by Nikki Larson
But no. His resulting smile took her aback. It was all charm, and she was perplexed to find herself once again attracted to him.
Don’t fall for Lucow, she warned herself. He’s a jerk. Obviously, a jerk.
Plus, you should never fall for your boss. It would be unwise, and all-too-complicated. Weren’t there laws against it?
She made herself think back to the interview, and how rude he was to her. In what way exactly, she couldn’t remember at the moment.
Oh yes, about the word several, when she said she’d been a nanny for several years. He made it a point to question her, to doubt her truthfulness. How rude indeed.
“Do I?” he asked, amusement displayed on his handsome face. What a difference there was between the scowling, brooding Lucas Flaire and the happy one.
“A bit,” she said, smiling back.
“I am very proud of this yacht,” he said simply. “My yacht.”
She squinted at him at that odd clarification. “Understandably,” she replied politely. “It’s quite overwhelmingly beautiful, and luxurious.” She was using too many adjectives. She was kissing up to him far too much. She should stop.
“You think so?” he asked. “Why, yes, it is.”
He was acting so strangely. She couldn’t read him. And she was good at reading people, normally. He was certainly guarded. Distant at times, amused at others. He was a mystery. She’d have to take some time to get to know him, figure him out. She’d take it as a challenge, and see how she could pray for him. How she could help. His personality certainly needed some tweaking, as did her own.
Thea couldn’t believe there was more of the yacht to be seen. It seemed to never end, all the wide expanses of glossy brown wood floors and the long spreads of windows. As they continued the tour, Lucas was careful to point out each room he’d mentioned, matter-of-factly: “Beach club. Cinema. Dining room. Stateroom. Hot tub. Sauna. Piano. Wood-fire oven for pizzas. Do you like pizza?”
“Do I like pizza?” she said enthusiastically. “Of course. Doesn’t everybody? Except for sausage pizza. I hate sausage pizza.”
He smirked at her, but made no comment.
She’d have to be more careful what she divulged to him. Who knows how he would receive it? She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her. She reminded herself to be professional, reminded herself that she was used to dealing with people–especially difficult, little people. She could do this. She could be a nanny for a billionaire.
It wasn’t like her to gush about her likes and dislikes to someone. Especially to a new boss. She vowed to keep a tighter rein on her tongue. It was important she make a good impression. Apparently, she’d made enough of a good impression to get hired, but she’d have to be careful to maintain it.
“Is this our new nanny?” It was a young girl of about seven years old, rubbing her sleepy eyes, blinking at Lucas as she pointed at Thea.
“Yes, darling,” Lucas answered, pushing her extended finger down. “It’s not nice to point.” He turned his attention to Thea. “This is Gwenna, short for Guinevieve,” he said. “Not Guinevere. I know it’s unusual. Unique,” he corrected himself. “Just call her Gwenna.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Gwenna said, holding out a delicate hand to her new nanny.
Delighted at this show of manners, Thea took her hand and shook it happily. “Why, aren’t you a beautiful little girl,” she complimented her.
Gwennna had shoulder-length blond hair, green eyes, and a slight build. She looked to Thea like a fawn or, maybe someday, a ballerina.
“Thanks,” Gwenna answered, smiling bashfully while her hair obscured one eye.
“This is Miss Thea,” Lucas explained.
Thea liked the way he spoke to his little girl, so sweet and tender. How wonderful to see this side of him–the fatherly, caring side.
“Hi, Miss Thea,” Gwenna said politely. Her voice was high-pitched and soft, so adorable.
Thea was going to love this new job; she was sure of it.
Chapter 4
“No!” four-year-old Harley yelled, seeing that Miss Thea was about to insist he get down off the bed.
Little Hunter, the eighteen-month-old, was at his brother’s feet, being jostled with every bounce.
With one fell swoop, Thea scooped up the baby (well, toddler, actually) and grabbed Hunter’s arm–not too hard, but firmly enough. Handling a child with a perfect amount of force was Rule Number One in nanny school.
