Page 51 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
I blinked, unable to move my clay-coated face.
Delighted to offer you a position…
I checked the header again.Dear Ms. Connelly.It was forme, they hadn’t made some tragic email mistake.
“Oh my gosh…” I mumbled, feeling slightly numb, my heart beating double time.
I had gotten a job.
Thank you, Principal Schaefer,I thought, the clay on my cheeks crinkling uncomfortably–I couldn’t hold back my smile.Thank you, Superintendent Lawson, for writing me such great recommendations! Thank you, thank you, thank you,I hummed as I washed the clay from my face, returning to the computer scrubbed and moisturized. I scrolled down through the information they’d provided: dates of trainings, teacher workdays, the district handbook I was already familiar with from my last position.
By the time I arrived at theSincerely, Principal Linda Adams, I was already mentally planning out my classroom theme.Birds would be colorful. Ooh, or tropical…
And then–
Maddie had pointed out this very school crest on one of our early walks together: bright blue and gold, a key and a feather crossed in the center.
“That’s my school,” she’d said. “I wish you could be my teacher, too.”
“That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” I’d said, and smiled. I’d thought then that it would be complicated, to go from nanny to teacher. Butmanageable, I’d convinced myself. If I landed a job there–one of the best schools in the city–I’dhaveto take it. It would be ridiculous not to, I’d thought.
And it still would be,I reminded myself, staring down at the school’s cheerful logo. This was a school at which I could spend my whole teaching career. Even if I had adozenoffers to choose from, which I didn’t, this particular one would be impossible to turn down.
I was, I reminded myself, grateful for the offer, and enthusiastic about accepting it. I sent the email right away.Thank you for the opportunity.Yes.
But as I closed my bedroom door that night, I realized that there was another door I’d been holding open, just a crack, a door that contained a future for me and Ryan, after I wasn’t his nanny anymore.
That door was closed now, too.
I wouldn’t be his nanny, no. I’d be his daughter’s teacher.
I had to tell him.
I stared at the same page of my romance novel for a quarter of an hour, absorbing nothing, before switching off the light.
* * *
It rained all the next week, the kind of summer storms that let up for just long enough that Maddie and I chanced a trip to the park Monday and Tuesday morning and got rained on both days, running back home with damp hair and clinging clothes. Wednesday, I brought a change of outfit, just in case–a pair of drawstring linen shorts and a plain navy tee shirt–and fought the urge to tuck it into Ryan’s drawers all day. I’d been bringing spare clothes on the weekends, now that I’d been sleeping over more Saturdays than not. I’d diligently taken everything home with me each time. This felt different, like since I was here for Maddie, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, a dangerous idea, to leave them here. I didn’t end up needing them. We didn’t go out and they stayed in my tote bag, taunting me. I brought them home with me.
I didn’t tell Ryan about my new position. I’d tried to before work one morning, but I hadn’t quite managed to get the words out before Maddie slouched down the stairs. The rain had spoiled her mood already, and suddenly, the two of us–Ryan and I–were both preoccupied with trying to cheer her up without looking so much like we were trying to cheer her up that she got suspicious of our attempts and decided to stubbornly cling to her grouchiness.
It was fine. I would tell him later.
I didn’t tell him when he got home from work that day, though. And then again, the next morning. I filled out my paperwork–the complicated tax withholding and the optional retirement plan contributions making me think of Ryan’s tired eyes when he arrived home on Friday afternoons–and still, I didn’t mention it. This summer had been a cocoon, a warm, protective bubble, just Maddie and Ryan and me, mornings spent in the park and evenings spent over wine on the patio, all caught between the hours spent in the backseat of a black car. And telling him that I had a job for the fall felt like the first step in emerging from that cocoon. It had to happen eventually.
But not today, I thought as Maddie and I sat on the couch together, both of us curled under blankets. Two empty mugs of hot chocolate sat sticky on the coffee table in front of us. Maddie was reading a book, a fantasy that I thought was probably just a little bit too old for her, and I had been half-reading a book as well, something I’d pulled from Ryan’s bookshelves. The rain was pouring down outside, and with the lamps on, it was cozy. Maddie’s mom would be here soon and I could leave then, but I definitely didn’t want to brave the walk to the subway in this weather. I’d stay here, tidying up a little and reading until Ryan got home and his driver could take me. Ryan would probably tell me that the most important part of having all his money was being able to provide for his daughter: pay for her college, or private lessons, or whatever. But the private car was pretty nice, too.
Or maybe I’d stay here. I still had that change of clothes in my bag, after all.
I was daydreaming when the front door opened, the sound of rain getting louder for a moment even through the depth of the brownstone.
“Maddie?” a voice called.
She sat up, blinking at me.
“Dad?” she called, curiously.
“Hey, Ladybug,” he said. He glanced at me, too, giving me a soft, sweet smile. “Flora.”
