The Billionaire Daddy. Renee Roszel
Trying not to think about how foolhardy this slap-dash scheme might be, Lauren put one foot in front of the other, increasing her pace, scurrying down the long hallway toward the man she most despised in the world.
She sent up a prayer that Miss Quinn wouldn’t show up now to blow her cover. Since the woman was this late, and since Mr. Delacourte didn’t exactly live in an out-of-the-way hovel, it seemed that for whatever reason, Miss Quinn—the thoughtful, marvelous no-show Miss Quinn—wasn’t coming.
Mr. Delacourte turned the knob and looked inside. “Opal, Miss Quinn is here. Once she sees to the child’s last-minute needs, show them to the car.”
When Lauren joined Mr. Delacourte at the nursery entrance, he faced her. “Most of the baby’s things are already in the limo, and she’s been fed.”
Before Lauren could respond, he was striding away. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
He disappeared behind another door, but Lauren continued to gape after him. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she muttered, her hostility for the egotistical tyrant bubbling to the surface.
“Miss?”
The female voice startled Lauren, and she spun around. The nursery, furnished with a crib, built-ins and a changing table, held all the whimsy of a hospital room. Everything was white, except the inside of the crib. Its head and footboards were painted in a vivid palate of pastels. A mobile of dangling miniature teddy bears hung above the mattress, its sheets adorned with cartoon characters. The crib was a colorful oasis amid a scrubbed wilderness of white.
A rosy-cheeked woman in gray smiled when Lauren’s glance met hers. The middle-aged maid cuddled a frilly, pink bundle to her breast. One tiny hand reached up and grasped the woman’s chin, causing her to chuckle. “Tina, sugar-baby, meet your new nanny.”
Lauren’s heart did a flip-flop. Tina! Her niece was right there in the same room, not ten feet away! It was a miracle. This morning she’d stepped off the plane from Tulsa, and gone directly to Delacourte Industry headquarters. She’d been refused an appointment, stiffly informed the CEO would be away for a month. Her hopes had plummeted into the black depths of gloom. This rash cab ride to his Manhattan apartment had been an act of desperation. She’d had no idea—not even the flicker of a dream—that…
She shook herself. Why was she standing there like a frozen fish stick? With a fledgling smile she fairly floated across the room to gaze down at her niece. Lauren’s parents were dead and Millie had disappeared into the world of wanna-be movie stars. So, it was imperative to Lauren not to lose Christina.
As she stared at the tiny face, the tingle of threatening tears made her blink. “Such an angel,” she murmured. Her joy so overwhelmed her, it took monumental effort to keep from sobbing.
“She’s so sweet.” The maid handed Lauren the swaddled child. “Hardly ever cries. Sally, the other nanny, said caring for this sugar-baby was the most enjoyable job she’s ever had. But you know hormones.”
Lauren only half listened, her heart spilling over with a love that was almost maternal. She gently held Tina in her arms, taking in every detail, from the pale, blond wisps of her hair to her precious, heart-shaped mouth. Something in the maid’s chatter caught her attention and she looked up. “Hormones?”
Opal tittered. “No matter how much Sally loved and doted on little Tina, her hormones won out. She ran off with the night doorman sometime before dawn this morning. Said in her note she couldn’t bear to be separated from the guy for a whole month.” Opal shook her head, smoothing a strand of graying hair into her chignon. “Why do so many women turn into drooling idiots when it comes to a smooth-talking man?”
Lauren found the statement ironic. Opal was talking about the night doorman, but she could have been referring to Mr. Delacourte’s effect on Millie. “Whatever the reason, there’s a lot of that going around,” Lauren said with a sad shake of her head.
Opal laughed and nodded. “Ain’t it the truth! Ain’t it the truth.” She gave Tina a pat on her chubby cheek. “You have yourself a great time out there on the beach, little one.” Looking at Lauren, she waved toward a stuffed, leather bag. “I think I’ve got everything in there she’ll need for the trip—bottles, diapers and such. You’d best check her to see if she needs changing before you go.”
She lay a hand on the crib headboard, drawing Lauren’s gaze to it again. Upon closer inspection she noticed the painting was more than mere swirls of color, but seemed truly like art. “Who painted the crib?” she asked, surprised to hear herself speaking aloud.
Opal gave the crib a quick glance, then looked back at Lauren. “Oh, Benny did that while Tina was still sleeping in her bassinet. Benny’s Cook’s assistant, and quite a budding artist.” She laughed. “The whole staff’s so crazy about Tina. Poor dear child hardly gets any time to sleep, with somebody wanting to rock her and cuddle her all the time.” She checked her wristwatch. “Oh, goodness. Time’s flying. Yell out when you’re ready. I’ll be down the hall.”
After Opal left, Lauren stood for a long minute, gazing at her precious niece. “No problem,” she finally murmured, but it came out sounding dubious. The full weight of what she’d done was settling in.
She would be living with a man she hated—spying on him—and even more disturbing than that, the well-being of an infant, not quite six months old, was in her hands!
Hysteria welled up inside her. What had she done? Being a high school music teacher hadn’t exactly qualified her for digging up incriminating evidence on wild living playboys. Not to mention one other tiny detail. Though Lauren had done plenty of babysitting, and loved children, she’d never cared for actual babies! “Oh, Lauren,” she mumbled, “what have you gotten yourself into?”
Dade and his new nanny sped along the highway toward the Hamptons in his luxurious silver limousine. As he spoke on his cell phone to his secretary, leaving last-minute instructions, he glanced at his new employee. She sat stiffly in the forward seating area, which faced the back seat where he was positioned. The arrangement accommodated more comfortable conversation. He half grinned at the thought, since his new nanny had not only said nothing, she hadn’t even made eye contact. It seemed she had no interest in anything or anyone but the baby.
What was her name, again? Miss Something Quinn. Was it Nelda or Gilda Quinn? He couldn’t recall what the agency told him. He’d been in a foul mood at the time, so her given name had hardly been his main concern.
His business calls finally concluded, Dade slipped the phone into his slacks pocket. He surveyed the nanny as she gazed at Tina, secured in her car seat. The nanny had the strangest expression on her face. It looked like adoration. He lounged back, straightening his legs and crossing them at the ankles. His shoes almost touched her, but she paid him absolutely no heed, just kept gazing at Tina.
He supposed nannies—at least the really good ones—adored children. He’d certainly had good luck with the other nanny—until this morning. He cleared his throat to get his new nanny’s attention.
Nothing.
It irritated him that she ignored him so completely. She hadn’t even acknowledged him with a glance when Goodberry helped her into the car. Such total lack of notice didn’t happen to him. People came to attention in his presence, skittering around, catering to his every whim. Wealth and power had that effect on people. Especially people whose livelihoods depended on his approval.
In the eleven years since he’d taken over his father’s electronics business, he’d turned it into a multibillion dollar corporation, no small part of that success due to several of his own patents. He’d learned to take for granted that his vice presidents would snap to attention when he cleared his throat. So why couldn’t this wisp of a woman oblige him by at least glancing to see if he was choking to death.
She made a cooing sound and stuck a finger against the baby’s palm. When Tina grasped it, Miss Quinn smiled. Dade dipped his head slightly to get a better look. Were her eyes swimming with tears? He frowned.