Thea used her best no-nonsense nanny voice. “Down,” she commanded, pulling him adroitly off the bed. “There,” she said, once his feet were planted on the floor. “No more of that. Come, let’s get some breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” Harley echoed, easily distracted as he was. “Let’s go!”
With thumping feet, he followed Thea to the state-of-the-art, stainless-steel-filled kitchen, where cold French toast was awaiting them. Thea would have served it warm and on time, but these four children were a proving to be a handful. With the children now playing Damsels in Distress vs. Aggressive Pirates at her feet, she warmed up a generous amount of maple syrup on the stove.
“It smells sooooo deelishus,” Harley said gleefully.
“Does it?” Thea asked happily. “That’s the cinnamon and vanilla in the French toast that you smell. You’re going to love it,” she said with confidence.
Suddenly she was met with a hard thump-then-hug at her hips. She looked down to see five-year-old Lily looking up at her with pleading eyes.
“Are you feeling clingy today?” Thea asked her. “You need some love, huh?”
Lily nodded, her soulful brown eyes all-too-big and endearing. Something about her reminded Thea of her sister, Raven. Maybe her serious demeanor, maybe the way she opened up at times and wove creative stories to tell her siblings.
“You’re a sweetie,” Thea told her, giving her a squeeze before serving the meal. Reassuring needy children was one of her favorite life skills. “Now sit down and eat,” she instructed her.
“Best pancakes evehhh,” Gwenna said while they were all sharing breakfast at the kitchen island.
“Pancakes?” Thea echoed. “This is French toast. Haven’t you ever had French toast before?”
“We usually have pancakes,” Gwenna replied, twisting and turning on the high kitchen stool.
“Well, these aren’t pancakes,” Thea explained. “These have cinnamon and bread and vanilla and that makes them French toast. Oh, and eggs. They have eggs as well. Be careful there on that stool, will you?”
“Yes,” Gwenna replied quietly, twisting a little less.
The children listened to her already, at least a little bit, Thea was pleased to note. Except for the little guy Hutch, who was currently sitting in his high chair, throwing syrup-coated chunks of bread on the floor.
“Hey, no,” Thea said, quickly moving to clean up his mess.
The youngest member of the family simply laughed, obviously pleased with his ability to control the situation: I throw down; you clean up. So she took his plate away before he could make a bigger mess. She was well-acquainted with the game, and knew how to handle it, having dealt with it time and time again.
“Hutchy thinks he’s a pirate,” Harley told her, wrinkling his nose and scrunching up his lips in disdain. “But he’s not the pirate. I’m the pirate.”
“Oh, you are, are you?” Thea asked him.
Harley nodded solemnly.
“What makes you a pirate?” she asked.
He narrowed his eyes at her as he thought up a response. “I just am,” he said finally.
Lily threw her head back and laughed, making her smooth dark brown hair swing. “Harley…,” she said in her cute little voice, “he’s so funny.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Thea agreed as she reached out to touch Lily’s hair. “Your hair is so soft and pretty, you know that?”
Munching on her French toast, Lily nodded happily, tilting her little head from side to side and bopping around.
“Say
Thank you,” Guinevieve told her.
“Thank you,” Lily mumbled around her mouthful.
“Not with food in your mouth,” Guinevieve corrected her, prompting Lily to look at Thea with those soulful eyes once again.
“You can’t win, can you?” Thea asked her.
Lily’s eyes crinkled in agreement as she smiled, but she said nothing. Probably because she didn’t want Gwenna to correct her anymore for talking with food in her mouth.
“Come on, let’s go see your daddy,” Thea prompted them when they were all finished eating and the kitchen was clean once again.
Chapter 5
Lucas was in the middle of painting the staircase railing when Thea walked by. He was so distracted by her tanned, gorgeous legs beneath her short dress that he nearly knocked over the paint can.
“What are you doing?” she asked him casually, with a laugh.
“Painting,” he said. He could have smacked his forehead at his obvious, knee-jerk response.
“I see that,” she said playfully (and rather smugly) as she took Lily’s hand in hers.
