Babysitter for the Single Dad: A Steamy Single Dad Romance

by Mia Madison

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Good, we’re totally safe.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to save us, or the odd-numbered seat thing. I happen to notice there are a lot of people sitting in even-numbered seats. I expect they are all kinds of ages, too.”

  “It won’t matter. Even and odd numbers are not their thing. It’s me sitting here in an odd-numbered seat that will save us.”

  “All the same, I’ll still grab the armrest. Not your arm this time,” she says, and I see her knuckles turn white as she holds on, as if that armrest might be the only thing remaining in a crash.

  I hope for her sake it will be a smooth landing, but the crosswinds are fierce today, and the plane is getting buffeted this way and that.

  Every time the plane lurches, she gasps and grips harder. I hate to see her so distressed.

  “It’s okay. I’ve been on a lot of flights, and this one is nothing to worry about. It’s only when you see the cabin crew getting worried that you know it’s going to be a rough landing, and they are happily chatting away behind us in their seats.”

  She nods, but her eyes are closed. She can’t speak.

  When the plane bumps down, she gives a little shriek as if she wasn’t expecting that or the roar of engines as the plane slows. But she opens her eyes.

  “I was better that time.”

  “You were? If that was better, what did you used to be like?”

  “I pretended I was sick once to avoid going on a school trip to France so I didn’t have to fly at all.”

  “But you have flown before?”

  “Yes, this is my second flight. I get boats and trains when I can. But my friend Katie plied me with drink when we went to Greece last year. I slept the whole way through and woke up alive in Crete. I only had one glass of wine this time.”

  “Right then.” The seat belt signs are switched off and the passengers leap out of their seats and open the overhead bins like it’s a race, or they are afraid another passenger will make off with their carry-ons and duty-free shopping. “Do you have bags in the hold?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look a bit shaky after that landing. Let’s make sure you get safely to the baggage carousel.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Jenna

  I’m not stupid, I just have a flying phobia, and I can follow signs to the baggage collection area, but I’m not going to say no when Elliott Clark offers to escort me. Who would?

  I thought he had given up talking to me during the flight. Even though I was terrified when we came in to land, part of me was celebrating because it meant he was speaking to me again. And now I find myself side by side with him as we go through passport control to find the bag pick-up area.

  Maybe I’m a good disguise for him. Even better than a beard and sunglasses. No star, A-list or otherwise, would have a girlfriend like me. I look fine for all normal purposes, but glamour has never been my middle name and size zero, I am not.

  We wait in the corner, away from the crowd, until the carousel starts moving with the bags from our flight. I hope my clothes have not ended up on the other side of the globe.

  “What are we looking for?” he asks.

  “Big black suitcase.” Every other bag coming around on the conveyor belt is big and black. “I should have tied on a ribbon or something.”

  “You’re not a seasoned traveler, are you?” He laughs, pulling off his own bag, which is a tan leather number, surely not made in a factory like all the other luggage coming around. “Actually, this is impractical for commercial flights, too, but it seems to be okay this time. I’m sure they have special machines to pull the handles off bags. Must have been out of action today.”

  He pulls another black suitcase that I think is mine off the conveyor belt. This is the third attempt. I check the label, but it’s doesn’t belong to me, and he puts it back. “Maybe we should just wait to see which one doesn’t get claimed,” he says.

  The crowd is a lot thinner now since so many bags have already been reunited with their relieved owners.

  “You don’t have to wait for me. I’m sure it will show up soon.” I’m hot with embarrassment. He must have better things to do than helping me out.

  “It’s okay. Anyway, I have a confession to make.”

  “Oh?” But my actual bag shows up right then in what must be the last batch to appear. He hauls it off the carousel as if it weighs nothing, yet I know that thing is the maximum weight I could get away with and keep within the allowance.

  He carries his bag and pulls mine along on its little wheels, which are creaking under the strain even if he isn’t. He refuses my offer to take either bag from him.

  We walk straight through customs, and luckily, there’s a chauffeur waiting with my name on a card: “Travers Enterprises: Jenna Matthews.”

  “Oh good, that’s my lift.” I say. “I don’t know what I’d have done if he hadn’t been there. Thanks for the help with my bag and the use of your arm and the drink and the autograph.” Jeez, I’m prattling on, nervous again. He must think I’m a wreck.

  Some of it is because of him, but I’m also about to get in the car with that chauffeur. In less than an hour, I’ll meet my new employer, who doesn’t sound like he will be much of a joy to work for at all.

  I’m sorry to leave Elliott. This is probably the only close encounter I’ll have with any kind of celebrity. I should have asked for a few selfies, but somehow our conversation seemed beyond that. How do I say goodbye to him now? Should I kiss his cheek, shake his hand, or just say it?

  “That’s my lift, too,” Elliott says, cutting through my thoughts. “I’m Ben Travers. But only some of the time. Ben Travers is really my driver.”

  “What?” Did he just say…?

  “Ben lets me use his name when I want to be anonymous.”

  “So you knew I was going to work for you all the time.” What the hell did I say to him?

