Page 70 of The Nanny and the Nerd
That was the motivation: show them what they’d thrown away. Show them what they’d abandoned like an inconsequential piece of trash.
He schooled his features, hardening his heart, then pictured Penelope.
“She’s not for you. No one is for you,” he whispered, then headed to his office.
Fourteen
Penny
“Phoebe? Is everything okay in there?”Penny called through the door leading to the child’s walk-in closet. A decked-out closet that was at least double the size of her room at her old place.
“I’m still deciding which PJs I want to wear,” Phoebe answered.
Penny stifled a laugh. What would it be tonight? One thing she’d learned this week was that Phoebe Gale had an interesting interpretation of appropriate bedtime attire. But she wanted the little girl to have some control over her life. Phoebe had to go to school, and she was required to do her homework and eat her vegetables. Penny remembered being bossed around by her big sisters and hating it. She was no child development expert, but from experience, she understood what it was like to trudge through a list of have-tos and must-dos day in and day out. And over the past week, they’d figured out a schedule that seemed to work for the both of them.
A strange benefit to Rowen’s absence was that it had allowed her and Phoebe to fall into a rhythm. In the mornings, it was all about getting ready for school, and Penny made sure that they followed the same schedule each day. Like clockwork, Phoebe knew when to get dressed, brush her teeth, eat breakfast, and make sure she had her homework folder ready to go. Penny hated to admit it, but one benefit of being raised by a type-A mother was that Beatrice Fennimore had passed on a few helpful organization and scheduling nuggets.
After school, she and Phoebe came home for a snack, then chose an outing. This week alone, they’d visited the Denver Botanic Gardens, the Museum of Nature and Science, and even hit the aquarium. That nanny credit card Harper had salivated over sure came in handy. Then they headed home, and she helped Phoebe with her homework while Mrs. Sullivan prepared dinner.
And their day didn’t end there.
Each night after her bath, Phoebe would choose her outfit for the next day and how she wanted her hair done, then pick out a pair of pajamas. The pajama business was an elaborate affair that usually left her with sore cheeks from laughing at Phoebe’s choices, which were eccentric at best and absolutely bonkers at worst. After that, they’d cuddle and make up a story. It was odd how easily they’d fallen into this pattern—how she’d gone from busting her ass as a waitress and barely scrimping by to spending her nights in a climate-controlled modern palace caring for the sweetest little girl. Well, maybe not the sweetest. Thanks to that foot tap tip, Phoebe had no qualms about throwing in a double-tap butthole comment here and there. But it was in good fun, and then, after Phoebe had fallen asleep, she had the place to herself.
She most definitely should have been writing, or at least brainstorming, her short story, but that wasn’t what was on her mind. No, she had a drive to uncover a mystery. She’d take off her imaginary nanny cap and morph into a supersleuth. Okay, supersleuth might be pushing it. But when the house was still, that’s when she’d explore. Tiptoeing through the spacious rooms, she scanned for clues that could reveal more about the man who owned this luxurious place.
What made him tick? How did he become the gazillionaire tech giant Rowen Gale? She knew he was adopted. She’d spent the afternoon with his delightful adoptive mother. But what had happened to his biological parents? After nights of staring at nondescript artwork and rifling through purely ornamental coffee table books with spines that cracked as if nobody had ever leafed through them, she hadn’t uncovered any answers.
But she hadn’t combed through every inch of the place.
She had a curious nature—a writer’s zest to discover the backstory. Once or twice, she’d reached for the handle that led to Rowen’s bedroom, but she stopped herself each time, tapping the metal door handle with her fingertips before heading to bed—a part of her glad he wasn’t there. Another part, aching to hear his sleeping breath.
And that was the dilemma. Who was this man, and who was she when she was with him? In seven days, her world had turned upside down, with today being the most turbulently eventful day so far.
Along with busting into Gale Gaming, the cookie-baking and the pizza party were also an aberration to the usual day. In fact, what had started as the desire to serve up a big screw you to Rowen, with the introduction of copious amounts of chocolate chips and processed sugar, had turned out to be one of the loveliest afternoons she’d had in ages. When Rowen had entered the kitchen, and their eyes met across the room, it sent a charge through her body. A charge that triggered their kiss in the hallway to pop into her mind, along with his words.
For the next sixty days, you’re mine.
Pretty hot—especially for a nerd!
A pang of worry rippled through her chest. Could Rowen’s mother have noticed? Or, for that matter, Mrs. Sullivan or Darla? It wasn’t like an attraction alarm sounded. But it was there. That crackle. That flutter. She shook her head. She had to put a stop to this. Blame her romance-loving writer’s brain. She could take a concern and blow it up into a catastrophe. But one thing was certain. Those butterflies flapping away in her belly were completely inappropriate.
She pulled back the pale pink covers on Phoebe’s bed, patted the head of one of the child’s stuffed animals, then checked her watch. “I’ll give you a few more minutes to decide which pajamas you want to wear. It’s almost bedtime, little miss,” she called from across the room. But the truth was, she could use a bit more time to get herself together.
It had truly been one hell of a day. She’d barely had a moment to process what she’d done—well, the many things she’d done.
She’d written—a lot.
Like a fire hydrant gushing gallons of water by the second, she’d wrapped her mind around AI-77 and Princess Amelia and had written copious amounts of text and dialogue. She’d even worked on the narrative in the car while she waited for Phoebe in the school’s pickup lane on the actual Gale Gaming laptop Rowen had issued to her—a miracle in itself. She usually wrote by hand and then, begrudgingly, typed it up on her ancient laptop.
Even now, her fingertips tingled, aching to get back to the characters. Or maybe it was something else. Perhaps it was the flutter of sweet anticipation over what was to come tonight when she and Rowen had their not-a-date work date.
No! She had to banish those thoughts!
“You are a writer. Act like a professional, Penny,” she whispered to a trio of Teddy bears resting on Phoebe’s bed. But they were no help.
She needed to dial the nervous energy back a notch, or she’d combust. And she knew who could help. She glanced at the closet door, listening to the soft mumble of Phoebe’s voice as she chattered away to one of her dolls regarding her nighttime attire, then pulled out the fancy phone Rowen had given her from her pocket and pressed the text icon. She had to admit, the tricked-out phone was pretty amazing. To send a text with her flip phone, she had to tap the numeral four twice to get the letter H. Simply texting “hello” to her girls took an eternity to knock out.
She stared at the digital keyboard, then hammered out a message.
