Billionaires On the Beach: The Anderson Brothers

by Elizabeth Lennox

  “I am. It’s called work experience. You know how many disgusting banana splits I had to serve before anyone would try my new flavors? Hundreds. Who wants banana with ice cream? Yuck!”

  “But sweet corn ice cream is normal?”

  “Hey, it got me through culinary school.” Vanessa grinned.

  “I thought I got you through culinary school.”

  “You did. But if the dean hadn’t loved my corn ice cream, I’d still be sitting in fish class.”

  “No way. We cheated your way through fish and sauces.”

  “It’s not my fault that béchamel is so damn lumpy.”

  “Yeah, it kind of was your fault,” Laine laughed, “But we made it.”

  “You have to have good references, preferably rich references, to score a good nanny gig, you know that. So what’s the deal with the guy?”

  “His brother, Sloan Anderson, requested a nanny from the temp agency. Apparently Wyatt needs a babysitter.”

  “Is he a drug addict?”

  “Not that I know of. It’s just weird.”

  “Are we talking Christian Grey weird? Because, yes please! Or are we talking creepy weird?”

  “I’ll find out in a few minutes. We need to make a left here.”

  “I’m guessing rich guy has an ocean view?”

  “No doubt,” Laine said, “I thought it was bad enough when I had to do the temp job from hell last month….”

  Vanessa grinned. “You mean the Demon Child? Thank god, he’s safely off at boarding school now.”

  “Until he gets kicked out again. He was a handful.”

  “Handful? You had to stop him from setting fires and pulling wings off butterflies! He’s the next criminal mastermind, Lainey.”

  “His parents thought I could have done more to help him, and get him ready to adjust to another school.”

  “He’s nine. It’s his FOURTH school and in a month, you’re supposed to reform him completely? I think they should give you sainthood, and then hire a really good psychiatrist for that kid.”

  “This should redeem my ratings though. At least that’s what Paige at the temp agency swears. She knew I didn’t want to babysit the Daredevil Billionaire. He base-jumped off a skyscraper, Van. Who does that? If I tried that—which I wouldn’t—I’d be killed or paralyzed. He was laughing when they arrested him. I saw the video online.” She shook her head.

  “Think you can reform him in a month?” Vanessa teased.

  “No way I’d even try. I’m here to keep him in seclusion—keep him out of the limelight. I guess the family wants him to stay on the down low after that stunt. All I want is the reference and the paycheck. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t even talk to the guy. What could we possibly talk about?”

  “You love a good story. I bet he has a million of them.”

  “No, you’re thinking dollars. He has a million dollars,” Laine joked.

  “Uh, billions. If you pull this off, and keep this adrenaline junkie out of trouble when that beach and loads of bikinis beckon down below, you should get the reference of the century.”

  “I’d settle for a successful month.” They both came to a stop outside a huge beach house. “Oh crap, look at this place. Should I have dressed up more?”

  “You look fine. You’re gorgeous and you’re dressed like a nanny which is your job.”

  Laine looked down at her white shorts and her sky blue cardigan and thought she looked like a preppy mom at best—too casual for a billionaire’s staff. She blinked at her friend, screwing up her courage. “I can do this. I kept the D.C. from torching his mother’s garden party with a stolen Zippo. I can handle some overgrown frat boy for a month. If he’s smart enough to stay out of trouble.”

  “If he were, he wouldn’t need a babysitter,” Van pointed out and Laine drooped a little at the thought.

  “I’ve got to get back to the shop, sweetie. Call me later and let me know how you’re doing. I want details on this guy. Your month is going to be anything but boring.”

  Laine watched her friend drive away with a pang of regret. She’d rather go with Vanessa, back to her cheeky-monikered ice cream parlor, Luscious Licks. But she had wanted this, had wanted a stable, family life even if it meant being the nanny to a rich kid. She hadn’t been born to an idyllic white picket fence life and she hadn’t been able to create one for herself so she’d happily settled for being on staff with one. Just the idea of looking in the window at a cozy fire, at children playing Candyland at the table, of getting to let herself in that door and go make mugs of cocoa for them and join the game—that was bliss. She felt the smile curve her lips as she charged up to the mansion. It may have been called a beach house by the mega-wealthy Andersons, but it was a mansion.