  “Not all the time, no. Not when you grabbed my arm so delightfully. Not when you tried to amputate my toes. But I knew it by the time you insulted my beard. I’m pleased you haven’t got any criminal convictions, because looking after my daughter…”

  His daughter? Oh no. My heart sinks. But of course. Maybe I am being slow today. It all makes sense. I’m going to see this guy again, this guy who makes my heart skip a beat, this guy with the beautiful eyes and the voice that could melt the panties off women, but he’s got a family, probably a wife at home. At the very least, the mother of his daughter is somewhere in the picture.

  “Say something,” he says.

  I close my mouth which must have dropped open. This is why I don’t watch romantic comedies. I’m in a cliché—girl falls for a guy on a plane, a guy who’s already spoken for and way out of her league. I never wanted to be a cliché in a movie. And I still don’t. I don’t like it at all.

  “You should have told me.”

  “Sorry, yes I should. But it was more fun not to.”

  “For you.”

  “Yes, I realize that, now.” He looks contrite. “Will you forgive me so we can get out of this damned airport and start again?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Elliott

  I’m kicking myself now. Why didn’t I just come clean as soon as I knew Jenna was going to be my replacement nanny? I thought the idea of working for me instead of some despot would cheer her up, but if anything, she looks a bit defeated by my confession. I should have been more professional and treated her as an employee right from the start, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

  I should know better after what happened last time. But Jenna isn’t the nanny from hell. At least, I don’t think so. She’s likely to pose another kind of torment. Keeping this professional is going to take all my willpower and some.

  “Did you get that flight so you could spy on me?” she says.

  “No, it’s just like I told you earlier. There were delays in filming so I wasn’t even meant to be in London, and then the jet I chartered h
ad technical difficulties. This was the only flight with a ticket left.”

  “And you just happened to sit in the seat next to me.”

  “Yes, you were sitting next to the only empty odd-numbered seat. I didn’t even know you were on the flight. Thinking about it, the agency told me you were coming today, but with everything being so frantic I didn’t even think about it. I forwarded the email to my sister.”

  She grabs the suitcase from my hands and goes over to my driver, the real Ben Travers. He’s no paragon, more like a friend than an employee.

  “Hi Ben, I’m Jenna,” she says. “And I don’t know who this is, but he keeps following me. He says you’re giving him a lift, too.”

  Ben cracks his usual chauffeur impassive expression which he saves for when we are doing something official, and smirks, taking the suitcase from Jenna and making no move to carry my bag. He knows I’d refuse anyway.

  “Yes, very funny. We met on the plane,” I say.

  We make our way to the car, and Ben opens the back door of the SUV for Jenna. I throw my bag in the trunk and get settled into the back seat beside her. I’d normally sit in the front, but I want to see if I have any chance of making amends and getting this employer-employee thing back on track.

  “I’m sorry again,” I say. “Truce? We’ll have to talk to each other or my daughter will wonder what’s going on, as young as she is.”

  “Just tell me, do you pick up nannies every week, pretending to be Ben Travers?”

  “No, of course I don’t.” That reminds me. “Any sign of Ruth, Ben?”

  “No. No sign of the Klingon.”

  “That’s my last nanny,” I tell Jenna. “I had to get a restraining order.”

  “What?”

  “Long story. Let’s just say, Ruth got an unhealthy obsession not with looking after my daughter, but with me, or more likely, being a celebrity girlfriend, probably wife and mother, too. She kept leaking snippets of ‘our life together’ to the media despite the non-disclosure agreement the agency has you all sign. And worse, I kept finding her creeping around the house half undressed. Freaked Mrs. Martinez, my housekeeper, out quite a few times. But the last straw was when I last came home for the weekend. There she was, naked in my bed. Uninvited, I might add.”

  Jenna’s mouth gapes open at my words.

  I shudder at the thought of Ruth in my bed and how reluctant she was to get out of it. I could have been harsher and told her in no uncertain terms how unattractive I found her, but I’m a sucker for women in tears.

  After a night in one of the guest rooms, I called my sister and pleaded with her to come. I couldn’t leave my daughter with Ruth and we had filming to finish. Then I told Ruth this was never going to work, and paid her handsomely. She clung to me, begging. Not my finest moment, peeling her off me.

  “You don’t have to worry about me on that score,” Jenna says. “I’m a professional, and right now, I don’t even like you. So you won’t catch me going anywhere near your room.”

  I’m within a hair’s breadth of saying that’s not the impression I got on the flight. But I resist the temptation. That wouldn’t help the situation at all.

  “Good. Now we’ve got that out of the way, let me tell you about my daughter… What information did the agency give you?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Jenna

  The agency didn’t tell me much about the family I would be working for. Madeleine, the woman who interviewed me, said that discretion was very important to Mr. Travers. In her rush to find someone, she wanted to know about my experience with kids, and I fit the bill.

  “I know your daughter is eighteen months old and an only child. The agency said I’d have to be prepared to travel, as my employer’s business was international. They didn’t give me any names or pictures.”

