The Billionaire's Nanny

The decibel level of the conference call rose. Voices talked over one another. Not quite a debate, but a lively discussion.

Her gaze fell on AJ’s face. Talk about stunning. He laughed at a joke, softening the planes, angles and lines of his face. She focused on his mouth, zeroed in on his lips. Bet he was a good kisser.

What in the world was she doing? Thinking? AJ wasn’t only her boss. He was also Libby’s boss.

Emma looked at her lap. The seat belt ends lay on either side of her. She fastened the buckle and tightened the strap, as if the pressure could squeeze out her nonsensical thoughts before she embarrassed Libby and herself.

So what if the real-life AJ Cole was more attractive than his photographs? He was her boss, not a random guy she could flirt with at Starbucks then breeze out the door without a look back. Besides, he wasn’t her type. She preferred a family man. Not a guy who, according to Libby, hadn’t visited his family in ten years.

“Don’t do that.” AJ’s hard tone made Emma jump. “If any of you disturb Libby while I’m away, you won’t have a job when I return. Understood?”

Not so bad. Emma hadn’t expected him to stick up for Libby.

“See you on Monday,” he added.

The words Don’t bother me were implied.

He tucked his tablet into the side pocket of his seat. “Emma Markwell.”

His deep voice flowed through her veins like warm maple syrup. She fought the urge to melt into her seat. “Hello, Mr. Cole. It’s nice to meet you.”

His critical gaze ran the length of her, scrutinizing, as if she were a line of bad computer code wreaking havoc with his program. This was the man she expected minus the gorgeous face and athletic physique.

“Libby tells me you’re a Martha Stewart–Mary Poppins mash-up, able to master home, hearth and heathen children.”

“I don’t have anything magical to pull out of my tote bag, but I do have a few modern-day equivalents for tricks and can spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious backward.” Something she’d learned being the nanny of a gifted child one summer.

“So you have no magic, but you brought a homeless cat.”

His eyes were flat, no glint of humor or spark of amusement. Was this the intimidator Libby told Emma to ignore?

“Libby assured me that bringing Blossom was acceptable.” Emma’s voice sounded hoarse. She cleared her throat.

“If it was a problem I would have hired you a cat sitter.” He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossed it onto the seat across the aisle, then buckled his seat belt. “My niece, nephew and cousins’ children will play with the cat. Just keep the beast away from me.”

“Allergic?”

“No.”

Camille picked up the jacket, glanced at the seat belts fastened across their laps, then headed to the front of the jet.

The silence made Emma bristle, reminding her of the impending takeoff. She needed to distract herself. “Not a fan of cats?”

His lips narrowed, reducing their kissability factor by 70 percent. Not that she would ever kiss him.

“If you must know, they’re pampered, vile creatures. I don’t see the appeal.”

His good looks had sparked an initial attraction, but his fire-extinguishing personality was making sure no flames erupted. She, as his employee, should let his words drop and discuss what her job responsibilities would be. But the cat lover in her couldn’t do that. Nor could the friend in her, either. His lack of warmth and understanding he displayed with the cat probably also translated to his overworking Libby to the point of her almost dying.

“Blossom is not a pampered cat, Mr. Cole. Her owner died. The family didn’t want to be bothered so surrendered the cat to an animal control facility in California. She ended up on a kill list. The shelter I volunteer for in Portland stepped in to rescue her. Blossom lived with thirty-five other cats until the space flooded yesterday. She had to come with me as a foster or spend the next week in a metal cage at a vet’s office.”

“Not pampered.” He sounded more amused than irritated. “I stand corrected.”

“Thank you for admitting that.”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

Libby had said AJ didn’t like being wrong. Emma didn’t want to annoy him or upset him, but she had more to say. She scraped her teeth across her lower lip. “I’ve said too much.”

“Perhaps, but I’d like to know.”

Libby had told Emma to do what he requested without asking too many questions. But this probably wasn’t what her friend meant.

“Go on,” he urged.

“Well...I’m sorry, but you’re wrong about cats. They’re intelligent, independent and inquisitive. They’re amazing pets and have made innumerable people happier for their company.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. He pressed his steepled hands against his lips.

Uh-oh. He didn’t seem to like her answer. “Remember, you wanted to know,” she reminded.