Lily was always wanting attention, and it had only gotten worse since her mother died. Lucas couldn’t fault her for that. He liked the way Thea had been handling her, with love and affection and a good dose of silliness. At this moment, Thea was swinging Lily’s arm gently forward and back and singing The Farmer in the Dell. Every time she came to Hi-ho, the derry-o, Thea spun the little girl around in a circle. Lucas hadn’t heard Lily laugh in so long, and it was truly music to his ears. He smiled at Thea warmly, though he hadn’t meant to.
Her eyes grew wide. Maybe she wasn’t used to such attention.
“I mean,” Thea said, stopping in her tracks, “why are you painting on your own boat? Can’t you hire someone to do that for you?”
“It’s a yacht, not a boat,” he corrected her. “And maybe I like doing it myself.” Why was she being so bossy? That was the one thing he hated about women, their tendency to nag. That, and how they always meddled in matters not their own.
“Isn’t it a boat?” she asked, one eye nearly crinkling into a wink, teasingly. “I mean, it floats and all.”
“Well, I guess technically it is a boat,” he allowed. He could play this game, make things lighthearted, he thought, pleased she had a playful sense of humor. “But it’s not cool to call a yacht a boat. Didn’t they teach you that in nanny school? Like, don’t they tell you not to insult the billionaire?” He knew he shouldn’t flaunt his wealth, but he was having a little fun with her at the moment.
“Oh, you’re a billionaire, are you?” Her eyes flashed mischievously and for some reason he felt his heart skip a beat.
“Well, isn’t it obvious? I own a yacht after all. And it’s quite a fancy one, too, if I may say so myself. Swimming pool, hot tub, spacious kitchen, formal dining room, movie theater–what more could you want?” He leaned up against his own paint job–and swore colorfully. How could he be so stupid? He knew how to paint without getting it all over him. What had come over him? Was this woman really unsettling him so much?
Thea gasped and covered Lily’s ears. “Not in front of the children,” she scolded him playfully. “No, really, though,” she said, her voice turning serious. “Be careful around your little ones. They soak up every darn thing you say.”
“Don’t say darn,” he said, teasingly throwing her insult back at her as he wiped at the streak of black paint on his arm. “And they’re not my little ones.” He pressed his lips together firmly at that confession. How could he let that little piece of information slip? He’d been sworn to secrecy by Grunt himself, who insisted that no one should ever know that the children were Grunt’s and not his.
“Why can’t I say darn?” Thea asked, still obviously enjoying their playful banter. “Is it just not couth? Not proper manners for the nanny of a billionaire?”
“Exactly,” he said, glad she seemed not to notice his gaffe. “We are raising these four children to fit into the echelons of society.” His voice was haughty, but he was only kidding.
“I agree,” she said, playing along. “I will be certain to be more careful about my choice of words in the future, dear sir.”
She then hurried after toddler-baby Hutch, who was about to touch the paint can, and placed him firmly on her hip. Something about the gesture made Lucas’ heart happy. It was just so, so… motherly. He was drawn to her, dangerously so.
“And you be careful, mister, with your words,” she said, shaking a finger at Lucas.
What nerve!
Did she really just tell him twice to watch his mouth? First day on the job, and she was already becoming far too comfortable. Correcting him! Twice! Who did she think she was? He would have to distance himself.
What was he doing, anyway, flirting with the new nanny?
It could only get him into trouble.
Chapter 6
Grandpa Grunt wasn’t what she expected.
“Hello, Mr. Hunt,” Thea said, holding out her hand in greeting.
The room was filled with accolades on the wall, accomplishments that this man had achieved, from what Thea could gather. Interspersed with the official-looking framed plaques were samples of children’s artwork displayed next to expensive paintings. It was a smorgasbord of color and talent. Eclectic, and interesting. But an odd assortment for sure.
“Good evening, there, little lady. How are you today?” His handshake was firm and strong, and his words kind. But his gray-blue eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. “And what might your name be?”
She couldn’t help but notice his unkempt hair, gray and sparse and windblown. But what should she expect when he practically lived at sea?
“Thea Chambers,” she replied tentatively. Why her voice was shaky, she didn’t exactly know. “From Alabama,” she added unnecessarily. When she was nervous, she always said too much.
