Secret Daddy: A Billionaire and the Nanny Romance Read online

  “Graytech is soaring since last week,” Rachel says, almost giddy compared to her usual grating tone. “I wish you were here to see it. Morale is at an all-time high.”

  “The stock is at an all-time high,” I remind her, just as amazed myself. “Morale needs to be high even when stocks are low. But I’m glad the mood is upbeat at headquarters. That keeps creativity flowing.”

  “Absolutely. And it’s such a beautiful day here in Sacramento. How about Fallaway Peak, Mr. Gray? How is Fallaway Peak this evening?” I can imagine the sky down in southern California. It’s probably gorgeous, and Rachel’s eager to get out of that office and under the sky. But here, it’s overcast and frosty. It suits the look on Charlie’s face, still down at the swing set, barely swinging. Digging his sneaker into the dirt. What is happening to him? He seemed so happy over Thanksgiving break.

  “Sir?” Rachel prompts.

  I blink and my gaze snaps from the window. “I can’t think of a thing,” I tell Rachel, forcing myself to focus. “Thanks for everything, Rach. Have a great weekend.”

  “You, too!”

  We get off the phone and I travel downstairs to check on Charlie. Sofia must be roughhousing with Madison, since no one is in the yard.

  I come up short when I swing around the foot of the staircase and see Sofia, standing at the glass door leading into the backyard from the kitchen. Her back is turned to me. She’s staring at Charlie, too, and my heart warms to her even more. We were both watching my son at the same time, worrying over him, and neither of us even knew it. That kind of thing can’t be faked.

  Not only am I falling in love with her, but she’s falling in love with my kids. I almost don’t want to look at this too closely, like she might be a mirage and shimmer away. It’s the only thing I ever wanted, and I never thought I would get it.

  “Hey,” I call to Sofia, wishing that I could call her by her real name. “What’s going on?”

  Sofia twists and meets my eyes from over her shoulder, but then turns back toward the glass door. “Hey,” she responds. Her voice is distant with deep thought. “Madison is practicing writing her letters in the den. I’m staring hopelessly into the backyard.”

  I shouldn’t, but I saunter forward and wrap my arms around Sofia from behind. I love seeing this maternal side emerge from her. Protective. Doting. Strong and soft. It’s everything I wanted from Astrid, but we never had moments like this. She was always more interested in herself than she was in the children. Or, hell, me.

  “Lucas,” Sofia chides softly, pushing at my arms to extricate herself from my embrace.

  I whisper a shh against her hair, and she relaxes, lets me hold her.

  “Do you know why Charlie’s so sad?” I ask her.

  Sofia doesn’t answer, but her head nods.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t tell you,” she answers simply.

  “Oh, come on, seriously?” I scoff. She can’t do this. She can’t keep secrets about my own kids.

  “He asked me to not tell you,” she explains, her voice remaining calm and measured. “So, I won’t tell you.”

  “Hey.” I twist her gently in my arms and peer down into those thoughtful eyes, the first part of her I ever fell in love with. “I can keep a secret from the whole world, but I don’t want to keep a secret from you. I want us to tell each other everything.”

  “You’re pulling some ‘real couple’ jujitsu on me right now,” Sofia says.

  “We are a real couple,” I whisper back, and her eyes light from within.

  After taking a deep sigh and shooting one look over my shoulder, toward the den, and another look over her shoulder, toward the backyard, she decides that no one will bother us and finally looks at me. Then she grimaces. “I wish I hadn’t told him that I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “From now on, you can tell him that there are no secrets between you and me.”

  Her lips curl up and she nods. “OK.” Her eyes flick over to Charlie and back to me. “He’s being picked on at school. I saw some kid with braces push him and kick his books away.”

  “Are you serious?” The story is completely believable, and yet, I cannot believe it would ever happen to my son. The thought of him being shoved to the ground fills my heart with revenge for this goddamn ten-year-old, whoever he is.

  Sofia nods. “He says the kid is named Rufus, and he does it to all the other kids, too, but he focuses on Charlie the most.”

  Fuck that.

  My jaw clenches, and I let go of Sofia’s shoulders, shoving open the back door and marching across the backyard like I’ve got a vendetta.