  “Didn’t you think that was odd, that you never met the child or the parents?”

  “A bit, but it’s not unheard of. Some parents are so desperate for childcare they just want to make sure the nanny is qualified and passes background checks, and the agency takes care of that.”

  “They said you worked in daycare for a large company and that you wanted a change.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not going to tell me why you left?”

  I trot out the version I decided to give the agency, the version that is not the boss turning out to be a major jerk, coming on to me, not leaving me alone despite him being married. “I want to have more time to spend with the children I look after; one-on-one time. At daycare we have quite a few children who are only there a couple of days a week so with three of us working, we have been looking after about fifteen to twenty babies between us. It’s difficult to get them settled when they don’t have a chance to get into a routine or to get used to one carer.”

  “That’s a lot of babies. You might get bored with just one.”

  “I don’t think so. At eighteen months they are getting into everything, exploring their world. I love that.” I smile because I really will love that, and I’m not lying there. It really will be a relief working with just one little girl and getting to know her properly.

  “Is your previous nanny still showing up, despite the restraining order?” I don’t like the idea that Ruth, whoever she is, might turn up and cause trouble. “I mean, she might even be dangerous if she’s a bit deranged.”

  “I don’t think she’s dangerous. Usually, when I’m out at official events, there’s a security detail. When I’m at the grocery store, not so much, but I’m hoping the legal penalties will dissuade her. She’s a bright girl, just obsessed. Which maybe makes her not so bright. I don’t know.”

  The car takes the road towards the beach. It’s beautiful here. The car slows and turns into a driveway. His villa is right on the coast, set away from the main buzz of the city of Palma, but not at all isolated.

  “What made you move to Spain? I mean, Majorca is great, but you’re American, right? And it’s a long way from Hollywood.”

  “For one reason or another, I seem to be in a lot of movies set in Europe, so it’s good to have a base here. We filmed one year on the marina in Palma, and before the last scene was shot, I loved the place so much I bought this house.”

  “It’s gorgeous.” The stuccoed exterior of the house is painted pale blue, offset by some kind of bright pink flower climbing the walls, postcard pretty.

  “I like it even more because I’m not famous here. No one seems to know who I am. Either that, or they don’t care. I can get a beer or go for a stroll with my daughter without a thousand selfie requests.”

  We’re quiet then while Ben operates the underground garage door and drives the SUV smoothly into a parking space. There’s a silver Lamborghini parked in the next bay.

  “Nice wheels,” I say, because even I know expensive cars when I see them.

  “My other car is a Prius.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “It helps my anonymity, except when I really want to go for a spin. The Prius is more practical on the island. My sister must have taken the little one somewhere, or maybe Mrs. Martinez is using it.”

  “Your sister lives here, too?”

  “She’s just helping out while I’m between nannies. She will be glad to go home to her own family. There’s just me and my daughter, Ben, and Mrs. Martinez here.”

  “What about your wife?”

  “No wife, no alimony,” he says.

  I try not to smile at his answer. I was sure there would be another woman on the scene. Where did the baby come from, then? This whole setup gets more and more mysterious. I don’t even know the child’s name.

  I have so many questions, but Ben opens the door and helps me out. “I’ll bring the bags up,” he says. I notice Elliott opens his own door before Ben can get to him.

  And then we go upstairs, and we’re alone in the enormous white-painted living room of the house. In fact, the whole thing is white everywhere. I think about the commotion of the daycare center, wall to
wall fingerprints.

  I can’t stop myself. My mouth again. “There’s a toddler living here?”

  He laughs. “My housekeeper is very efficient. Everything is washable.”

  “Walls too?” They have a chalky white texture. They don’t look washable to me.

  “Nope. Spare paint.” He laughs. “To hide the evidence.”

  I can’t stay mad at Elliott for long. My earlier annoyance has somehow evaporated on the way from the airport, with all my excitement seeing the island and the house and hearing the tale of Ruth. And I guess hearing there’s no wife doesn’t hurt. Besides all that, there’s no point in being in a mood if I’m going to get on well in my new job.

  But now I have to try hard not to be another nanny who falls for Elliott Clark, because he really is something, standing there with a dimple in his chin, laughing, looking every inch a film star. I can’t fall for him and make him regret hiring me, just like the last nanny. I’ll keep myself to myself and just get on with my job and be the best nanny I can be.

  We go through into the white kitchen. On the wall, there’s a huge blown-up photograph of Elliott and a young baby, so tender it would soften the heart of a tyrant.

  “Your daughter?” I ask, though it’s obvious. Even if I didn’t already like him, this picture would be game over for me.

  “Yes.” He smiles.

  We’re both smiling. You can’t look at that image and not smile.

  He asks me if I’d like a drink.

  What I should say is, “I’ll just go to my room and get unpacked,” but I don’t. “That would be nice,” comes out of my mouth instead.

  I hope that drink is long and cold. This place is air conditioned, so I’m guessing the heat I’m feeling has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

  If I can’t get a grip on my reaction to Elliott, I’ll be in real trouble in my new job.

  CHAPTER 8

  Elliott