“I did.” He lowered his hands. “Are you as passionate about the children you care for as felines?”

“Yes.”

“Do you express your views with their parents as you have with me?”

Emma wasn’t about to lie. She raised her chin. “If warranted.”

“What is their response?”

“In one case, I was let go.”

“Fired for speaking your mind?”

“I wasn’t hired to spout my opinions,” she admitted. “But by that point, the only reason I hadn’t quit was the children. I was staying on for their sake.”

A closed-mouth smile curved his lips. “Lucky kids to have you on their side.”

He didn’t sound upset. That surprised her. “I do my best, but I expect kids to behave, so maybe they aren’t so lucky to have me.”

“What happens if they don’t behave?”

“Depends on the child. Some kids need to talk it through. Be heard. Others don’t understand why they act out.” Emma’s ability to read people had helped her survive in one foster home after another, but she couldn’t read Mr. Cole. A billionaire shouldn’t be interested in her job as a nanny. Maybe one of his colleagues needed to hire child care. “With certain children, more tangible consequences like a time-out or chores are necessary. But I prefer using kindness and a loving hand if at all possible.”

“What will my consequence be?”

“Yours?”

“If I misbehave.”

Playful images of how he might misbehave flitted through her mind. Unwelcome ones. Ones that made her cheeks burn. “I...I’m your personal assistant. Not your nanny.”

“If you were my nanny.”

Emma would have to resign due to naughty thoughts. Wrong answer. She cupped the side of her neck with her palm, shaken by her reaction to the sudden change in him. Her skin didn’t feel warm to the touch. Maybe only her cheeks were red. But a blush was too much. “Mr. Cole—”

“AJ.” His smile, full of sex appeal and devilish charm, stole her breath. “We’re going to be working together for the next five days. Putting on a birthday party and surrounded by my family. Humor me, Emma.”

Her name rolled off his tongue and heated her insides twenty degrees. A flame reignited deep within her. So not good. And 100 percent unacceptable.

Get a grip. AJ wasn’t flirting. A rich, gorgeous man would never be attracted to a simple, unremarkable nanny. More likely he was testing her. Libby had mentioned something about AJ’s tests.

A test Emma could handle. She’d been a good student, mostly As, a few Bs. But she’d grown up since then. Emma straightened, book-on-top-of-her-head posture. She had no doubt she would pass this test with an A-plus no matter what Attila threw at her.

She looked across the table at him. Awareness of the man’s good looks and power shivered through her. At least she hoped she would pass his test.

Chapter Two

What was Emma thinking? Of course she would pass any test her new boss threw at her. She stared at AJ, seated across from her, noting the devilish smile on his face.

“What would I do if you misbehaved?” She tilted her head to the right and made a stern face, something she rarely used with children. “I’d start by talking to you.”

“I’m not a big talker.” His mouth quirked, a sexy slant of his lips she tried to ignore. “I prefer action to words.”

Libby hadn’t called her boss a player, but implied as much. Emma could tell he knew the rules of the game and how to break them. Especially when the game was business. “I imagine you know exactly when you’re behaving badly.”

“That’s part of the fun.”

No doubt. “A time-out wouldn’t work with you.”

“I’d only get into more trouble if I had time to think.”

Or he might come up with a way to make another few million dollars. “Then I would do something else.”

He leaned forward, a movement full of swagger though he was sitting. “What?”

Emma took her time answering. She studied his hair, lowered her gaze to his intensely focused eyes, followed his straight nose to those sensual lips, then dropped to his strong jaw and square chin. Handsome, yes, but calculating. She made her own assessment of what might mean the most to him. “I’d take away your electronics.”

His model-worthy jaw dropped. “What?”

A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her answer surprised him. Good. “I’d confiscate your cell phone, computer, tablet. That might teach you a lesson.”

“Sounds a bit harsh.”

“Not if it’s for your own good.”

He rubbed his chin. “Then I’d better behave.”

“Yes, you should.” His bank account didn’t impress Emma. He didn’t, either. Not much anyway. “Don’t make me go all Supernanny or Nanny McPhee on you.”

The plane lurched.

Here we go. Emma gripped the seat arms and glanced out the window. A small single-propeller aircraft taxied in front of them.

