âI donât care how you entertain the kid. Just do it. And leave me out of it.â
Annaâs face blanched, making her freckles stand out. Pierce experienced a sudden craving for cinnamon toastâthe way his mother used to make it twenty-something years ago.
He shook his head to banish the thought.
âYessir.â She turned away to attend to the kid.
Feeling as if heâd kicked a kitten, Pierce grabbed his plate and a bottle of water and retreated to his office. Heâd hired her to deal with the trivial childcare issues. He didnât need her or her sleepy, sexyâno, not sexyâmorning eyes condemning him.
What she didnât seem to realize was that the kid would be better off if Pierce kept his distance.
Dear Reader,
When my editor asked if Iâd like to write a Billionaires and Babies story, I didnât hesitate to say yes. Who doesnât love babies?
Except my hero, of course!
My sons are all long past the cuddly stage, and Iâve reached a point where I actually miss their squabbling and wrestling. For those of you who are still dealing with kiddie chaos, rest assured, your day to miss the madness will come all too soon.
I loved having the opportunity to throw not one, but two tiny tots at my baby-phobic hero and watching them (and Anna, the boysâ nanny) win him over. I hope you enjoy watching Pierce succumb to Anna and the pint-size charmers, too.
I enjoy hearing from readers! Please contact me through my website, www.emilierose.com.
Happy reading!
Emilie Rose
Anna Aronson aimed a measured breath at the plastic wand and wished the bubbles exiting the opposite side could magically carry her worries away on the breeze.
The boys playing at her feet in the thick emerald grass squealed and gurgled in the infectious way only toddlers can, making her smile despite impending disaster.
She had to get this job.
A flash of movement caught her attention. She glanced away from the boys scampering after the bubbles, and spotted the woman whoâd interviewed her earlier coming toward them. Tension wound inside Anna like an Archimedean spiral.
âMr. Hollister will see you now, Anna. Heâs waiting in his office. Take the doors on the left side of the patio.â She gestured to the luxurious, sprawling Greenwich, Connecticut, home.
Anna licked her dry lips and lowered the wand. âThe boys â¦â
âIâll watch them while you talk to the boss. He has the final say. But for what itâs worth, you have my vote.â Mrs. Findley held out her hand for the bottle of bubbles and wand.
Anna, feeling as if she were surrendering a life preserver in rough seas, handed them over. This interview felt very much like a sink or swim situation. If she didnât get this job she wouldnât be able to pay this monthâs rent or electric bill, and sheâd be left with no option except to swallow her pride, go home and beg for help even though her mother had already made it clear that Anna and Cody would not be welcome in the retirement community where she resided.
But hopefully it wouldnât come to that. âThank you, Mrs. Findley.â
âCall me Sarah. And, Anna, donât let Pierce intimidate you. Heâs a fair employer and a good man despite the armor plated personality.â
Armor plated personality?
Trepidation closed Annaâs throat. She couldnât have spoken even if an appropriate response had materialized in her seized up brain. Instead she nodded and headed for the house. The distance seemed endless, and by the time she reached the stone porch stairs of the two-story colonial her breaths came quicklyâas if sheâd run a mile instead of walking a few hundred yards.
Through the glass door Anna spotted her prospective employer sitting behind a massive wooden desk. The air jammed in her lungs. Please, please, please let this go well.
She knocked on the glass. He looked up from a stack of papers, scowling, then bid her to enter with one sharp snap of his head. Her hand slipped on the polished brass knob. She had to blot her damp palm on her dress before trying again and pushing open the door.
Pierce Hollister, with his supermodel chiseled features and thick, dark hair styled in one of those intentionally messy cuts, looked as if he belonged in a glossy magazine advertisement for an expensive product that any young millionaire might want to buy, and though heâd dressed casually in a black polo shirt opened at the base of his tanned neck, he still reeked of power and prestige.