Page 20 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
“You’re seeing someone.”
Tally nodded. She took a sip of her iced tea. Her salad sat mostly untouched in front of her. We’d met at the little upscale deli she liked. We usually did for our monthly “co-parenting catch-ups,” as a former nanny had deemed them. She usually got a salad, and I usually got the vegan club sandwich–it had smoked eggplant instead of bacon. I didn’t know how they did it, but it was good. Salty and smokey and delicious. Today, though, it tasted like cardboard.
“It’s serious, then?” I asked her. “If you’re telling me, that means…”
“He’s met Maddie,” she said. “But he hasn’t… I want him to spendtimewith her. We’re… serious, yes.”
She was blushing. Since when did Tally blush?
Since this guy, apparently.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Why, are you going to go beat him up?” she asked, her lips curving into a small smile. “Stake your claim?”
I frowned. “Of course not, Tally. You know that’s not…”
“That’s not your style, is it,” she said, a statement rather than a question.
“That’s not my place,” I corrected. “You have your own life. I know that.”
She pushed her salad around with her fork, and I watched her. Her fingernails were painted a pale blush pink. Then she sighed, looking up at me. “Do you?” she asked.
“I do,” I said. “I know that you–”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean– Doyou? Doyouhave your own life?”
I stilled. “What are you saying?”
“I love you, Ryan, you know that. You’re my daughter’s father, but you’re also a good friend. And as a friend…” She shrugged. “You know, when I dropped Maddie off the other day, I thought that woman you were with was… a girlfriend, maybe,” she said, a sad smile on her face. She went back to pushing around her salad. “I was happy for you. That you’d moved on.”
“Tally,” I asked, “do you think Ihaven’tmoved on?Our divorce was–”
“Seven years ago,” she said, “and I haven’t heard a whisper about you dating. TheWeek–” I rolled my eyes; if it didn’t make the pages of theNew York Week, did it even happen? “–hasn’t run pictures of you with anyone, not like Jamie and Charlie.”
“What, you want me dragging models from party to party?” I asked, incredulous.
“Of course not–”
I interrupted. “What kind of example would that be to Maddie?”
“What kind of example is it for you to spend your life alone?” Tally snapped suddenly, frowning, then seemed to recompose herself. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be, I’m the one who’s sorry.” For what, I wasn’t sure. Worrying her? “Tally. I swear to you: the only emotion I feel for you is…” I sighed. I loved Tally, but I wasn’tinlove with her. If I was honest with myself, I’d never been in love with her, even while we were married. We’d never discussed it, but I was sure she felt the same way. “I’mhappyfor you. I’ll look forward to meeting him.”
“We’re going to get engaged,” she said simply. A statement of fact.
“Congratulations,” I said, and I meant it.
She nodded, and by the time we parted ways–splitting the check, and then a taxi to take us back to our respective offices–we seemed back to normal.
But the lump that had congealed in my stomach when she looked at me and asked if I’d moved on…
It lingered through my afternoon meetings. Through the second taxi ride to the restaurant, and through the meal itself. I barely tasted the steak I’d ordered, and couldn’t bring myself to listen to the CEO, an older man near retirement age, as he drone on. Tally thought I hadn’t moved on. She’d met someone, and she’d been nervous to tell me, thinking–what? That I wasstill in love with her?The thought was ridiculous.
The lump was still there when I finally arrived back at my home. It was late. Maddie would be asleep, but I’d give her a kiss on her smooth forehead, then crash into my own bed.Three glasses of red wine at dinner and I’m toast,I thought as I toed off my shoes. I considered leaving them in the foyer for Lara, the housekeeper, to tidy tomorrow, but bent to pick them up.I’m old.Old enough that three glasses of merlot made my blood run warm and heavy through my veins, and old enough to put away my own damn shoes. What kind of role model doesn’t put away his shoes? If I slacked now, there would be pink size-five sneakers scattered all over the house by next month.
“Ryan?” called a voice from within the house. “Mr. Walker?”