“Please prepare for takeoff,” a male voice announced from overhead speakers.

Must be the pilot. Her gaze traveled to AJ. He looked blurry. The rest of the cabin, too. She adjusted her glasses, blinked, but her vision remained fuzzy, the air surrounding her hazy and white.

“Emma?”

She squinted, trying to bring his face and body into focus. “Yes.”

“You’re pale. Libby told me you don’t like flying.”

Emma didn’t blame her friend for warning her boss. “It’s the moment the wheels lift off that gets to me the most, but I should be okay.”

Please let me be okay. The engines revved, louder and louder.

No big deal. She dug her fingers into the butter-soft leather. Pressed her feet against the floor. Leaned her head against the seat.

No big deal. The jet bolted forward, as if released from a slingshot, accelerating down the runway. Dread crept through her stomach and hardened into stone, an uncomfortable heaviness settling in. She burned again, her skin, her insides, immune to the blasts of cool air.

No big deal. Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Darkness didn’t keep the sickening, familiar sensation of weightlessness at bay. The moment the wheels lifted, her stomach plummeted to her toes, then boomeranged to her throat.

Memories bombarded her. The choking smell of smoke. The scorching heat of the flames. The terrifying screams of her brother.

Nausea rose inside her like the jet climbing in the sky. She opened her eyes. “Oh, no.”

AJ’s hands rested on his thighs. “What?”

Emma’s stomach constricted. Her mouth watered. She reached into the seat pocket. “I’m going to be sick.”

* * *

Damn. AJ stared at Emma, who held on to a white barf bag as if it were the Holy Grail. He pushed himself forward in his seat, difficult to do facing backward and strapped in with the plane climbing, but he’d achieved the impossible before.

He reached for her, uncertain how to help, but needing to do something. “Emma.”

She raised her left hand, an almost imperceptible movement he took to mean “not now.” He didn’t blame her, but sitting here unable to do anything brought back a dreaded sense of helplessness, of uselessness. He remembered being out on the water with his father during a storm. More than once AJ figured they would have to abandon ship. More than once he thought they would die. More than once he vowed to do something different with his life if they survived.

You’ll never amount to anything if you leave Haley’s Bay.

His father’s words pounded through AJ’s head like high tide against the harbor rocks. He’d spent the past ten years proving his dad wrong. In spades.

Except AJ’s private jet, fifteen-hundred employees and a net worth of eleven billion were irrelevant at the moment. None of those things could help Emma.

Her greenish complexion worsened. Her white-knuckled fingers, clutching the barf bag, trembled.

The plane continued climbing. If he unbuckled, he might end up on top of Emma. Better to wait until the plane leveled.

The least he could do was give her privacy. Not easy in this confined space, but he glanced out the window.

Tendrils of fluffy white clouds floated in the blue sky. A good day for flying, unless you suffered airsickness.

A moan filled the cabin.

The cat’s stop-they’re-torturing-me cry irritated AJ. Who was he kidding? Everything about felines, especially how much bandwidth people wasted posting “cute” cat pictures on the internet, bugged him. He wanted the cat to be a distraction when they reached Haley’s Bay, not during the flight. AJ drummed his fingers against the armrest.

Emma’s retching stopped. The cat kept howling. He suppressed a groan.

AJ wanted to start his day over. Nothing about his trip was turning out as expected. He wanted to make a triumphant return to Haley’s Bay. He wanted everything to go smoothly during his five-day stay. He wanted Libby with her anal-retentive organizing skills accompanying him, not some...nanny. He’d joked with Emma to see her response and glimpse her social skills.

What in the world was he going to do with an uptight, vomiting Mary Poppins? Libby had warned him about Emma’s problem with flying. If he’d known her issue involved bodily fluids, he would have asked his chauffeur Charlie to drive Emma to Haley’s Bay instead. A car ride would have been easier on her, on AJ, on the annoying cat.

He flexed his fingers. Libby’s brain must have been foggy after her appendectomy. He didn’t understand why she thought her best friend was the perfect person to take her place. Emma might be good with kids. She hadn’t been bad at bantering. But she didn’t seem up for the rigors of the job. Or his family.

Something clicked. The sound came from Emma’s direction. He glanced her way.

