Read The Billionaire's Nanny: A BWWM Romantic Comedy for Free Online Page B

and steps to the center of the playroom.
    I’m sure that door was heavy and solid, but still his voice is low. “The monitor on the windowsill will tell you when she awakes. There’s a camera trained on the crib, too, so that if you need to be elsewhere in the house, you can check on her. I’ll text you the app you can download that makes it really easy.” He glances at his watch. “Crap. Look, I have to be on a call in about a minute, I’d hoped to have more time to show you around. But I’ll be back when I can. There’s a buzzer by the door,” he points out what looks like a doorbell button, “if you push it, Connie or Marta will turn up pretty quickly. Um…good luck!” He flashes me a smile that looks a bit worried around the edges and closes the door behind him.
    So. Here I am, a nanny. I set my bag down on the window seat and walk around the playroom on quiet, bare feet. Like the guest room, this room looks like a stage set. It’s hard to imagine a child actually playing with any of this stuff, moving a thing out of place. The monitor broadcasts the soft sounds of breathing, so I settle in on the window seat and get out my book. The view is out the front of the house, I can see the long drive I’d come down, the little gatehouse, the vineyard rolling away to the horizon.
    I’ve managed to read most of a chapter before I hear the first snuffles on the monitor. There’s one inquisitive “Da?” before Maeve launches into a full-throated wail. Zero to sixty. I toss my book down and rush to the door. Maeve has pulled herself to standing and is holding the crib rail while she cries. When I come in, she pauses just long enough to look at me and goes right back to it, full throttle.
    I lift her out of the crib and hold her close. She’s all warm from sleep, but in no mood to cuddle. She pushes away from me, wailing. I bounce her up and down, nothing. There’s a bottle next to the crib, with a bit of milk in it. I offer it to her, she pushes it away.
    “Let’s go out into this great playroom, Maeve!” I say, chipper as a preschool teacher. “Look at Mr. Bear! He’s so big!” With my other hand, I make his giant paw wave at her. “Hello, there, Maeve!” I say in a growly bear voice. Nothing. Mr. Bear’s paw touches her nose gently, “boop!” She turns away and keeps screaming.
    “Oh hey, Maeve, look at this dolly! Look at her long blonde hair, so pretty! I bet it’s a weave. She’s got scraggly hair and she pays a lot of money for that weave. You wanna pull it? See, it doesn’t even feel real.” Maeve has no interest in tugging on the weave. She continues to cry, actual tears now running down her cheeks.
    “Train?” Nope. “Ooo, look in this dollhouse! Daddy’s in the office watching porn and Mommy’s drinking in the kitchen!” She cries louder still. “Oh, sorry. Touchy subject. Sorry.” I feel myself blushing, like I’d actually just reminded this baby that she doesn’t have a mother. Or a nanny that has any idea what to do with a crying kid.
    Where the hell is the ice cube maker when you need one?
    Desperate, I set her down on a rug covered in road designs and get my phone from my bag. Maeve just sits there, arms tensed, crying. I call Gran.
    “Gran, I need advice!”
    “What on earth is that racket, is that a baby?”
    “Yes, I can’t get her to stop crying, what do I do?”
    “Well, pick her up for starters!” says Gran.
    “I was carrying her and bouncing her, I just set her down so I could hear. She’s not crying any more or less than when I was holding her.” Her squalls are making me feel panicked.
    “Is she hungry?”
    “She wouldn’t take the bottle.”
    “Is she wet?”
    “Uh, no? She was just napping.”
    “Her diaper, girl. Is her diaper wet?”
    Ohhhhh. “I don’t know. I didn’t think of that. Hang on.” I go to Maeve and set my phone down as I try to figure out how to tell if her diaper is wet. I lift her dress and feel her backside. The diaper feels