Page 131 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“Rowen, your mom is calling again,” Jerome interrupted, eyes glued to his phone. “And another call is coming in from Madelyn Malone,” the man finished, trepidation clouding his expression.
Quadruple shit!
Pretty damn soon, he’d run out of shits!
Rowen tapped his cell to life, and the damned thing went off like a grenade. A slew of missed call alerts and a shit ton of texts pinged their arrival as a whirlwind of anxiety and agitation whipped up inside of him. He hadn’t a clue what to say to them!
Hey there, I sort of fell in love with Phoebe’s nanny, then broke her heart in the worst possible way. But I’m pretty tied up at work. So how about brunch next week?
No, that bordered on insane!
He left his phone where it was, pinging and chiming, then sprang from his chair and scooped Phoebe into his arms. It was time to get out of this place, away from texts and jacked-up code. He needed to figure out what to say to his mother, Madelyn, and Mrs. Sullivan. And then he had to work out what to do about Penelope.
Phoebe loved her. Christ, she wanted her to be her mother! And perhaps in a different world, if he were a different man, he could give his niece that gift. But he wasn’t. He had nothing to offer. After AI-77 was back up and running, or as close to the beta version as possible, and he made it through E3, he’d figure out what came next with Penelope. His sixty days with her weren’t up yet. He had time—not much—but a little. What he couldn’t handle right now was an inquisition.
“Tell anyone who calls that I’m at the park with my niece.” He rushed past his assistant with the kid in his arms like a fireman evacuating a burning building. Phoebe’s bubbly laughter filled the air as he booked it down the first set of stairs. He tore through the maze of Gale Gaming employees. Hitting the steps leading to the first floor, he took them two at a time as his jostling niece hooted and hollered her delight at being treated like a sack of potatoes. He came to an abrupt stop when he got to the glass doors. Carefully, he peered outside. He didn’t put it past his mother, Regina Sullivan, or Madelyn from stopping by his office. But the coast was clear. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong, per se. No cell phone meant no distractions, and he owed Phoebe a trip to the playground. He could kill two birds with one stone and, hopefully, get his damned head on straight.
Yep, that was all he was doing—indulging in a brief respite.
Phoebe shifted her weight. “Why’d you bring the domino box?” she asked as her legs dangled over the crook of his arm.
He stared down at his hand. In his flurry of busting out of Gale Gaming like a Wild West bank robber, he hadn’t realized he still had it with him!
“No reason,” he answered briskly as he pressed his back to the glass double doors and burst onto the sidewalk. He scanned the street, looking for three scowling ladies, who most likely wanted to kick his ass. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not a scowler in sight!
“Can I walk, Uncle Row?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, half sure he was losing his mind.
Hand in hand, they crossed the street. He looked down at his niece, this resilient little creature. It was hard to remember life without her—which was a damned odd thing to think at this moment.
She smiled up at him. “If you hear a kid crying, don’t worry.”
“Why would you say that?” he asked.
“Because I want to swing, and I might have to bust some asses to get one.”
This girl!
“Phoebe!” he warned, doing his best to bite back a grin as they followed the path toward the playground.
“Look, there’s a free one! I’m going for it!” she exclaimed, making a beeline for the vacant swing, and with any luck, not busting any asses in the process.
“Stay where I can see you,” he called as she snagged the swing between a little boy and a little girl.
And that’s when the exhaustion hit.
He ran his hands through his mess of dark hair, then scanned the park for Chuck. A game of dominoes would do him good. But when he spied the man, he wasn’t alone. Shit! He’d have to wait until he finished his game. Rowen blew out a weary breath, then shoved his hands into his pockets when a sharp whistle caught his attention.
“Rowen!” came a man’s low whisper-shout.
Who the hell was that?
“Dude! What did you do?”
Rowen spun around and did a double take. Mitch Elliot, Landon Paige, and Erasmus Cress, hisnot-friendsfriends, stood there like a frowning brick wall.
“Rowen, seriously, what did you do?” Mitch asked again. This guy always ran hot. But today, he looked positively incensed.