  Paige from the temp agency got out of her Subaru and gave Laine a folder of information she might need for the job. “You’re on time. Excellent. You’re here to be Mr. Anderson’s assistant—fetch him anything he wants from town, keep him amused because he’s far from used to being confined, and make certain he remains on property. The family would like to avoid further scandal, so you’re here, in a sense to keep him out of trouble.”

  “I see. Thank you for meeting me. Where’s the client?”

  “I believe that’s him now,” the woman said, indicating the limo that slid into the curving drive.

  The driver opened the passenger door. Laine watched with interest for the appearance of her new charge. Instead of an exhausted billionaire in Brooks Brothers casualwear ready for a month of seclusion, what came out of the limo was a surfboard.

  He didn’t get out of the limo. Was she going to have to bribe him with a lollipop to get out of the car—she’d had to use that trick with a preschooler on one job, but she would think a fully grown man could exit the damn car and greet his new employee. Finally, she stalked over to the car and peered in the open passenger door. More sports equipment. No signs of life.

  Had she already misplaced her charge? She rifled through the folder the agency had provided, looking for a cell phone number so she could call and find out where he was. She called the number but there was no answer. The driver emerged from the house to collect more baggage and she demanded to know where Mr. Anderson was.

  “Look up,” the driver said with a trace of amusement.

  There above them was nothing more than a dot, a dark spot against the bright blue of the sky. It was miles off, she thought, shading her eyes and squinting as it grew larger and nearer. Her mouth dropped open. “That’s him? What the hell is he doing?”

  “I suggest you get used to thinking that rather than saying it aloud. I think we’ve all thought the same thing most days of his life.” The driver said.

  Laine put her hand on the agency woman’s shoulder, “He’s jumped out of a plane or something. Is he going to crash into the house? Should I call 911?”

  “Definitely not,” the woman said, backing up a step or two as the dark silhouette of a skydiver grew nearer.

  “Why doesn’t he open his parachute? He’s going to die! You can’t wait to the last second with those things…” Laine said anxiously.

  She held her breath. A moment later, a blazing orange silk bloomed behind him and the form was tugged back as the parachute filled and he sailed nearer to the ground. She took a step to the side warily and the agency worker dived out of the way.

  A hundred and eighty pounds of rock hard man crashed into her and knocked her to the ground. He was laughing. The bastard was laughing as he levered up and looked at her. He had the bluest eyes, a scoundrel’s half smile, dark hair windblown and wickedly sexy. The thud that knocked the breath out of her hadn’t been the sideways impact of this guy falling back to earth. It had been the cockeyed daredevil grin. She was quitting this job. As soon as she scrambled to her feet.

  The man, this reckless Adonis who had laughed when he barreled into her, extended his hand to help her up. She brushed herself off and he held out his hand again, “Wyatt Anderson, good to meet you.”


  “Laine Maguire. I was sent by the temp agency to be a sort of nanny—or assistant to a reclusive businessman in need of a retreat. I didn’t expect this sort of reception—”

  “Apologies. Just enjoying my last seconds of freedom.”

  “Your what? Wrightsville Beach is my idea of paradise, so it’s hardly a prison even if you’re a zillionaire used to world capitals.”

  He shot a glance at the agency woman who looked down. In response, he raised his pant leg and indicated the electronic monitor attached there.

  “Clearly your agency left out a few minor details, Laine. May I call you Laine?”

  “For the moment you may, but I won’t be staying.”

  “Why not? I have a message on my phone assuring me that a professional nanny called Laine Maguire has agreed to provide care and supervision during the interval specified.”

  “I’m a nanny. Do I look like a probation officer to you?”

