The Billionaire's Super Nanny (A BWWM Romance) Read online

  “It doesn’t work like that, Ma’am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The department can’t afford to waste resources on petty crimes.”

  “This is petty? This person threatened my life.”

  “Where did you see that your life was threatened?”

  He couldn’t be serious. Everywhere, maybe? The whole freaking thing. I didn’t see any part of it that didn’t hint at a threat to my life.

  “The whole thing?” I said, vexed. “The dead rat? Having personal information that proves that whoever it is can actually find out more about me than most people can? What part of all of that didn’t you find threatening?”

  “It didn’t actually state that your life was in danger.”

  “So a dead rat is what? A love note?”

  I was being a complete bitch now, but I didn’t care. This man was an idiot. Someone had taken the time to carefully dissect a rat and send it to me in the mail. If I hurt the cop’s feelings by being a little crass, so what? He obviously wasn’t the least bit interested in protecting me from a madman.

  “I understand your frustration, but you need to remain calm. An actual threat to your life wasn’t made.”

  “So you’re not going to do anything, that’s what you’re saying?”

  “That’s not true. We’re going to file a report and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity in this area for a while.”

  “And what in the hell is that supposed to do?”

  The policeman didn’t answer. Instead, he bent over his notepad and began writing again. I fought the urge to kick him under the table. I couldn’t read everything he was writing because it was upside down and across the table, but I had my suspicions that he wasn’t taking me seriously. Maybe I needed to get hysterical instead of trying to remain calm.

  I sat up a little straighter as he continued writing, actively trying to read what he wrote. The officer stopped, looking up at me and putting his hand over the notepad, but it was too late. I’d already seen the three words that he was trying to hide.

  “Are you serious? ‘Looking for attention’? If you think I did this to myself just for attention, you’re way off base.”

  “Am I?” he challenged.

  “Yes, you are. I don’t need publicity or anything else. Some psycho mailed me a dead rat and a threatening letter. You need to do something about it. Aren’t there anti-stalking laws in New York?”

  “Not for this sort of thing. It’s a misdemeanor at best.”

  “A mutilated rat is a misdemeanor?”

  “We can’t prove that didn’t happen to the rat in transit.”

  I laughed. Right in his face. There’s no way this man was serious.

  “You’re way out of line. Maybe I can talk to someone who doesn’t think all women are hysterical drama queens.”

  “My partner is busy securing the scene.”

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. This was a joke. Here I was, sitting here with two threats mailed to me in as many days, and no one was concerned. I couldn’t believe it.

  “We’re done here,” I said, standing up and walking to the refrigerator to get a drink.

  “I still have some questions for you.”

  “No you don’t. I’m not a criminal. I don’t have to subject myself to this.”

  The cop shrugged, putting away his pen and paper and standing up. He had given up much too easily. If his partner wasn’t there to ensure a thorough job, would he have even filed my statement? I doubted it, and made a mental note to write a scathing letter to the department. I was certain that his captain would be appalled at this man’s behavior. At least, I hoped he would.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “Are you saying you don’t want to file a report?”

  “I’ve already filed a report, with you. I’m sure you have enough to file a report without us continuing this pointless song and dance. I really have nothing more to say, and if you’re unable to do your job with the information I gave you, then maybe this isn’t the right line of work for you.”

  The young cop turned red and left the room. Ted looked up through the wall of windows and raised a questioning eyebrow. I shrugged. I wasn’t going to sit there while a kid barely out of the academy judged me like that. He’d made up his mind, and there was no point in my answering any more questions. He thought he had all the answers, and I was pretty sure that he thought I sent the rat to myself.

  Ted slipped through the breakroom door and sat across from me.

  “Done already?”

  “He thinks I’m doing it for publicity,” I said, expecting Ted to tell me I was wrong.

  “The other cop said the same thing. It’s like they can’t wrap their heads around it being real.”

  “I can’t either, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I’m going to stay at my place tonight and head to East Hampton tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s it? You’re just going to go on like nothing happened?”

  “Nothing did happen.”

  “Yet. What about when this psycho gets bolder and he does something worse?”

  “You don’t think the rat was bad enough?”

  “I do, but I doubt he’ll stop there.”

  “I don’t know. I think it’s someone who’s just angry right now. They’ll move onto someone or something else next week, and this will end as soon as it started.”

  Ted looked at the bank of windows toward the booth.

  “I wish I could feel as sure of that as you are. Please be careful, Zeya. There are a lot of crazies out there. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine, Ted. Between you and Taylor Stephens, I’m plenty protected.”

  His face colored a light pink.

  “Sorry about that. I just thought he should know.”

  “You thought wrong, but I’m gonna let it go this time. The last thing I need is to have some rich guy thinking I’m a damsel in distress that needs him to save me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course you can, but you shouldn’t have to. It doesn’t make you any less tough to admit you’re scared, Zeya.”

  “I know that, but that doesn’t mean I need a knight in shining armor rushing to save me on his white stead.”

