The Nanny (A Billionaire Romance)

by Naomi Niles

  "Yeah! Thank you, Stuart. I can't wait to see how the little bubbles work. Can I stir? Can I measure?" The adorable little girl was talking non-stop with excitement, and Stuart and I shared a smile.

  "Thank you for your help," I said to him. "I'll do most of the work, so you'll hardly have to do a thing. Basically, you can just sit back and watch."

  "No. Absolutely not." He had picked up a wooden spoon and was now brandishing it at me like a weapon. "Didn't you hear? I'm the only one who bakes in here. You will leave my kitchen. If I need assistance, Halle can help me. You would just get in the way."

  "Are you sure?" I asked. "Halle's my responsibility. I didn't mean for you to have to supervise her during this project."

  "I don't mind. Halle and I get along fine, and it will be fun teaching her. Take a break for an hour. Do something for yourself."

  "Thank you, Stuart." I smiled gratefully. "You really are a great guy."

  "I know. Now get out of my kitchen."

  He pushed me out the door, and only after I was safely out of his sight did I allow myself to grin with victory. My plan had worked perfectly. I knew how possessive Stuart was of his kitchen from the few times I had to cook when he had the day off. The next day, he’d had a list of complaints a mile long of ridiculous infractions, like setting the salt shaker to the left of the pepper instead of the right. I knew that if I asked to use his kitchen, he would object, but that he had a soft heart for Halle and would be unable to refuse her if she pleaded.

  My plan worked perfectly, and now I had an hour free to myself to start collecting evidence against Tate.

  After going to bed last night, I'd hardly been able to sleep. My ears thought every creek of the old mansion was the sound of Tate coming to kill me. When I finally drifted off, my dreams were plagued with nightmares.

  I kept reliving the night I was assaulted. When I fell to the ground, I could clearly see the shoes of my attacker. Then the walls morphed around me, and the room became Tate's closet. When it did, the symbols on the side of the shoes changed. They didn't match the attacker’s anymore, but it didn't matter. I was dead with a knife sticking out of my chest, lying in a pool of my own blood.

  When I woke with a start, I knew I needed to get out of this house as soon as possible, which meant doing what I needed to do quickly. The problem was Halle. I was always with her, except for the hour she took a nap each afternoon and at night when she slept.

  I wouldn't be able to get much done at night since I couldn't go into Tate's room while he was sleeping and risk waking him. And I didn't want to wait until the afternoon if I could help it. So, that morning when Stuart brought our breakfast out to the dining table, I thought up my plan.

  With Halle happily occupied in the kitchen with Stuart, I rushed up the stairs. I passed by Tate's office and saw with relief that he was in there working. I leaned my ear against the door and distinctly heard him talking to someone on the phone in urgent and angry tones. Whoever was on the other end of the line wasn't making him very happy.

  Satisfied that the conversation would continue for a while, I tiptoed past his office and rushed down the hall to his bedroom suite. I put my hand on the doorknob, turned it, and slipped inside, closing the door behind me silently.

  I moved quickly across the room to his massive walk-in closet. I had to see if the black leather athletic shoes actually matched the ones of my attacker or if I had just imagined it. I'd only glanced at them for a moment before screaming, and that's when Tate came in, and I’d fled. Maybe my nightmare was telling me that I hadn't really seen what I thought I had. Maybe Tate owned a pair of black athletic shoes with a different symbol.

  There was only one way to know for sure, and this time, I would use the camera on my cell phone to take a snapshot of the shoes. That would give me all the confirmation I needed that the shoes matched and the evidence I needed to give Detective Miller probable cause to arrest him for assault charges.

  I put my hand on the closet door and was just pulling it open when suddenly I heard the sound of a toilet flush, and the door to Tate's bathroom swung open.

  "Who the hell are you?" a woman stepped from the bathroom and shouted at me.

  She was completely naked, extremely thin, with a sickly yellow pallor to her skin. Her black hair was streaked with blue, and her eyes were hard. She had the kind of face that you could tell used to be really beautiful but had become lined with hard living. Everything about her was tough and mean as she faced off to me, completely unashamed by her nakedness.