  “Come here, son,” I call to him. Sofia’s gaze burns into me, furious that I would rat her out. But I can convince her to forgive me later. “Sofia told me what happened, and we’re going to deal with it right now.”

  “Dad!” Then he pauses and furrows his brow. “Who’s Sofia?”

  Fuck, I curse myself.

  “I mean Maggie,” I spit, furious at that bully kid and now furious at myself. “Pay attention. Get over here.”

  I gesture for him to come to me and he does, but he seems hesitant. “I don’t want you to talk to the teachers about it,” he says. “That will only make it worse.”

  “I’m not going to tattle,” I assure him. “You’re going to kick his ass.”

  Chapter 23

  Sofia

  Lucas warned me early this morning. He warned me first thing in the morning, like it would be the worst and hardest thing on my itinerary, like I needed to remember this event before all others. And still, somehow, I forgot. Lucas and I are making a quinoa salad together and talking about taking the kids out of school a little early for Christmas and maybe even heading up to this resort out-of-state that has real horse-drawn sleighs, and I completely forget about his warning from this morning.

  “They’ll have those big mugs of hot chocolate with the marshmallows,” I purr, getting turned on at the idea of this trip. I toss my diced cucumbers into the bowl and give it a deep blending mix. What next? Kale, kale, and more kale.

  “Ugh, they’ll have carolers, too, though,” Lucas mutters, passing me the bag of kale with supernatural awareness.

  I blush at him and grin. He notices me so much that he’s capable of reading my mind a little bit. We’re leveling up.

  “Oh, yeah, and bah, humbug,” I laugh, plucking out a leaf of kale to chop into teeny, tiny pieces.

  The doorbell jangles, and I freeze.

  Every time there’s a knock on any door, I have to think that it’s Agent Callahan. I just have to.

  My eyes flick to Lucas. He’s frozen, too.

  I guess Lucas was right. If we don’t deal with this at some point, it’s going to haunt me forever. That’s no way to live. There must be some way out, but I can’t see it for the trees. Even Lucas doesn’t have any ideas.

  The doorbell jangles again.

  Lucas towels off his hands and heads casually toward the foyer. I spin, rigid, the word “No!” jammed up in my throat. What is he doing? I’m right here! They’ll see me!

  But he grasps the doorknob and throws it open like it’s nothing at all.

  “Weren’t you expecting me?” Astrid asks.

  She sounds salty, and when she pushes past Lucas and into the foyer, she looks salty, too. Her eyes sweep the premises like she’s seen this place a million times and it always disgusts her. She tosses her blond hair over her shoulder, so that it bobs next to her cheek, and absently primps it. It looks like she just got back from the beauty salon, where it was tightened into ringlets. Her makeup is perfect, too. She wears a bright crimson trench coat and fashionable black boots. Her heart-shaped lips match that trench.

  Are her eyelashes fake? As soon as she looks at me and lowers them to scrutinize me, I can tell: yes, they are, and they’re not subtle.

  Fucking Astrid. Here we go.

  “Hello, dear,” she greets me from that distance, not looking at me as she shrugs off her coat.


  Underneath, her black sweater dress is clingy, and she must be wearing very constrictive shapewear. Her poor shoulders puddle on top of it, but if you only focus on her hip-to-waist ratio, it does look fantastic. Lucas takes her trench coat from her and settles it onto a hook without spending too much time examining her dramatic figure.

  “Mommy!” Madison’s voice cries from the den, and she comes jetting through the foyer like a streak, pouncing up into Astrid’s arms and throwing her off-balance.

  Astrid staggers in her heels and gently wrestles Madison back down to the ground. “Charlie!” Astrid calls, glaring around for him while still semi-squeezing Madison. “Your mom’s here!”

  “He’s in the den, refusing to budge from that toasty fireplace,” Lucas says. “Maggie and I were just finishing up a salad in the kitchen and we’ll come join. It’s A Wonderful Life is on.”

  “Marvelous,” Astrid purrs, leading Madison away by her hand.

  “You don’t have to be so quiet around her,” Lucas whispers to me while we’re tossing the quinoa with the kale and cucumbers and red pepper, finally mixing in the smaller herbs and spices. “She looks good.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. Is that his type? If that’s his type, I should dip. I can’t even fake that level of fake.

