Page 64 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
I got a text late that night. I’d kickedRavished by the Rakeunder the bed so I didn’t have to stare at its gaudy purple cover and had picked up a different book, one I’d never read before. Edie’s recommendation, an award-winner. I’d gotten out of the habit of reading literary fiction; now was as good a time as any to pick it back up.
It was boring.
I checked my phone.
I think you overheard Tally,I read.It’s a blind date that Barrett set up, someone he wants me to take to the party. That’s all.
The engagement party. I dropped my phone, letting my head fall back against the pillow.It should be me,I thought, jealousy making me skin crawl.He wantedmeto go with him.
I knew it wasn’t fair. He’daskedme, hadn’t he? But even if our secret was shared among a small group now and not just the two of us, I was still the secret.Thiswoman, this blind date… he could take this womanoutto dinner. A fancy restaurant, with waiters in suits and white tablecloths. What would she look like? I’d heard about Barrett; he was Ryan’s VC friend. The women he knew would be beautiful. Blonde and rich and sophisticated. Women like Tally. Women Ryan could marry. Had married once already.
It’s fine,I said.Have fun.
Don’t, Flora.
I gritted my teeth together, my thumbs tapping out the words, thankful that I didn’t have to say them out loud.You deserve to be happy, Ryan. Have a great time, and I’ll see you on Monday.
I knew he was typing. The ellipses on my phone’s screen gave him away.
I waited, unable to look away even after they disappeared.
CHAPTER31
Ryan
“Mr. Walker?”
I started and looked up from my spreadsheet toward the sound of my name. From the expression on the man’s face–a new hire, his name was George–I was fairly certain it hadn’t been the first time he’d had to say it.
“Sorry, George,” I said and he blinked, probably surprised I remembered his name when I appeared to have forgotten my own. “Thanks, I’ll take that.” He held the cup of coffee I’d sent for in one hand. In the other… “Where did you getthat?” I asked.
“This?” he asked, passing over the biscotti, wrapped in a paper napkin. “I grabbed it from the break room for you. Thought you might want one with your coffee, sir.”
“Right,” I said, taking it and the coffee and putting them both down on my desk. “Sure. Thank you.”
“If you haven’t tried one, you should. They’re good.”
“Oh, I know. They’rereallygood. Best biscotti in the city.” That was what my secretary–Mrs. Giordano–told me the day I dropped them off a couple weeks ago. Flora had provided easily a few hundred, and a few dozen business cards, and I’d put them onevery fucking floor, just as I’d promised.Better than my nonna’s, Mrs. Giordano had actually said when I caught her eating one at her desk. I’d felt a misplaced sort of pride in Hazel, the stranger whose baked goods the secretary enjoyed so well.That’smysecret girlfriend’s sister you’re complimenting.
But she hadn’t been mygirlfriend, secret or otherwise. She’d just beenthe woman I was sleeping with.
And now, she was just the nanny.
Today, when I got home, I’d tell her that my office had ordered more biscotti and she’d smile politely and excuse herself and saybye, Mr. Walkerlike we were strangers, like she’d done every day this week, and that would be that.
It was painful, seeing her every day in my house and not being with her.
But tomorrow, she wouldn’t even bejust the nannyanymore. Tomorrow, she’d be gone.
And wasn’t it better to see her–copper hair and pretty legs and blue eyes–than not see her at all, even if those blue eyes didn’t sparkle at me anymore?
“Yeah, probably so,” George said, and I sighed heavily before realizing he was still talking about the biscotti. “Anything else, Mr. Walker?” he asked, giving me a weird look.
“No,” I said, and he nodded. “Actually, wait.” He froze. At the office, people listened to me. They did what I said. “Are you sitting in on the meeting this afternoon?”
He nodded again. “Yes.”
“Bring some more of these with you,” I instructed. “And some of the caterer’s business cards.”