  "I'm Rachelle Clare, the nanny," I stammered as she approached me. I was so taken by surprise to find a naked woman in Tate's bedroom, I could hardly talk. Who is she? What is she doing here?

  "Well, what the fuck are you doing in here? If you're looking for Tate, I already took excellent care of him. I always leave him well satisfied, if you know what I mean."

  How could I not? The implication of her words was unmistakable, and they hit me in the gut like a hard punch.

  When I agreed to have sex with Tate as part of my employment contract, I made it clear to him that it needed to be a monogamous situation. I couldn't abide being "the other woman." He had assured me that I was the only one he was having sex with. What's more, he told me that he never brought women into his bed. I had felt so special that night he had made love to me in that giant king-sized bed where he slept each night.

  Now, I saw it was all a lie. He had other women in his bed – and this one, in particular, acted like it was a regular thing between them.

  Was she an old girlfriend I knew nothing about? She looked too trashy to run in Tate's social circles. Maybe she was a prostitute he called on regularly. He did say he liked to treat sex like a business transaction.

  I guess that's all I was, too: a prostitute that he called on regularly. I'd fooled myself into thinking I was someone special to him, but really I was nothing more than a paid whore.

  I didn't know why I felt so hurt. He was a cold-hearted murderer. What did I care if he had called in another woman to fuck him after I refused him last night? After all, I was the one who had rejected him, not the other way around. Did I really expect he wouldn't take his business elsewhere?

  Still, being faced with the other woman so unexpectedly, I hadn't been emotionally prepared, and I couldn't stop the tears that sprang to my eyes. By sheer force of will, I kept them from falling, but I knew I wouldn't be able to hold them back for long.

  "Hey, I asked you a question." The strange naked woman gave my shoulder a rough shove, shocking me from my thoughts. "What the hell are you doing in here, snooping around in Tate's closet?"

  "Nothing. Halle lost her sweater, and I thought it might have ended up there, that's all," I lied.

  "Well, I don't like the hired help disturbing me before breakfast. Get the fuck out before I have Tate fire you. Go!"

  I ran from the room and didn't stop until I'd gotten to the safety of my bedroom where I locked the door and leaned against it, panting for breath. Everything had been a complete disaster. I hadn't gotten the evidence I needed, I'd discovered Tate had slept with that awful woman last night, and now I was in danger of losing my job. If that happened, I wouldn't have any way to protect Halle.

  Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. There was no way I was going to let that happen. I'd come back to this place, risking my own life, to protect that little girl, and nothing was going to stop me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Tate

  "Rise and shine, it's almost noon." I burst into my room with a silver tray in one hand and a bag in the other. To my surprise, Missy was already awake and standing naked in front of my dresser, rifling through my drawers.

  "You've got a shitload of ties." She slammed the drawer shut and turned to face me, flaunting her nakedness.

  "Yeah, I couldn't go into a business meeting dressed like you are," I mocked.

  "You took all my clothes last night. I guess I could have put on one of your fan
cy designer shirts," she snapped back.

  "Don't worry, I got you something that's more your style." I tossed the bag at her, and she caught it easily. She turned it upside down to dump the contents on my bed. One by one, she picked them up and tossed them aside: bra, panties, black leather mini-skirt, hot pink tank top, and four-inch-high heels.

  "Where'd you get this shit?" She shoved it all on the floor with disgust.

  "They're your clothes. I found them in the guest bedroom. If you don't like them, I'd be more than happy to take you shopping and get you something decent."

  "They're mine?" She picked them up again and smiled with relief. "I thought they belonged to that bitch that was in here earlier."

  She stepped into the clothes, dressing quickly in the trashy outfit.

  "What bitch?" I was instantly alarmed.

  "Is that breakfast? I'm starving." She ignored my question, pointing at the silver tray I was still holding. She snatched it from my hands and sat on the bed with it, diving into the food hungrily.