  “No, you look like a runway model dressed up as a soccer mom for Halloween,” he said with a smirk.

  Laine squared her shoulders because sparks were starting to fly, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Of course, it is. You’d be very decorative on a towel by the pool on my yacht,” He said, his eyes mischievous.

  “I don’t want to be decorative. I want to be useful, and it’s clear to me that I can’t be of any practical use in this…situation.”

  “Laine,” the agency worker interjected, “You signed the agreement for this job for a term of four weeks. If you break that contract, I have no choice but to terminate your relationship with the agency.”

  Laine bit her lip. She winced at the suggestion that she would be seen as unreliable, when she had a hard-won dread of people you couldn’t depend on. All she needed was that one dazzling review of her services from a prominent family—like the billionaire Andersons.

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Bring me stuff I need from town. Keep me sane while I’m trapped in this house. Reassure my brother, Sloan, ten times a day that you have eyes on me and I’m being a good boy, working at my laptop and staying on the grounds. If I violate the terms of my house arrest, the judge was rather excited about remanding me to a prison facility for a few months.”

  “No offense,” she said, “But it sounds like you got off easy with the house arrest. It can’t be that hard to stay in this gorgeous beach house for a month. I don’t see why your brother thinks you need a nanny. Any sane adult would stay where you’re supposed to and feel relieved not to be in jail. It’s not like you’d violate the terms of the sentence.”

  “Ah, I don’t intend to violate them, and my brother knows that well enough, but we have different definitions of the word. I think stretching the terms to their absolute bounds is the least I can be expected to do four weeks cooped up in the same place!” He stretched his muscular arms above his head as if he were confined and straining for more space.

  “I get that you’re the adventurous type…” she said, “But don’t you have friends who could come keep you company here?”

  “My friends don’t want to sit in a house for a week at a time and miss all the nightlife, not to mention the events. Tomorrow night, I was supposed to give the keynote speech at the Homeless Children’s Foundation dinner.” He raked a hand through his gorgeous tousled hair and his voice had some trace of actual regret in it, which surprised her.

  “We both know you’ll stay,” he said slyly. “One way or another.”

  “No. I take care of small children, not overgrown spoiled ones. This isn’t the job I signed up for. Good luck, Mr. Anderson, and good luck, Paige, at finding someone stupider than me to be his geisha for a month.”

  She turned on her heel and stormed away, heart pounding and cheeks blazing. She had been about to do it, to go on inside and babysit Wyatt Anderson for a month and get the referral for a good job. Then he’d smirked at her, so sure of her compliance, and it rankled. For a girl who hated conflict, who wanted life to be a cup of hot tea with honey and a book of Sudoku, she had let her temper get the best of her. Laine walked all the way to Luscious Licks and saw Van serving a customer. Laine slumped down in a chair.

  In moments, Vanessa came to join her, a smoothie in tow. “Madagascar vanilla, cocoa nib and Chambord. I call it a Dirty Raspberry.”

  “Of course you do,” she said and reached for the straw.

  “No way. You can’t have it unless you go back and take the job. I’m not letting you throw away months of hard work over a temper tantrum.”

  “He’s under house arrest.”

  “So, what?”

  “So, he’s like a giant man baby who thinks I will cater to his every whim because he’s butthurt about having to pay his debt to society.”

  “I’ve seen his picture, Lainey. He’s hot. He’s exciting. He’s been grounded just long enough to have a little fun indoors.”

  “I’m not going to get a good referral because he’s everything I don’t like. We won’t get along and all that trouble will be for nothing.”

  “You’re afraid he won’t like you?”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t be professional because he reminds me too much of—of the kind of people I can’t stand. The adventure junkies who just steamroll the people who care about them in pursuit of their next fix.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with why you’re in North Carolina while your parents are doing that residency in Vegas, would it?”

  “No. Not at all. If you talk about them again I will get on Yelp and post that your smoothies gave me unsexy gas and bloating,” she threatened, a gleam in her eyes.

