gaze. “I…I’m going to my room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She turns and hurries up the path as fast as she can without breaking into a run.

  Crap.

  Chapter Six

  It’s midnight in Atlanta, but this can’t wait. The phone rings five times before Grandma picks up. Obviously I woke her, her voice is still creaky with sleep.

  “What’s happened, Vanessa, are you okay?”

  You know how you’re holding it all together and then someone who loves you says “Are you okay?” and you totally lose it? That.

  “Baby girl, what is going on, what is it?”

  I feel terrible for scaring her and that just makes me feel worse, but I manage to choke out “It’s…not an emergency…I’ll be fine…” before dissolving in sobs again, because I’m not sure I’ll be fine.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” Yes, but not physically. “I’m…sorry to scare you.” I manage to get the sobs under control. I don’t think of myself as much of a crier, but when I do, it’s not a dainty sniffle. “I guess I just wanted advice. I’m freaked out.”

  “Okay, honey, what happened.”

  “Corbin kissed me.”

  I hear her sigh, like she’d been holding her breath. “Honey, wouldn’t this be a better conversation with Asia? I’m not good at this stuff.” I’d never known Grandma to have a gentleman caller even though she’s still beautiful at 75, with that tiny dancer’s body that my mother inherited.

  “I tried,” I say, sounding like a whiny teen even to myself, "but I got her I’m driving auto text response."

  “Good for her.” Grandma reminds me not to text and drive at least once a week.

  "I really needed to talk now," I whine.

  “Okay, okay, I’m up now anyway. So. This boy kissed you. Isn’t that what you wanted? You’ve sounded pretty sweet on him since, well, since you first told me about him.”

  "Well, yes. No. I don’t know, that’s why I called!"

  She sighs again. "Vanessa. I don’t know this boy at all. I don’t know his family. But I do know about rich men that think they can just have their way with the help, take advantage of women that work for them. Can you swear to me that he’s not like that?"

  “Yes, I mean, I’ve seen no evidence of it. The other women that work here have never said a bad word or even rolled an eye behind his back. He’s only been here a little longer than I have, but I get the sense that they’ve known him longer than that. It’s one of his family’s houses, so maybe he visited as a kid.” The image of Corbin as a little boy com
es to mind, all floppy black curls and big blue eyes. Also, I realize I’m babbling. “Yeah, I mean, no. He’s not like that.”

  “Okay. Did he just walk up and kiss you out of nowhere or did it happen…in a more usual way?” Poor Grandma, I can tell she’s well outside of her comfort zone. She’s always been very no nonsense with me where boys are concerned, just the facts and a healthy dose of skepticism about their motives. I went to college still a virgin, having been assured that to begin sleeping with boys too young would ruin my focus on grades. Once in college, of course, I realized that it was a risk worth taking. Grades aren’t everything. And you can always pull them up again. She used to warn me, though, against “getting too serious” if she thought I sounded too smitten with some boy or another. “You can find you another one once you get where you’re going,” she’d say. Needless to say, I didn’t get my love of romance novels from her.

  "No, it was fine, the right way. We were holding hands and walking and talking. And I wanted him to kiss me, I did. I kissed him back. At first."

  “Then what happened?”

  “I’m not even sure. It’s like, all at once, I thought ‘I don’t know him, I don’t know if this is really what I want or if it’s just what I’d decided I wanted,’ you know?”

  She paused, then said, “No, I’m afraid I don’t, not really. You say you don’t know him. That is true. How well have you known other boys the first time you kissed them?”

  “Not very well, usually.”

  "Did you wake up some poor old woman, crying like you’d lost your puppy after those kisses?"

  I laugh. “No.”

  “So what is different this time?”

  “I’m not sure. This feels…complicated. I mean, I work for him, for starters.”

  “If you didn’t work for him, if he found the replacement nanny right now, would you feel differently?”

  “Probably not. I guess it’s…something about him feels strange, hidden. Like he’s got this big secret.”

  She makes a tsking noise and I can just see her shaking her head, eyes closed. “Girl, you love that stuff, don’t you? Too many damned books. Men with secrets are trouble. You make him tell you those secrets before this goes any further. What, do you think he’s in illegal activities?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. It’s kind of how he is with Maeve. Weirdly disconnected. I mean, it’s not like I expect him to wear the baby strapped to his back all day or to try to lactate so he can breastfeed her…”

  “Oh, good lord child! I should hope not!”

  I chuckle at her discomfort. Probably because I said “breast.” "But I do feel like he should be spending more time with her. I mean, I get outsourcing diaper changes and the day-to-day child-minding stuff. He has a job, after all. But why miss out on the fun stuff, too?"

  “What does he say when you ask him?”

  “Well, I haven’t. I mean, it feels like it’s none of my business as a nanny. But if it’s going to be more…”

  “Ask him, girl. Stop hoping he’ll see how you’re mooning around with your head in the clouds and ask you what’s wrong. Don’t think he’s going to change just because you wish for it really hard. Either you get answers or this doesn’t go anywhere.”

  See? So no nonsense. “You’re right. I don’t know if I can, but you’re right.”

  “Of course you can. You moved out to California for college, all on your own. You moved to that little town to teach kids that barely speak English. You’re holding down jobs left and right. You can ask a rich boy why he doesn’t play with his baby. That’s easy. Now, unless there’s some other thing I can fix for you, I’m going back to sleep. I need beauty rest at my age.”

  “Okay Grandma, thanks. Sorry I woke you, but thanks for talking me down. I love you.”

  “I love you, baby girl. Now go to sleep yourself.” The phone clicked from her end as she set down the heavy receiver on the old push button phone she insisted on keeping.

