Page 66 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

It should have been easy. Fly to New York. Go to theaddress on Mallory’s employment paperwork. Beg, plead, and grovel, not necessarily in that order. Repeat as often as necessary until she forgave him.

Instead, he and Oliver had gone on a wild-goose chase from Long Island to Brooklyn to Manhattan, finally tracking Mallory down at the hotel that bore her family name.

Yet another surprise. His Mallory was a hotel heiress.

If she was still his Mallory.

He pulled at his shirt collar, not sure where to begin. The unfamiliar uncertainty clawed at his gut. In business, he was used to being in charge, having all the answers. But he was seriously out of practice in the romance department.

The growing audience wasn’t helping matters, either. From the trays of canapés and cocktails, the fancy table linens, and the well-dressed attendees, it was obvious he’d interrupted some sort of celebration. The music had stopped, and the crowd was becoming aware of the drama playing out in the corner.

“Dad,” Oliver prompted in a stage whisper, tugging at Rhys’s pant leg. “You’re supposed to ’pologize, remember? So Mallory will come back home with us. And don’t forget to give her the picture I drew.”

“This is a private function,” a woman who looked like she’d been sucking on lemons said with a sniff, one designer shoe tapping impatiently on the plush carpet. “You’ll have to leave.”

Mallory’s mother, he assumed. And he’d already annoyed her. He was off to a great start.

“I’m sorry.”Not. But he tried his best to look contrite. “I need to speak with Mallory. It’s important.”

“What’s going on?” A stunning brunette in a white jumpsuit joined their not-so-merry band, accompanied by a tall, equally dark-haired man with a possessive arm around her waist.

“Your sister seems to think this is a block party,” Mallory’s mother huffed. “She’s invited half the neighborhood.”

“Two people are hardly half the neighborhood. And I didn’t invite them. They just showed up. All the way from Florida. Without so much as a word of warning.” Mallory turned to him with wide, questioning eyes. “Phones not working on the island? Internet down?”

Rhys shuffled his feet. “I thought it would be more dramatic this way.”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Oliver chimed in, hopping up and down. “Did we?”

“You sure did,” Mallory said, smiling down at him warmly. The invisible band constricting Rhys’s heart loosened. She couldn’t be too mad at him if she could look at his son like that, right? “Color me surprised.”

“Oh. My. God.” The brunette—Mallory’s sister, Rhys figured—eyed him like she was sizing up a cut of prime rib at a butcher shop and squealed. Actually squealed, so loud he was surprised glass didn’t break. “You’re von Dreamy.”

Rhys frowned. “Von who?”

“Don’t mind Brooke.” Mallory shot her sister a glare that could have melted steel. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying when she’s off her meds. None of us do.”

“Dad.” Oliver tugged at his pants leg again. “The ’pology. Quick. Before the mean lady makes us leave.”

“Don’t worry, young man. No one’s going to make you leave.” A distinguished-looking older man in a tuxedo, who Rhys had deduced was Mallory’s father, took her mother by the elbow. “Come on, Pam. Let’s give Mallory and her friends some privacy.”

“If they wanted privacy, they wouldn’t be having this conversation in the middle of a wedding reception, would they?” The toe-tapping stopped. In its place, Mallory’s mother tented her fingers, drumming them together to demonstrate her continued irritation.

“Good idea.” Rhys gestured toward the door. “Why don’t we take this into the hall?”

“It’s Oliver, right?” Brooke asked, addressing his son. “How would you like to try out the chocolate fountain with me?”

Oliver’s eyes lit up. “You have a chocolate fountain?”

“Sure do,” the man with her answered. “With all kinds of fruit for dipping. Plus, a whole bunch of stuff that’s bad for you, like sponge cake, Rice Krispies Treats, and marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows?” Oliver licked his lips. “I love marshmallows.”

“Those were my idea.” Brooke gave her mother an I-told-you-so look.

Oliver looked to Rhys for approval. “Can I, Dad?”

Rhys nodded. “You bet.”