Page 13 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

But maybe it wasn’t a lost cause. Oliver was young. There was time for Rhys to change course.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ll be back as fast as I can. Until then, take care of Miss Worthington.”

Oliver’s forehead wrinkled. “Who’s Miss Worthington?”

“He means me,” Mallory explained, grinning.

“I’ll take care of you,” Oliver said with all the seriousness of a priest hearing confession. “I’m a good taker-carer.”

Rhys shared a smile with his son before disappearing into the house. It might not be much, but it was a start. One he wanted to build on.

If he only knew how.

…

“How goes it, Fräulein Maria? Has the handsome head of the household fallen victim to your charms yet?”

Mallory freed her hair from its utilitarian, kid-friendly ponytail, shook it out, and sank down onto her eyelet comforter. After the beesting drama of that afternoon, all she wanted was a warm shower, a cold drink, and a good book. Instead, she’d made the mistake of dialing her sister, thinking four missed calls from Brooke meant some sort of emergency back in New York.

Sucker.She should have realized it was a fishing expedition. The only question was whether Brooke was casting for information on her own or whether their mother had put her up to it.

Either way, Mallory didn’t have much to spill where her short-term boss was concerned. “Fräulein Maria?”

“You know, fromThe Sound of Music. Like her, you traveled to parts unknown to care for a widower and his motherless offspring.”

“Except I’m not a nun, I can’t sing, and Rhys Dalton has one child, not seven.”

Mallory could picture her sister waving a dismissive hand. “Unimportant details.”

“How was Seattle?” she asked, crossing her fingers that Brooke would bite at the obvious attempt to change the subject. “Was Eli surprised when you showed up at his hotel?”

Her sister let out a long, melodramatic sigh, no doubt thinking of her husband, who’d been out west scouting opportunities for his real estate development firm. Mallory fought back her inner green monster. She was happy for her sister. Really, she was. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t also be a tad bit jealous Brooke had found her Prince Charming while Mallory was stuck kissing frogs.

Case in point: her last boyfriend. Sure, Hunter had looked great on paper. A doctor. From a good family. Knew all the right people, took her to all the right places. And Lord knows her parents adored him. But on paper was one thing. In person was another.

“Seattle was gray,” Brooke answered. “And wet. And Eli was suitably shocked. Now I want to hear about you and Captain von Dreamy.”

“I’m not Julie Andrews. And trust me, Rhys Dalton might be hot enough to bake cookies on, but he’s no Christopher Plummer.” Even the captain had let Maria stick around longer than a couple of weeks.

“Aha.” Brooke’s finger snap carried clearly across the phone line. “I was right. He is hot.”

Crap.Good thing Mallory stayed on the right side of the law. She’d fold faster than a lawn chair if the cops ever interrogated her. “The point isn’t that he’s hot. The point is he’s not falling for me, he’s firing me.”

“He’s what?” Brooke’s indignation was palpable, even over a thousand miles away.

Maybe Mallory shouldn’t have said anything to her sister, but she needed to unload on someone. She hadn’t counted on how lonely she’d be so far from her only sibling.

She shook off the momentary melancholy and toed off her sandals, wiggling her freshly painted toes. She’d wound up going with a melon-peach with subtle pink undertones called You Got Nata On Me. A shot of adrenaline for her shaky self-confidence. Maybe later she’d do her fingernails to match for an extra boost, something she almost never did working in a commercial kitchen.

“I’m history as soon as he hires someone to take my place.”

Or I convince him otherwise.That afternoon she’d felt her first flicker of hope. He’d have to be blind not to see how much Oliver was growing to care for her.

And the feeling was mutual. Not even a week, and already the little boy had wormed his way into her heart. He was funny and sweet and as lonely as she was. Two lost souls, swimming in a fishbowl.

She hated to admit it, but the father had started to grow on her, too. She’d seen glimpses of his softer side with Oliver. The tiny displays of affection. How he rushed to his son when he heard him scream after being stung by the bee. If only he let her stay long enough to…

“He can’t do that,” Brooke fumed, snapping Mallory out of her inspired reverie. She imagined her sister pacing the living room of her Brooklyn loft. “He can’t fire you. I’ll…”