  Right. Just ask him. Sure. How hard can it be?

  It’s well past midnight before I finally fall asleep. Asia never switched her phone over, so I couldn’t even get back-up advice. I think about texting a couple of the other teachers that I’m friends with, but realize that would be weird. We’ve barely spoken all summer, an eleven p.m. plea for advice would be awkward.

  I wake with a start to the sound of Maeve babbling to herself in her crib. It takes me a moment to figure out where I am: right, guest room next to the nursery. Monitor beside my bed. Where I put it after fleeing Corbin’s kiss. Shiiiiiit. How am I supposed to walk around out there? Mortifying.

  Maeve’s “Da ba da ba” is starting to turn toward a cry, so I go through our adjoining door, through the playroom, and into her bedroom. When she sees me, the early sniffles disappear and she bangs on the crib rail, calling “Ka ka ka!” with a happy smile.

  “Good morning, princess,” I say, “I bet you’d like a fresh diaper and some breakfast!” I feel like the camera trained on the crib is boring through me. I pick her up and carry her to the changing table. How much of the room is in the shot?

  “What will it be for breakfast today?” I ask. Maeve is grabbing at my braids since I haven’t pulled them back yet. She gets one in each hand and pulls. “Ow!” I say.

  “Ow!” she says happily, giggling, pulling again. I gently get my hair out of her fists and pick her up again.

  “Let’s go down to the kitchen and see if it’s rice cereal! Maybe it’ll be rice cereal instead! Or maybe just rice cereal.” Maeve is still after my hair, uninterested in my lame jokes. But seriously, that’s what she has every day. And wears as much of it as she eats. It’s pretty gross.

  While I keep up chipper patter for the camera, I try to plan a route to the kitchen that minimizes the chance that I’ll run into Corbin.

  Yes, it’s stupid. No, I can’t keep it up forever. But damn, I’m just not ready to face him yet.

  We get to the kitchen with no incident. Phew.

  “Give me the baby and you can go get dressed for the day while I give her breakfast,” Marta sees my hesitation and adds, “It’s fine, I’ve been doing it every day, so it’s in my routine. Go on!”

  It’s kind of her to assume my hesitation was an unwillingness to tax her schedule. Really, I just don’t want to take yet another chance of running into Corbin. I swear, I feel like I’m in a slasher movie, dashing up halls and into stairways, my heart pounding every time I hear a door…

  But I make it back to my room, confronted by neither my employer nor a scary murderer.

  As I stand in the warm, strong spray–at least I don’t have to go back to that low-flow shower–I realize that if Corbin had the security footage on, he knew I was about to head down to the kitchen and made no effort to catch me. Maybe it wasn’t that I’m super stealthy, it’s that he’s avoiding me, too.

  And really, I can’t decide how I feel about that. Relieved that I’ll have time to figure out what I want to do? Annoyed that he isn’t pursuing me? Worried that he didn’t actually care all that much and has not given me another thought? All of them.

  I try to let the drumming of the water on my body wash my worries away. I can’t do anything right now. I need to figure out what I really want. I think about the kiss: His hand had felt so right in mine, it didn’t feel strange at all when he took it. And when he pulled me to him, just at the moment I’d been willing him to, my knees felt weak. I rose up on my toes to meet his kiss. His lips were perfect–warm, but not too squishy. I could feel that tight Daniel Craig body through the fine linen cloth–muscular, cut, but not a gym rat. And I could feel that the kiss felt good to him, too. At the time, it felt like a terrific preview of what could come. But his hand at my back tugged my braids just a little, just because they were in the way, and I thought of Maeve. And I felt…sick. When his tongue tried to slip between my lips, my flight response kicked in or something. I just knew I had to get away.

  But I still don’t know why, really. I feel like I’m
in a cartoon and the angel on my shoulder is all “You don’t know this man AND you work for him, you need to keep it professional.” And the devil is all "Girl, did you feel what was in those pants? Get that."

  Oh, yeah, my devil is Asia. I should text her again.

  While I get dressed, I fill her in. Like Grandma, her first response is: Isn’t that what you wanted to happen?

  She is unsentimental, advising me not to worry about tomorrow until that day comes.

  A:Look, he’s super hot. Way hotter than you said he was. Go for it. How long has it been since you had some action?

  V: Very. But what if he’s all wrong? What if he’s really a mess?

  A: So? You’re not committing to marry him. Just…be a nanny with benefits.

  V: Yuck, stop. But yeah, maybe.

  A: You’re too into the mystery–Why is he sad? Can I fix him? Who cares. Bone. him.

  I’m texting as I walk back to the kitchen, instead of dashing in and out of doorways. I’m paying zero attention, and I want right. into. Corbin.

  “Um, Good morning,” he says, totally cool.

  “Oh! Sorry!” My face feels hot and my heart is pounding.

  “You shouldn’t text and drive you know. Or walk, apparently.” He’s smiling at me like nothing weird has happened.

  “So my Grandma tells me, all the time. Seems she was right, again!” I want, urgently, to just zip around him and off to the kitchen. Pretty sure that would make it weirder, though.

  Corbin puts a hand on my upper arm. It’s like electric current radiates out from his touch. “Look, can we talk? Tonight? Say, eight?”

  And because what else am I going to do? I say, “Sure! Great!”

  He nods with a little smile and steps aside a bit. “Good, see you then, meet me by the kitchen garden door.”

  After he’s gone and I look back at my phone screen filled with line after line of Nessa? Vanessa? Hello? I step into what seems to be a library and quickly text Asia back.

  V: Sorry, ran into C. He wants TO TALK. Tonight. what do I do?

  A: Let yo body talk, gurrrrl She adds a devil emoji. See?