“Alabama?” he barked. “What the hey are you doin’ out here in California then? Shouldn’t you be at home takin’ care of your own family?” He was nearly as prickly as she imagined his unshaven face to be. And the thought of that made her shudder. Scruffy men always did give her the weebie jeebies.
“Well, sir, I have no children, so….” she shrugged noncommittally, then patted her sweaty palms discreetly on the sides of her dress. She was used to wearing dresses now, often with a cardigan in the evenings when the ocean air got cold and damp.
“Go easy on her,” Lucas cautioned his boss.
But Grunt was not one to listen.
“What about parents? You have them?” Grunt asked her, sounding more like a drill sergeant than a grandpa.
“Why, yes, sir, but they are old enough to take care of themselves.” She gave Mr. Hunt a little wink, to soften him, then flashed a look of trepidation at Lucas.
Mr. Gregory Hunt harrumphed loudly, then choked on his own phlegm. While he was hacking and coughing and reaching all over his desk for some unknown help, Lucas came to the rescue, reaching out and presenting the gentleman with the cup of hot tea he’d been holding in his hands.
Thea’s eyes widened, and she wondered how Lucas had come so prepared. Maybe this happened often?
Grunt took a large swig from the teacup and mumbled his gratitude. “Thank you much; thank you much.” He wiped his mouth and turned stiffly towards Lucas. “This kind sir,” he said, his arm gesturing towards Lucas but his gaze now once again on Thea, “has been working for me for quite some time now, haven’t you Lucas?”
Already Lucas was nodding his agreement. “Yes, sir,” he said warmly.
“Yep, thirty years, hasn’t it been?” Grandpa Grunt asked, jabbing a finger at the old, worn calendar on the desk.
“Ten years, sir,” Lucas corrected him.
“Ah, yes,” Grunt said in agreement, He cleared his throat. “Ahem, ahem.” His cough was deep, his voice hoarse. His lungs seemed filled with fluid. Perhaps the poor man had asthma.
“Will you be needing anything mor
e?” Lucas asked.
“No, that will be fine, thank you,” Grunt replied. “You can be dismissed.” He waved a thick hand in the air, and at that, Lucas left.
On his way out the door, Thea unwittingly shot Lucas a grimace for leaving her alone with the man. She could only hope Mr. Hunt would not notice. She took several steps towards the exit, but stayed to make pleasant conversation, as she was told to. “So, you’ve lived on Lucas’ yacht for some time now?” she asked.
“Oh, what?” he said, blinking rapidly as if he didn’t like what he was hearing. “Lucas’ yacht?” he echoed loudly. “Yes, well… we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He laughed at his own joke.
Which Thea did not get.
She gave a wan smile and put her hand on the door frame. If she could have escaped, she would have. But it would have been too obvious. She was supposed to be getting to know the man. “Well, thank you for letting me stay here,” she said. “I mean, it’s nice of Lucas to let me work on the yacht, and you, too. You must like it here.” She was rather tongue-tied, but she was doing the best she could.
“Yes, yes,” he replied in his gruff and gravelly voice. “A pirate’s life for me, eh?” He laughed robustly. “Do you like Robinson Crusoe?” he asked her. “You ever heard of him? Of that story, I mean?” Before she could answer, he continued: “A castaway who spent years on a remote island. Encountered captives, mutineers, and what-not before ultimately being rescued.” His hands flailed in the air and his eyes darted across the room, as if he could see something Thea could not.
“Um, yes, I think so,” Thea answered as politely as she could. How was she going to get out of here gracefully? Her stomach was beginning to rumble from the stress, but it felt like hunger to her. Suddenly all she wanted was to go into the kitchen and grab a snack.
“I want you reading that story to the children,” he instructed her, jabbing his finger at her face. “And if not that story, something like it. Something like Peter Pan and adventures and not growing up and that type of stuff. Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music–things like that. Huckleberry Finn. I love Huckleberry Finn.” His gruff tone softened now, at the mention of things he loved. “You can do that for me?”