  "Who was in my room earlier?" I asked tersely.

  "This is so good. Is Stuart still the chef here? He's a damn good cook. Do you think he could make me some of those pastry-puff-things with the chocolate in the middle? I love those."

  "Missy. Quit the bullshit and tell me who was in here earlier," I said, and the tone of my voice let her know I was at the end of my patience.

  "Oh, some prissy bitch with blonde hair. She said her name was Raquel, or something like that. She said she worked for you, babysitting my kid."

  "You mean the nanny, Rachelle?" I asked with a glare. It was typical of Missy to mess up information intentionally just to annoy me, and it was working.

  "Yeah, that's it. Rachelle. Boy, was she surprised to see me. You'd think she'd never seen a naked woman before."

  I bet she was surprised, and I shuddered to think what conclusions she must have come to. Or worse yet, what misinformation Missy may have told her. Whatever had been bothering Rachelle lately, this was sure to make things worse. I didn't know why, but there was a definite tension coming from her lately.

  "Tell me what happened between the two of you," I asked tersely, and Missy gleefully told the tale.

  "I came out of the bathroom and the dumb bitch was going into your closet. I asked her what the fuck she was doing snooping around in our room and she gave me some lame ass excuse about looking for the kid's sweater. Complete bullshit, if you ask me. So, I told her to get the hell out of our room or she was fired. Then she ran out of here all boo-hoo crying."

  So many things were running through my mind after Missy's speech, I didn't know where to begin. I sat on the foot of the bed and took several deep breathes to focus my thoughts. When I was calm, I stood back up and faced her, giving her my sternest glare.

  "First of all, this isn't our bedroom. It's my bedroom. I allow you to stay in my house because you're Halle's mother, but only in the guest bedroom downstairs."

  "You let me sleep here last night. We showered together, then you invited me to sleep in your bed, and even said you'd bring me breakfast in the morning, which you have."

  "Well, it was a one-time mistake done out of pity, and it won't happen again. From now on, if you want to stay here, you're restricted to staying in the guest bedroom."

  "Restricted? Are you telling me I can't eat at the dining table, go for a swim in that stupid pool of yours, or even see my own damn kid in the nursery if I want to?" Her eyes were wild with rage.

  "Of course you can do all those things. I just meant you were restricted to sleeping in the guest room. I don't want you in my room, or any of the other bedrooms for that matter. I have provided a very nice room for you downstairs."

  "How vary gallant of you," she said sarcastically. "Who do you let in this room; that prissy nanny whore?"

  She was trying to bait me, but I refused to fight with her. With a quiet sigh, I asked her, "How long are you planning to stay this time?"

  "As long as I want. That's the agreement we had when you stole my kid," Missy taunted. She was never any good at giving a straight answer.

  "Fine, but notify me when you're coming and going so I can unlock the door for you. I'll give you a new cell phone if you've lost yours.

  "I've got a phone. I don't need you to buy one for me, but since you're offering, make it one of those new ones with those game apps that I like." She went from being pissed off to pleased in a matter of seconds. Her violent mood swings were a side effect of her drug addiction, and I was used to them. Suddenly, she turned on me and snapped, "What the hell is this bullshit about locking me out of the house unless I give you my schedule? You don't have the right to keep tabs on me like that. I can come and go whenever the hell I want. You agreed when I let you have my kid. Now, you're using her to control me. Well, this is bullshit."

  She was ranting again, and I grabbed her shoulders and gently stroked her arms to soothe her.

  "Take it easy. I'm not locking you out of the house, and I wouldn't give a shit when you came and went, except I had to change the locks. That's all. I just changed the locks."

  "Fine, give me a key then." Missy held out her palm. Shit, this is going to make her even madder.

  "I don't have one to give you."

  "Why the hell not? You don't trust me, is that it? You think I'll sneak in here and steal all your precious loot? You think I'm just some junkie thief? Well, fuck you!"

  She moved to slap my face, but I caught her wrist with my hand and held it tight.

