Page 1 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
CHAPTER1
Flora
“Today isthebest day of my life,” Edie said for at least the hundredth time. She was glowing, her cheeks rosy and blushing against the pale silk shift she was wearing, eyes alight with happiness.
I pulled my already-taut smile even tighter, taking another deep breath. “I’m really,reallyhappy for you, Edie,” I replied. “But maybe don’t let James hear you say that.”
Edie burst into delighted giggles. “Flora!” she admonished. “You know he’d understand.”
I did know. Despite the dress–despite the glow on her cheeks and the sparkle behind her eyes–this wasn’t Edie’s wedding, but the debut of her very first novel. We weren’t in a church or a hotel ballroom, but a charming little bookstore filled with happy tables of books: crisp-covered new releases up front, and well-worn, vanilla-scented used ones in a comforting labyrinth of back rooms. Her husband–had it been three months they’d been married already?–was also a writer. Hewouldunderstand if Edie was nearly as excited about this as she’d been for their simple courthouse wedding. They wereperfecttogether.
“I’m just so happy,” she said again, taking my hand in hers and giving it a tight squeeze. I looked over to her–we were the same height tonight since I was wearing my tallest heels–and hoped that if she noticed a shimmer of tears in my eyes, she’d think they were happy tears for her.
I followed her gaze as she stared over my shoulder at James, soft, sweet adoration on her blushing face, and tried not to let my own smile slide. Edie was mybest friend. We met in a freshman literature class almost a decade ago, where we bonded over our appreciation of the classics… and passion for romance novels. Now she was married, and published, and I couldn’t be prouder. I loved Edie. She deservedeveryhappiness.
And I needed a second alone.
“Go, Edie,” I said, inclining my head at her suit-clad husband. She nodded, flashing a brief smile at me before striding across the sunny bookstore into the arms of her true love.
Edie’s life was all roses and book releases.
Mine was falling apart.
I’d heard on Monday that my job–the job I loved, the job I’d dedicated myself to for two years–had been eliminated. District-wide budget cuts. I was the most junior teacher, so I was it.We’ve loved having you as a member of our school family, Flora,the principal had told me,but unfortunately…I’d nodded, and accepted the paperwork with as much grace as I could manage, and then I’d made it to my car before bursting into tears. I’d pulled out my phone to call Edie, and seen a message from her: a screenshot of a starred review in a literary journal and a billion happy emojis. I couldn’t ruin that.omg YAY!I’d sent back, blinking away my blurry vision.I’ll tell her in person–and then, after I’d seen her in person several times and hadn’t quite managed to–after the book launch, I’d amended.
A new husband who was head-over-heels for her, a brand-new career doing the thing she always wanted most, and by the way they were making eyes at each other during tonight’s event, I was sure a baby wouldn’t be far behind. And here I was, single and unemployed at twenty-six, feeling like a child myself.
I retreated to the quiet depths of the stacks. The front tables in the spacious bookstore were all piled high with Edie’s debut, bearing her new married name right there on the cover–I already had a copy, the title page inscribedTo the best friend I could ever ask for, love, Edie xoxoxoxoxoxo–but I’d seen that a small table in the back of the shop still held romancesnotwritten by my best friend. I made my way toward it, hoping to find something engrossing enough that I could just…not be mefor a few hours.
My heart sank, my hopes of a moment alone to collect myself dashed. There was already someone standing at the table–a man.Great. I straightened, preparing to turn back to the party. I didn’t feel like dealing with some random guy who would invariably ask me, “Why do women read this, anyway?” and make me feelirritatedas well as pathetic. And then he looked up at me, a half-smile on his face, and my breath caught in my chest.
He was tall, with rich brown hair cut conservatively short, a faint smile on his lips. Wide shoulders in a dark suit too formal for the event–maybe he’d come from work–tapering down into a narrow waist. But it was the way he held himself that made me stop and look: confident. Self-assured. Like he knew exactly who he was, and what he wanted, and didn’t care what anyone thought about him. Like he could study a display of admittedly garishly covered romance novels and not be concerned about anything as trivial aswhat people thought about himat all. His eyes, warm brown like his hair, didn’t have the disdainful expression I would have expected from a man holding a book withRavished by the Rakewritten across the front in metallic purple swirls. The curve of his lips as he smiled invited conversation.
“That one’s a favorite of mine,” I said, nodding at the book in his hands. “Very steamy,” I added, and watched as a faint pink blossomed over his strong cheekbones. He was clean-shaven and looked like he belonged at a law firm, not a romance novel launch. Someone from the publishing company, I decided.
“Oh?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation, one eyebrow lifting, his smile broadening. His eyes crinkled at the corners, amused. “You’d recommend it?”
“Well,” I said, coming closer, brushing my fingers across the novels on display, picking up a similarly titled book. “Maybe not to a beginner. That one’s for anexperiencedromance reader.”
He grimaced, placing it back down. “Ah, not me then.”
“A shame,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ll get there eventually. And I’m sure you’re experienced in lots of other worthwhile ways.” I was halfway into a nonchalant shrug when I realized what I’d implied–and realized that he’d realized, too, if the unexpected smirk that flickered over his lips was anything to go by. It was my turn for my cheeks to flush with heat.
“You could say that,” he said. His voice had suddenly dropped low, and I found myself leaning in involuntarily before catching myself. “I’m pretty damn good at accounting.” His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I pressed my lips shut tight, waiting for the punchline–accounting for… what?–but it didn’t come. I blinked at him.
“What, you’ve never read a romance novel about an accountant?” he asked in a husky murmur, and finally, I realized–
“You’re teasing me.”
He nodded, his sexy smirk melting into a crooked smile.
“You’re funny,” I said, cocking a hip against the table of books. “For an accountant,” I added with an unimpressed look, and his smile broadened.
“You’re funny, too. For a…” He paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Romance reader?” I offered flatly. I was hardly going to volunteer that I was unemployed, but telling him I was a teacher would be a little too painful tonight. “You know, there’s a whole genre of these called romanticcomedies. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”
He nodded slowly, looking over the books arrayed on the table. “Sure. But you, Miss…”