  Lucas rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I mean, she’s clearly taking her medicine,” he clarifies. “You don’t have to be scared.”

  “I’m not scared. I just don’t want her to suspect,” I whisper as low as I can. “I don’t want to give you any trouble. We’re lucky she doesn’t bother with the news.” I sink a ladle into the quinoa and hand Lucas a stack of bowls. “Here you go. I’m heading upstairs to write a letter in my room.”

  Lucas cracks a grin and shakes his head at me in chagrin. “Now that’s suspicious,” he says. “Come down to the family room with us.”

  “This is her time with them,” I remind him. “I’m just the nanny.”

  He takes my arms and looks deep into my eyes. “This is your house, too. Remember that.”

  I nod and go upstairs, fishing out my notebook and my pen. It’s been almost a month since my first letter to Maggie, which she of course could never return. But no cops showed up at the house, either. The story has lost traction.

  Every time I turn on the local news now, it’s something else. It used to be me, but now the stories are about new winter storms brewing and some federal grant for the environment that the local government is trying to have approved. The latest terrorist attack. The President. I’ve been lost in the shuffle of time. The local police have lost interest.

  How long will Agent Callahan wait? What if he’s already home?

  I start the letter:

  Dear Maggie,

  I pause long enough to let myself get out a good shiver. Maybe I should turn the thermostat up, but I don’t want to waste the electricity. I’m the only one not down around that fireplace, nice and warm. I glance around my empty, lonely room and almost laugh at myself. Lucas is right. I’m not only an employee of the house, but someone who lives here. If I want the warmth and community of the den, then damn it, I can sit in the den to write my letter. It’s not like Lucas and I are going to make out. I’ll sit alone on the couch and not bother anybody.

  But when I creep downstairs and then into the den, Astrid’s eyes are on me in an instant. She’s seated in the middle of the couch, next to Lucas, with Madison sandwiched between them.

  “Hey, there, Maggie,” Lucas calls to me warmly. I get to see his dimple, which is always nice. “What are you doing, girl?”

  I smile, instantly shy. I settle down on the couch, at the farthest corner but still way too close to Astrid. I didn’t want to sit this close to her and didn’t realize how cramped the couch would be. Maybe I should sit somewhere else, but that would look even worse.

  “Hey, everyone.” I half-wave. I feel so awkward right now. “I’m just writing a letter.”

  Astrid’s eyebrow cocks and her eyes rove the paper, not trying to offer one iota of privacy.

  “Nice,” Madison says, grinning at me. “We’re playing a game to see if I can come up with words that start with letters. Watch! Go, Daddy!”

  “OK. A!”

  “Apple!” Madison cries with delight.

  “That was an easy one,” Charlie grumbles from where he’s stretched on the carpet, idly flipping through a comic book. “Hit her with your best shot, Mom.”

  Everyone looks at Astrid, but Astrid is looking down at my paper. I move to shield it from her eyes, but it’s too late. She slings her arm around the back of the sofa and twists her body toward me, cocking her head and glowering thoughtfully. She’s trying to figure me out. Lord, I do not want that. Please stop looking at me, Astrid. I am just a simple nanny.

  “Isn’t your name Maggie?” she asks, pointedly.

  “Yes,” I say, not even thinking. It’s such an obvious answer. “Why?”

  “Go, Mommy!” Madison cries impatiently.

  “That’s none of your business, Astrid,” Lucas reminds her gently.

  Astrid shoots him daggers with her eyes. “I can ask a goddamn question.” She twists back to face me and sinks into a smile that looks like it’s melting around the edges. It’s terrifying and unattractive. “Are you writing letters to yourself, Maggie?” She doesn’t laugh, but it’s written all over her face. She’s trying to turn me into a joke.

  “I know another Maggie,” I lie. It’s the lamest thing I could imagine saying, but at least it’s something. It’s better than being a woman in her twenties who writes herself letters.

  Madison, bored of waiting for Astrid to remember her and play with her, bounces off the couch and skips over to me. She pounces in my lap next, and I reel, but I can’t push her off.

  “Hey, Madison,” I breathe, a little overwhelmed. “What can I do for you?”