  "Let go of me!" She struggled in my grasp, but I held firm.

  "Listen to me. It's not you I don't trust. There was an assault. Someone attacked my nanny, but there was no sign of a break-in. Whoever did it must have had a key."

  Missy stopped struggled and gaped at me. "Another nanny was killed here?"

  "Not killed. Rachelle was just knocked unconscious, but it could have been a lot worse."

  "No shit." She sighed. The fight had gone out of her, so I released her wrist, and she held it protectively to her chest. Sitting on the bed, she asked: "Was Halle home when it happened?"

  It was the first time she'd ever expressed concern for anyone besides herself, and I was touched. Still, I knew her well enough not to think she'd been fully reformed. She was a junkie and a thief, and Halle would probably be dead from neglect if it weren't for me. Try as I might, I could never forgive Missy for that, although I was grateful to her for giving me my precious daughter.

  "No, Halle was out with me."

  "Thank God for that." Missy sighed with relief, but then her old paranoid hostility came flooding back. With raging eyes, she shouted out, "So you think I did it?"

  "What?" I was taken aback by the sudden turn of emotion. I shouldn't have been, but sometimes it was unexpected.

  "The attacker. You said they must have had key and that's why you changed the locks. I've got a key. I'm a criminal in your eyes. You think I did it, and that's why you locked me out."

  "Do you have your key?" I asked her calmly.

  "What the hell kind of question is that? You think I sold it for money? You think I'm so flaky that I lost it? Well, fuck you, asshole."

  "No. I think that if you have it, you won't have to worry that I think you're involved," I stated calmly.

  Although, for once in her life, Missy was right. I did wonder if she'd sold the key to some criminal for drug money or lost it one night when she was high. Given her history, it wasn't out of the question. Of course, I'd never say that to her face – but I didn't need to. She already knew it.

  Luckily, she reached in her bag that started digging through all her junk. Candy wrappers, cigarette lighters, eye-drops, and eyeliner. Finally, she found it and held the brass key up high.

  "Got it!" she cried out triumphantly and slapped it into my open hand. I examined the key for a moment and confirmed it was the one.

  "Thanks." I pocketed it.

  "Now give me the new key." She thrust out her palm.

  "I wi
ll when it comes in. I had to have keys specially programmed to go with the new electronic locks.”

  "And, how the hell am I supposed to get in when I go out?" she barked angrily.

  "You can coordinate your schedule with me, and I'll let you in." I decided not to tell her Rachelle had the other key since they already didn't get along.

  "That's bullshit. I'm not asking your permission to let me in and out of the house like some child. You can control your nanny whores that way, but not me. Fuck you."

  "Fine," I said with a bored tone. "Then don't go out."

  "What?" She was livid with rage.

  "If you don't want to have to communicate with me about when you come and go, then don't go out. Stay here."

  "Maybe I will," she said defiantly. "How'd you like that? The bed is comfortable. You've got satellite TV and a state-of-the-art sound system. There's the pool, and Stuart is a pretty damn good cook. Maybe I'll just stay here and avail myself of your hospitality."

  She was trying to goad me but was actually playing right into my hand. Nothing would make me happier than knowing Missy was safe and sound under my roof, rather than worrying if she were out on the streets committing some awful crime or getting so high she killed herself. Having her around may be unpleasant, but at least I would know she was safe.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rachelle

  "Did you like the cake I made?" Halle asked me, her hazel green eyes wide with hope.

  "Yes. It was very good." I smiled down at her, and she positively beamed with pride.

  "It was fun having cake for lunch. We should do it every day," she cried out excitedly.

  "I don't think Stuart would like that very much, or your father," I said, making her giggle.

  After pulling myself together after my horrible confrontation with that woman in Tate's bedroom, I went down to the kitchen to check on Halle. She had just finished baking her cake, and Stuart served it to us in the dining room for lunch, along with some sliced turkey, carrot sticks, and fresh strawberries. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I managed to eat enough of it to satisfy the little girl.