  “He has a white horse?”

  “No, but he has a white helicopter.”

  “No shit, really? Did you ride in it?”

  “Not willingly, but that’s a story for another day.”

  “I bet it is.”

  I hugged Ted goodbye and grabbed my bag. It had been a long day and I was ready for dinner and bed. In that order. Man, it would be nice to sleep in my own bed tonight.

  Chapter 9

  Taylor

  All through dinner and bath time, I struggled to push thoughts of Zeya out of my mind, but I couldn’t. She had blown off the threat, but I heard something in her voice that gave me pause. There was the normal, negative attention from adoring fans turned sour, and then there was something more. I wanted to believe her when she said it was nothing, but I didn’t think she believed it, either.

  The children were noticeably subdued during dinner, with Tara pushing her food quietly around her plate while Tanner ate all his favorite foods and proclaimed the was full but ready for dessert. I had to smile at that. He was so much like me; filling up on what he wanted out of life and shunning the rest. That attitude would serve him well as an adult, but for now, eating his broccoli wasn’t optional.

  “If you’re too full for broccoli, then your tummy can’t eat dessert.”

  “Yes it can.”

  Hmm. I had hoped that would work, but I knew it wouldn’t. Tanner was smart as a whip and had all the answers.

  “I guess you can eat one piece of broccoli and have one cookie. But I’m going to eat three pieces of broccoli and have three cookies.”

  “I can eat three cookies!”

  Tanner started shoveling broccoli into hi
s mouth, and I hid my smile. When it was his idea, things were always easier.

  Tara continued to sulk over her food, though she still hadn’t tried to hide any of it.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

  “When is Zeya coming back?”

  “She’s going to spend the night at her house and come back tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “She had to take care of her house.”

  “Why didn’t her Mimi do it?”

  I smiled at her pet name for a woman I loved like a mother. Sonja had been employed by my family since she was just sixteen. When my own mother had stepped away from parenting to live her life, Sonja had filled the spot without question. Still a child herself, she’d done everything my own mother was too busy to do. When my parents retired and moved to Florida, there was no question that I would bring Sonja to work for me. I loved that my children loved her like I had, but I didn’t love the reason behind it. Somehow, even though I’d known better, I’d married a woman just like my mother and saddled my own children with a woman who could never love them more than she loved her freedom. I’d done exactly what my dad had done, leaving Sonja to step in once more.

  “She doesn’t have a Mimi.”

  “Everyone should have a Mimi.”

  “You’re right, Sweetness. Everyone should be so lucky.”

  I caught sight of Sonja out of the corner of my eye, moving around the room and fussing with refilling drinking glasses. She was blushing, but more telling was the single tear of joy sliding down her cheek.

  Was this the first time she’d heard that I was grateful for her?

  How could I have let something so important slip by and not say to her that she was someone special in our lives?

  She passed by me, reaching out to grab my empty water glass. I stopped her mid-reach, squeezing her hand and smiling at her, making a mental note to give her a raise. In all the stress and the strain of my bitter divorce, I hadn’t thought about how special her presence was. Yes, I paid her a salary to be there, but she was more than that. Always had been.

  When Lynne had left and I threw myself into my work to mend my broken heart, Sonja had laid the hammer down, reminding me that I had more than just myself to worry about. She had pulled me out of my funk and been a quiet voice of reassurance while I navigated my new life. I owed so much to her.

  Tara looked at her plate and then at her brother’s. Tanner had cleared his plate, clearly more excited about cookies than even he realized.

  “Daddy, do I have to eat all this food?” she asked.

  “You don’t, but if you choose not to, there will be no dessert.”

  “Tanner is getting dessert.”

  “Tanner ate his food.”

  I went back to my meal, trying not to engage her further. It looked so easy when Zeya did it, but she’d had a lot of practice. Tara watched me as if waiting for me to give her something to whine about.

  I didn’t accept the challenge. The difference between how my children acted for Zeya and how they acted for me was astounding. As skeptical as I was in the beginning that her method would work for my situation, she’d proven herself without even breaking a sweat. Zeya was a parenting genius, and I knew that I had to follow her program if I wanted to enjoy the same results.

  I went back to eating, ignoring the fact that Tara chose to throw a fit over what was essentially nothing. I felt twitchy. The obvious choice to me was to eat broccoli to earn cookies. But Tara didn’t always think like I did.

  Tanner cleared his plate and announced that he was ready for cookies. I nodded to Sonja, who retrieved the miniature cookies from the kitchen and handed him exactly three of them.

  “Hey, that’s not fair,” Tara said.

  “He ate three, he gets three. Seems pretty fair to me,” I said nonchalantly, but on the inside I was screaming.

  It seemed so very simple to me, but patience was so important. So I finished my meal and rewarded myself with dessert as well. Tara continued to sulk, pushing around her broccoli as if it were poison.

  “Can I eat one broccoli and get one cookie?” she asked, her voice heavy with defeat yet somehow still defiant.

