Page 77 of The Nanny and the Nerd
She gasped dramatically. “I’ll have you know that there’s a system for each piece of paper in my purse.”
“If by system, you mean complete and utter chaos, I agree. Now, please go on with your answer, Ms. Fennimore,” he added, suppressing a grin of his own. And God help her! This little role-play scenario didn’t decrease the zing surging through her body.
She composed herself, the best she could, then met his eye. “I started writing a story about two evil twin gymnasts. They fell from the uneven bars and broke their ankles, forcing them to lose the competition,” she added with a sly smirk.
“Jesus, Penelope! Is that true?” he replied through a chuckle.
She nodded, thinking back on that first story. “It sounds terrible, but writing allowed me to work things out in a safe, fictional place. And it stuck—albeit, with less violence befalling my sisters.”
“Where are your sisters now?” he asked as the interview turned from mock-stuffy to a genuine conversation.
“Diana is a neurosurgeon in New Zealand, and Claudia is a physicist, working in Switzerland. They’re the successful daughters my mother always wanted. I was actually yelling in the Lamborghini because my mother keeps telling me I should go back to school and earn a business degree. She wants me to work for her at the accounting firm my parents started. But my brain isn’t wired for that.”
Rowen cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
She sat back, surprised at how easy it was to talk about this part of her life with him. “My mom and my sisters are focused and driven by numbers and a strict adherence to rules and winning results.” She paused as a face materialized in her mind—a smiling, kind face. “I’m more like my dad. He passed away a few years ago from cancer. He always said that I was a dreamer like him.”
“Wasn’t he also an accountant? You said your parents started the business together?” he asked, and she had to hide her surprise. She’d shared that with him on the drive here last week, figuring it went in one ear and out the other. But no, he’d been listening.
And had it only been a week? It seemed as if a lifetime had passed.
“Yes, you’re right. He was an accountant, too,” she continued. “But he used to love to read my stories and was the one person who didn’t freak out when I told my family that I wanted to study creative writing in college. He balanced out my mom. Things were easier with her when he was still with us. I miss him,” she added, her voice barely a whisper.
“Balance is good, but it’s hard to find,” Rowen said, lowering his voice.
A shiver passed through her. And they were back to this—this parallel world where all she wanted to do was lose herself in the complexities of Rowen Gale.
“I agree,” she replied as he reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“These strands don’t seem to want to stay in place. I noticed them on the day you came to my company,” he said, positively drinking her in.
“The day you insulted Ms. Pac-Man,” she answered as his fingertips grazed her earlobe.
“The day you called me a nerd,” he whispered as if in a trance.
She smiled. “The day you eavesdropped on me.”
“It’s not eavesdropping if everyone in a fifty-mile radius can hear,” he countered as her pulse hammered in her throat.
He shifted his weight and leaned in. And she was ready—so ready to feel his lips on hers. He pressed his hand to the cushion, then frowned.
A breath away, the Rowen and Penny infatuation bubble popped. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He removed the box of dominoes and then his Game Boy from beneath one of the throw pillows. “What are these doing here?” he asked in his robotic tone.
A thread of panic wove its way through her body. She’d forgotten to put them back. “It’s my mistake. Phoebe kept taking them from your office. I know that they’re important to you. I’d forgotten that I’d hidden them in here.”
He didn’t respond as he kept his gaze trained on the box. With the wooden lid partially open, he stared at the scratched tiles.
“Why is RT written on each one?” she asked, unable to stop herself. She’d spent a week trying to learn about this man, only to come up empty-handed.
Rowen removed a domino and turned it around in his hand. “Before the Gales adopted me, my name was Rowen Teagues. RT used to be my initials. Now, Teagues is my middle name.”
He let the tile rest in the center of his palm, and she touched the scribbled initials as her inquisitive writer’s brain took over. “Why did you label each domino, and where’s the missing one? Did Phoebe lose it or—”
“Penelope, stop,” he said, his voice low and ominous. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“What if I want to know,” she answered, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t know exactly what she was doing—only that she couldn’t turn back. Something drew them together. Something that went beyond their nanny/employer association—a strange, tangible bond she couldn’t ignore. Her curious mind couldn’t stop trying to untangle the inner workings of this man.