She held on to the barf bag with one hand and a wipe with the other. Her hands shook. Her face looked deathly white.

AJ’s chest tightened. He needed to do something. “I’ll call Camille.”

“I’m fine.” Emma’s words sounded strangled. She stared at her lap.

“You need help.”

She gave a slight shake of her head, washed her face, then tossed the wipe into the barf bag. “I’m doing better.”

Emma removed another wipe from her bag and cleaned her hands. No hesitation, no wasted movement, no hunching her shoulders trying to disappear.

“You’re doing great under the circumstances,” he said.

Her self-sufficiency and resiliency intrigued AJ. She was no damsel in distress waiting to be rescued by a handsome prince. Not that he was a prince. More like a black knight or the devil himself, according to his father. “But please let Camille assist you. That’s her job.”

“My job is to assist you, not cause anyone extra work.”

AJ studied the woman. Emma Markwell was not unattractive, in spite of her pallor. He would call her...unfinished, an artist’s sketch on a piece of canvas waiting to be painted. Her braided hair accentuated her heart-shaped face and clear complexion. Smart-girl glasses hid a pair of wide-set bluish-gray eyes and rested on a straight, pert nose. Tight lines hovered at the corner of her full lips.

Of course they did. She’d thrown up breakfast. But the way she handled herself impressed him. AJ had judged her too quickly and she was earning his respect now. He’d gotten seasick on a boat when he was younger and not handled himself nearly as well. Maybe she was up for the job.

A woman who dressed practically would be a refreshing change from stilettos and tight pencil skirts. The nanny was pretty. If Emma unbraided her brown hair and wore makeup to highlight her cheekbones and lips, she could be beautiful. She lacked the sophistication and worldliness of most women he knew, but a nanny didn’t need to dress to impress and show off flawless beauty. He imagined that Emma’s fresh young face and prim appearance earned her more jobs than looking like a sexy supermodel. She might not be a high-flying businesswoman, actress or socialite, but she reminded him of the women in his family—down-to-earth, practical, strong. So far she’d been less nosy than his grandmother, mom or sisters. He hoped Emma’s lack of interest in his personal life continued.

She tucked another wipe into the airsickness bag, folded the ends, then secured the flap with wired tabs.

Competent and capable. Resilient with an underlying toughness. Those traits would serve her well.

He wondered if she’d been disappointed by someone she loved. Perhaps someone she’d trusted had failed her. AJ’s skill at assessing staff had been key to his success, and he understood her qualities from his own experience. Setbacks made you stronger, if you didn’t allow them to win. And he knew how to help her. By putting what she needed within reach.

“It’s obvious you’re fine, but is there anything Camille can bring you? A glass of water? Ginger ale?”

Pink tinged Emma’s cheeks, the blush bringing much-needed color to her face. “No, thanks. The plane’s no longer climbing. I’m going to go to the lavatory and put myself back together.”

She sounded confident, but she hadn’t looked him in the eye since being sick. She might not be as in control as she appeared. “The bathroom is at the front of the jet.”

Emma’s gaze met his. Her vulnerability would have knocked him flat on his ass if he were standing. She was twenty-six, the same age as Libby, but Emma looked younger, like a naive college freshman away from home for the first time.

A protective instinct welled inside him. “Em...”

“Thank you, Mr. Cole.”

Her polite tone jerked him back to reality. She didn’t want pity. But he wasn’t offering that.

She unbuckled her seat belt. He did the same. “Don’t feel bad. Libby warned me you didn’t like flying. I’m assuming she spoke with Camille about adding airsickness bags to the seats.”

“I appreciate Libby’s foresight. She’s a good friend who knows me well. I’ll do my best to fill her shoes. In spite of the past few minutes, I’m up to the task.” Emma stood. She placed the strap of her large purse over her shoulder and held on to the barf bag. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

AJ jumped to his feet. She walked past him toward the front of the plane. His gaze followed, zeroing in on the sway of her hips and the purse bouncing against her thigh. Nice. Feminine. Sexy.

