Page 22 of The Christmas Nanny

“All this information, and you still brought me in? I don’t get it.” It was another power play by the rich and famous, though I couldn’t immediately say I wouldn’t do the same thing if I had their money and power. That’s why I was there. Deep down, I wanted a piece of their money and power.

“I also know you’ve been seeing the young man Mrs Quartermain is interviewing.”

“You got all this information in two days?

“I’m a rich man, Christine. When I want information, I get information. What is it that you have going on with this young man?”

“We’re friends. That’s it.”

“You’ve slept with him?”

“No.” It was my turn to stand. “What exactly is going on, Mr Quartermain? Why did you bring us both here if you only need one nanny? Why the separate interviews? Jacob is a good guy.”

“Sit, and I will explain.” Quartermain returned to his chair behind the desk. “I need someone to be on my side and watch my back. We’ll be hiring two nannies, so we’re interviewing you both. The fact that you are dating is something I didn’t see coming. It gives me pause based on what I need you to do.”

“To take care of your child,” I said. “We can both do that.”

“Our child can take care of herself. That’s not my concern.” He turned to the sun coming through the window. His graying temples added to his attractiveness. “I want to know what Mrs Quartermain has up her sleeve. I want to know what she’s doing behind my back.” He turned and intertwined his fingers. “If she hires the guy you’re seeing, I want you to use that relationship to get the information I need.”

Damn. Was he being serious? Of course, he was. “I don’t know that I can do that, Mr Quartermain. It doesn’t seem right.” I shrugged. “Besides, Jacob and I are just friends. Nothing is going on.” Yet.

“Then you need to make something going on.” He adjusted his tie. He obviously thought nothing was wrong with what he asked. “Ten thousand a month, with a two hundred thousand sign-on bonus.” He stood and sat on the corner of the desk, looking down at me. “A ten thousand dollar bonus for every piece of useful information you bring to me.”

“Okay,” I said. I was not agreeing with the terms but acknowledging what he had said.

“You’ll have your own room in the west wing, including a bathroom and small kitchen. Though I despise cats, you can bring yours if he stays in that area.” He checked his watch and then looked at something on his laptop. “I’m a busy man, Christine. Do you have any further questions?”

“Don’t you want to know about my background with children?”

He shook his head. “You have none. Anything else?”

“When will you make your final decision?” I asked, my head spinning.

“I’ve made my decision.” He closed the laptop. “You start the day after tomorrow.”

“I need to think about the offer.” That wasn’t all. “I also need to give my employer a thirty-day notice.”

“Before you leave this room, you’ll give me your decision. As far as your employer is concerned, I will let them know you are leaving your position.” He stood and grabbed his wallet from the desk drawer. Damn, he wasn’t playing around. “I need your decision, Christine. I know everything I need to know about you.”

But I know nothing about you or your child. My brain said to pass, but my bank account spoke much louder. “I’ll take the job.”

“Perfect,” he said and left the room.

Reeling, I sat staring at the file on the desk. My life fit neatly into a folder. I’d seen a birth certificate, diploma, and a list of all my accounts. He’d left one man off the men who’d hired me as an escort. Himself.

Chapter eight

Jacob

I walked around the foyer, studying artwork, the chandelier, and the mosaic floor. Next to working out, art was a passion that took a lot of my time, though I was more attracted to darker works. Give me a Goya or Bosch over a Picasso or Michelangelo any day. Give me a Chirico, Delvaux, or Ernst. I saw the light in the dark.

“An art savant? That’s pretty impressive.”

I faced the woman entering the foyer. She wore purple leggings, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Her blonde hair stood in a tight ponytail, and a hand towel lay over her shoulder. Deep green eyes drew my attention and kept my stare. She still had several beads of sweat on her temples.

“Good morning,” I said and offered a hand. “Jacob King.”

“Stephanie Quartermain,” she said, not offering to shake. “Sorry, I just finished my workout. We’ll go to my office and get started.” She turned away and started back down the hall from where she came. Various expensive paintings hung on the walls, though nothing dark or exotic. Were all rich people prudes? My eyes shifted from the dull images to her ass. Damn. “I understand you used to own a gym.”

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