  “Of course,” I said, fighting the urge to fist pump in celebration.

  “Fine,” she said.

  She grabbed her fork and shoved the broccoli in her mouth, chewing it dramatically. She chased it with milk and looked Tanner’s plateful of cookies. She took a deep breath, shot me the dirtiest look I’d ever seen on that sweet face and shoved three more pieces of broccoli into her mouth.

  “I get four now,” she said around a mouthful of broccoli.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “That’s more than Tanner.”

  I sighed. It was more than Tanner had, but I’d set the rules and she had followed them. I had to keep up my end of the bargain. I wondered what Zeya would do in this situation. But she wasn’t here and hadn’t been all day. And I already felt lost.

  I made the decision then and there: I had to see her, even though she swore she didn’t need me there. Who cared if she needed me? I needed to see her and make sure she was really all right.

  I checked the clock; only an hour until bedtime. If I could get the kids into the bath and excited about that, maybe I could get them into bed shortly before seven and leave for the city. That was exactly what I would do.

  ***

  It took me longer than I expected to get the kids into bed, but I managed. A little bummed that Zeya’s show didn’t employ hidden cameras to record my perfect form, I decided to take my car instead of the helicopter. I was less than ten minutes from her home, wondering what the hell I was going to say to her when I got there.

  Hi, I just decided to drive over an hour to get here, even though you said I wasn’t needed.

  Wasn’t my best line, but maybe it would work.

  I laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Why was I even worried? I hadn’t ever been this unsure of myself; why was I suddenly worried about how I would be received? And where had this nagging self-doubt come from?

  I shook it off. Zeya’s home was around the corner. Like it or not, I was here and I wasn’t leaving until I was sure that she was safe and sound.

  I slid the Porsche into park, jumping out of the car and walking quickly up the walkway.

  An older woman was struggling to pull open the front gate while carrying her groceries. I hurried to help her, glad for the opportunity to get into the building without having to page Zeya. At the gate, saying no would be easy. On her doorstep, not so much.

  “Thank you, young man,” the woman said, staring up at me and smiling.

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

  I walked in behind her, following her to the door and repeating the process. She thanked me again as I said goodbye and headed toward Zeya’s door.

  It was almost nine, but a hall light still shone from beneath her door. I stood in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  I finally knocked, throwing caution to the wind and feeling very reckless. Maybe she wouldn’t be happy to see me, but it was too late now. I’d driven all the way here, and I wasn’t about to leave without at least seeing that she was all right.

  I stepped back, waving at the door when I saw the light disappear and knew she was looking through the peephole at me. I heard a lock tumble, then another. At least she was locked in safe and sound.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Not exactly the welcome I’d been looking for, but I didn’t care. She stood there, face set in a most defiant expression, and both hands on her hips.

  She took my breath away. At my home she was so professional that she came off almost a little cold. But this was the woman I had caught a glimpse of the other day. This feisty, fiery woman was gorgeous and sexy. And I wanted to get to know her.

  “Are you going to leave me in the hallway so the neighbors have something to talk about, or are you going to invite me
in?”

  “Can I choose option C and ask you to mind your own damned business? I’m not working for you right now. I said I didn’t need you here, and I meant it.”

  Despite her harsh words, she stepped back and let me in. I slipped by her, catching the sweet scent of coconut and a hint of lime. The top of her head was inches from my face, her hair damp from a fresh shower.

  I went to the living room, marveling at how cozy yet open it managed to feel, even though I could almost fit her entire apartment into my formal sitting room. I was glad to hear the locks tumbling back into place behind me. Even though she appeared to be brushing off the threat, Zeya was still taking precautions and keeping her apartment locked up tight.

  I sat on the sofa, leaning back and putting my feet up on the ottoman. My eyes caught sight of a letter lying open on the coffee table. I couldn’t make out the rest of it, but the word “rejected” was bolded and in all caps.

  Zeya walked into the room just then, her presence announced by the soft swishing sound of the silky fabric of her dark red pajama pants. She hurried by me, sweeping the papers off the table and into a drawer in her desk.

  “Are you trying to buy a house?” I asked, trying to be nonchalant about something that I knew was none of my damn business.

  She could be mad if she wanted, but maybe her tune would change if I could help her.

  “No,” she said, her tone flat and a little angry as she dropped herself into the chair across from me and crossed her arms. “Not that it’s any of your business, but the overloaded foster care system doesn’t think I’m good enough to adopt a child. I’ve done everything that they’ve told me to and still, I keep getting rejected.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” The moment the words came out I wanted to kick myself. What kind of question was that? It wasn’t like a business deal had fallen through. This was something that was obviously very important to her. And why wouldn’t it be? She was an amazing caregiver and would be a wonderful mother, too.

  “I’m going to save my money and adopt privately. They’re a little less picky as long as you have the money they want, but I wasn’t really looking for a newborn. I was hoping to adopt a sibling pair from the state, or at least a slightly older child.”