Whoa. What was he thinking? He didn’t want anything to do with Emma except to comfort and reassure her. He considered employees assets, efficient resources, not playthings. Besides, she reminded him of the girls back in Haley’s Bay, rather than the glamorous women he dated in Seattle, San Francisco or wherever else he might be working. The next-door neighbor types weren’t the kind of women he was attracted to now. Not that he found Emma...okay, he found her attractive, which surprised him.

With a towel in hand, Camille stood next to his seat. “Emma said she was sick.”

“Yes, but remarkably neat about it.”

Camille checked the seat and floor anyway. “Libby was right.”

“She usually is.” He glanced toward the front of the plane. “Make sure Emma is okay.”

“Of course.”

The cat screeched.

Camille shook her head. “Not your typical uneventful flight.”

“No.”

Things might not be uneventful until AJ was back home in Seattle. Five days. Five days until his visit would be over. Five days until he would say goodbye to Haley’s Bay for another decade. He couldn’t wait.

* * *

Emma couldn’t wait to get off this airplane. Hitting rock bottom less than fifteen minutes after meeting a new boss had to be a record. But at least things couldn’t get worse.

Unless the plane crashed.

She returned her toothbrush to her toiletry bag. Given her luck so far this morning, that was a distinct possibility. But the odds against crashing after throwing up had to be astronomical, right?

Surveying her reflection in the mirror, she tucked stray strands back into her braid. Her Goth-white complexion had disappeared. Good. She would rather look human than like a vampire wannabe.

She pinched her cheeks to give them more color. Reapplying the makeup she’d wiped off was beyond her. But she looked better, passable, no longer green.

She straightened her glasses, wanting to present a confident, unflappable air. Mr. Cole never needed to know she was dying of embarrassment. Neither did Camille, who kept knocking every minute and a half to see if Emma needed help. She opened the lavatory door.

Blossom’s ear-hurting screeches could wake the dead, officially starting the zombie apocalypse.

Emma followed the racket.

The cat faced forward, screaming her lungs out as if doing her best T. rex impersonation.

Emma knelt in front of the cat carrier. “Shhhh. I know you don’t like this, but we’re almost there.”

Blossom barked, sounding more like an ankle-biting dog than a pissed-off feline.

“Your cat doesn’t sound happy.”

Emma felt AJ’s presence—a potent mix of heat, strength and confidence—behind her. “Blossom doesn’t like to fly, either.”

“You look good as new.”

She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze at crotch level. Lingering on his zipper. Her cheeks burned. No need for pinching cheeks or makeup now. She looked up at him. “I am. Flying doesn’t really get to me. Taking off is the culprit. The weightlessness.”

“Your stomach can’t handle the feeling.”

“Nope.” And the flashbacks nearly did her in each time, but nobody needed to know about those. “The landing will be a breeze. But I’m guessing Blossom won’t quiet down until she’s out of her carrier.”

AJ kneeled. The left side of his body brushed hers, sending sparks shooting across her skin. The scent of his aftershave, something musky with a touch of spice, enveloped her.

She sucked in a breath. Oh, boy. He smelled so good, fresh, like the first spring day after months of dreary winter rain.

He peered into the carrier. “What’s its name again?”

“Blossom. Her name is Blossom.”

He tapped on the carrier. “Be quiet, Blossom.”

“Cat’s don’t respond to—”

The cat stopped meowing. Blossom rubbed her head against the carrier door.

He stuck his finger through the grating and touched the cat. “Don’t respond to what?”

“Logic.”

Blossom, however, didn’t make another noise. She soaked up the attention. Purred. Unbelievable. The cat hadn’t purred at the shelter or at Emma’s apartment. At least not that any of the volunteers had noticed. Yet this guy, a non-cat-lover guy, had the feline purring like a generator. “Blossom likes you.”

“She likes the attention.”

“Attention from you. This is the first time I’ve heard her purr.”

AJ yanked his hand away, plastered his arm against his side. “I’m not a fan of cats. She wouldn’t like me.”

Tell that to Blossom. The cat pressed against the crate door, fur squishing through the grating. She stared up at AJ as if he were her sun, stars and moon.

Thanks to AJ Cole, Blossom had transformed from she devil to sweetheart. Emma grinned, something she never expected to do after getting sick in front of her new boss. “She does like you.”

AJ’s gaze bounced from the cat to Emma. “The cat needed someone to tell her what was expected.”