  “Can we draw zombies?” she asks with a toothy grin.

  I look to Lucas. I know she’s been having nightmares about zombies. “I don’t know,” I say, looking back to Madison and then back to Lucas. “Can we?”

  Lucas rolls his eyes. “Fine, she hasn’t drawn anything today,” he says, convincing himself that it’s not a bad idea. “Scribble away, little Picasso.”

  “Yes!” Madison straddles my lap backwards and snatches my pen with no regard for civility.

  Scribble away is right. I have no idea how what she’s doing is apparently a zombie. It looks more like a block of black. But then she adds some teeth to the front. “There,” she says, serious and thoughtful. “Now Mommy’s ready.”

  Finally, Madison has Astrid’s attention. She glares down at the scribbling and says, “What do you mean, Mommy’s ready?”

  “Oh, that’s you,” Lucas explains casually, pushing up from the couch and strolling over to the other side, where Madison now is. He settles onto the arm of the chair and rests his hand on my shoulder. To me, the gesture feels platonic, and I don’t shake him off. “Madison has gotten into the habit of saying we’re zombies now, you know.”

  “Just Mommy,” Madison corrects him lightly.

  “Oh? Just Mommy?” Astrid wonders. Her focus is still on Madison. “And why is that?”

  “Daddy isn’t a zombie since Maggie.”

  My jaw drops. All color drains from my face. I cannot believe she ratted us out like that.

  Lucas quickly removes his hand from my shoulder, but Astrid’s eyes are faster. They catch it, and her face twists as comprehension dawns.

  “You’re kidding,” she growls, climbing to her feet and staring down Lucas like she’s going to shove him. “Somebody put some life back in that thing, huh?” Her attention flicks to me, baleful and sarcastic. “Lucky you, sweetheart. Lucky you. While you’re writing that letter to yourself, make sure to sign it Just a Nanny.”

  “Hey,” Lucas snaps, drawing up to his full height and dwarfing Astrid. “You can’t talk to her that way.”

  “You can’t talk to me that way,” Astrid whispers up at hi
m. Her nostrils flare as she speaks, betraying her deep disgust. “I want the nanny out of this house.”

  Chapter 24

  Lucas

  I can’t believe what I just heard with my own fucking ears. Did Astrid seriously suggest that I fire a perfectly good nanny? As far as she knows, Sofia is nothing but a qualified caregiver.

  “Did it ever occur to you,” I ask her, “that I might not be a ‘zombie’ anymore because I’ve got more help around the house?”

  Astrid won’t dare look away. She can’t stand to be challenged. “I. Want. Her. Out.” She clips her words neatly, clarifying the demand. Charlie and Madison both blink and stare blankly up at us.

  Sofia plucks Madison off her lap and settles her on the next cushion. “I should go,” she says, preparing to stand.

  “There we go, some common sense.” Astrid claps for her and my jaw clenches. The vein in my temple pops. This is ri-goddamn-diciulous. My ex-wife cannot come in here and bully the nanny, even if she’s jealous and suspicious. Especially because she’s jealous and suspicious. Aside from being on the run for fraud, she’s a great nanny. “Thank you, Maggie.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” I plant my hand on Sofia’s shoulder and keep her butt firmly in that seat. If she leaves this room right now, she allows Astrid to dominate. You can’t give someone like her any power. She’ll abuse it.

  “Come in the kitchen with me, Astrid,” I suggest, nodding away from the family room. Astrid smirks at me knowingly, folds her hands together like a princess, and comes to a stand. She pivots sharply and swings her hips back and forth for every individual step. God, this woman. It’s a relief to finally be with someone who is naturally feminine and not overwhelming. I only thought that I had found my type when I met her.

  Sofia and I lock eyes as I leave the room.

  When we enter the kitchen, Astrid bats her eyelashes at me and leans her hip on the counter, waiting for me to lay into her. We both know this scene well. We’ve had enough fights in our lifetime to have it mapped out like an old dance. It’s not one of my favorites by a long shot. I suspect Astrid adores fights. She misconstrues them as signs of passion, of real love. Her eyes gleam with excitement up at me. I hate fights. No one wins. Everyone gets hurt.