  “You wouldn’t dare. It would be the end of free Mocha Fudge Sins for you.”

  “Those are good. But I can only have one a week or you might as well change my name to Mocha Fudge Fat Ass.”

  “I’m working on a low fat version.”

  “Get behind me, Satan! Are you offering me a low calorie variation of my favorite thing in the universe if I go play nanny with the billionaire? What’s in it for you?”

  “My bestie might have some fun for a change. You will thank me for this, for persuading you to do the job you signed up for, and have a side order of fling.”

  “I am not flinging billionaire playboy Wyatt Anderson!”

  “I bet you fifty bucks right now that you bag him before the end of the month.”

  “I will take that bet because I have free will and all I want out of this deal is the fat paycheck and the reference.”

  “Cook for him. You didn’t have to skate by in culinary school on cleavage and ice cream. You could win him over with one meal.”

  “I don’t need to win him. I need to survive him.”

  “No you need to get back there before they hire someone else!”

  “I don’t want to,” Laine whined.

  “Welcome to adulthood. We do stuff we don’t like and it sucks, but we have smoothies. Here,” Vanessa handed over the vanilla concoction and Laine took a long drink.

  “That is good. That is really good. I still have a feeling I’m going to regret it.”

  “Unlimited free smoothies delivered to your mansion door. And fifty bucks on the line,” Vanessa wheedled and Laine rolled her eyes…then called the employment agency to inform them she was taking the job after all.

  Chapter 2

  Wyatt Anderson was already stir crazy. He had been marooned at his family’s beach house less than twenty-four hours and it was making him twitch. Any second now, he’d start drinking tea and researching the Anderson genealogy online and then make people listen to him talk about how their ancestors were Scottish chieftains or some boring shit like that. He went over the spreadsheets again, shaking his head.

  He dialed up his brother, who barked ‘hello’ into the phone with the air of a man trying to manage a life or death crisis and had just been interrupted at a crucial moment.

  “Hey, Sloan. Do you have a minute?”

  “I’m changi
ng a diaper. Putting you on speaker.” Sloan said. Wyatt chuckled to himself.

  “All right. What’s on? Have you landed in the clink yet for jumping house arrest?”

  “No. I told you, I’m older and wiser. I can be trusted.”

  “Of course, you can. That’s why I’m paying a minder to watch you and, if necessary, call security to immobilize you in any attempt to leave the grounds.”

  “That sounds cheerful. Mercenaries in ski masks hired to tackle and Tase your baby brother?”

  “Hardly. It’s a security firm I’ve used before. In fact, I’ve engaged them to ensure our privacy for the christening.”

  “How is my favorite nephew?” Wyatt asked.

  “He’s cleaned up now, rotten little chap,” Sloan chuckled.

  “Have you settled on godparents?”

  “Not yet, but you know how we feel, Wyatt,” Sloan said, his voice almost apologetic, “We expect the godparents to provide a strong, guiding example for our son. You know you’re the fun uncle, not the steady type.”

  “I can be a strong role model, Sloan. I want to be that for my nephew. I’m going to be someone he can depend on and confide in all his life, I swear to you.”

  “I know you want to. And I’m sure the first time he kisses a girl, you’ll be the one he comes to for helpful hints. But I’m afraid being his godfather is out of the question at this point. You narrowly avoided incarceration, you must see that.”

  “Then consider this my chance to turn my life around and to prove that I’m a man your son can look up to.”

  “You mean well, Wy. You always have. But good intentions aren’t all we want to teach our son. He’s your nephew and you’ll be part of his life. It’s different being tasked as a guiding force for him. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “I run a multi-billion dollar acquisitions firm, Sloan. I’m no stranger to responsibility.”

  “That’s a game to you, a competition. This is different. Look, I have to go speak to my wife about something. Keep me apprised of any developments in the Goldwyn deal.”

  “I’ll shoot you an email. You go ahead.” Wyatt hung up and threw his phone down on the bed, disgusted.