She was being a smartass, but she had a point. If Kimber were here with Lyon taking care of the day-to-day, Landon could focus on work and be home in time to play with Lyon or tuck him in. But a woman living in his penthouse? Not that his place was small. At six thousand square feet, it’d easily hold the three of them. Before Lissa had moved out following the video debacle, she and Landon could go hours without so much as running into one another. But living with a stranger?
“I don’t know, Ang. Has Kimber… done this sort of thing before?” Cared for the nephew of a bachelor workaholic millionaire whose fiancée dumped him for a D-list actor?
“Of course!”
He recalled Kimber’s unruly hair, braces, her affinity for Stephen King. Surely living with her wouldn’t be the same as living with Lissa. Kimber wasn’t his girlfriend, wasn’t his lover, wasn’t his anything. He’d pay her to do a job, she’d show up to do it, and then they could part ways and live their separate lives. Without exposing him to humiliating YouTube videos popping up online and on his employees’ smartphones.
“Admit it. I’m brilliant,” Angel said.
He smiled. “Never.”
“Admit it and I’ll ask her,” she sang.
“I could always give it one more day.” He was kidding, but he wouldn’t give in right away. Where was the fun in that?
A sound, suspiciously resembling a toy monster truck crashing through the new sixty-inch LED television, came from the direction of the bedroom. Followed by a penetrating silence and a quiet, Oops.
He trekked down the hall, mentally preparing himself for the electronic carnage he would likely encounter. Lyon poked his head out of the bedroom, shoulders down, eyes wide, a sickly expression on his face.
Landon managed a small, if not pained, smile for his rambunctious nephew, who looked everywhere but at him.
“Fine,” Landon told Angel as he put a supportive hand on Lyon’s little shoulder. “You’re brilliant.”
“Really?” she cooed.
“Really,” he admitted. He held his breath, peeked in the room, and confirmed that, yes, the LED had indeed met its demise. God rest its electronic soul.
On a heavy exhale, Landon said, “Ask her.”
CHAPTER TWO
Me? Babysit?” Kimber couldn’t say the word without laughing. But seriously. Her with a child? It was ridiculous.
Angel lifted a turquoise silk shirt and held it up to her chest. “Does this bring out my eyes?” She’d come into town for a meeting at Landon’s behest, and somewhere between the plane ride and a cab, managed to convince herself that Kimber—who had no experience with children whatsoever—should be in charge of her nephew.
Kimber took the top out of Angel’s hands and hung it back up. “You know it does.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it’s not babysitting. It’s a nanny position.”
“Oh, that’s so different.” She turned to walk away.
“It is!” Angel followed. “Nannies are sophisticated.”
And now her friend was reaching. Kimber plopped down onto the goldenrod, button-top ottoman at the rear of the store. Angel stood over her, hands on her narrow hips, the Downey look of determination lighting her blue eyes.
Kimber would have to give her a reason. Angel was terrier-with-a-chew-toy tenacious. And a little rabid when challenged. “I can’t leave Hobo Chic for an entire week.” Which was so not the issue. The issue was her… with a kid. A kid she didn’t know. That’s not the issue, either. It wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
Her friend elevated her arms and did a neat little turn. “You’re telling me none of your employees can handle this place while you’re gone? What do they do when you have a day off? What did they do when you came to visit me in Tennessee last month?”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Kimber shook her head rather than fib again. Neil or Ginny, even Mick, could handle this ghost town in her stead. Right now, across the street, Jilly’s bakery and the restaurant next door teemed with customers. While she sat here in an empty shop and tried to use her powers of telekinesis to move customers from the food shops to her store. Maybe she should start offering a free pastry with every purchase.
“He’ll pay you whatever you want.” Angel knelt in front of Kimber, her eyes doughy.
“I don’t need the money.” Angel had mentioned a dollar amount right after she suggested the position. An amount that had caused Kimber’s knees to buckle. True, Kimber may not need the money, but she sure could use it. To fund Operation “Get My Ex-Boyfriend and Co-owner of My Store Out of My Life For Good.”
Removing Mick’s name from the lease was a huge, huge motivator. But she also had her pride. “I’m an only child,” she said. “I have had zero experience with siblings or babies or children of my own. Do you want to entrust your only nephew with someone who has never changed a diaper?”
Angel laughed the next two words. “He’s six. And well out of diapers.”
“See?” She stood and paced to the other side of the store where she straightened a rack that didn’t need straightening. “I should have known that.” She slid a hanger into another with a shink sound. “More proof I’m unqualified.”
“You knew that!” Angel stopped the next hanger with her palm, her eyes boring into Kimber’s skull. A human lie detector, her friend.
“I know.” Kimber crossed her arms. “I just… feel uncomfortable.”
She waved her off. “My nephew is a doll face. Like me.” Angel batted her eyelashes.
“You know I know you’re not really an angel, right?”
A loud, awkward cough sounded from the other side of the store. Angel’s eyes flicked over her shoulder where her husband Richie stood, arms braced around his body, looking decidedly uncomfortable. At his side was Mick, who was texting and doing his level best to completely ignore him. Mick. What a jackass.
“They seem to be hitting it off,” Angel said dryly. “Need I remind you why you’d like to speed up the process of getting Mick out of here?”
She didn’t. Every day got harder than the last. But that didn’t change the other potentially bigger issue Kimber was worried about. “I’m not opposed to being Lyon’s babysit—” At Angel’s stern glare, she corrected herself, “Nanny.”
Kimber could get through her discomfort, figure out how to handle a six-year-old. The main problem with this whole scenario was that Angel had said this was a “live-in” situation. And Kimber couldn’t fathom a world where she might live under the same roof as Landon “Sexy Pants” Downey. Unless it was a fantasy world of her making.
Granted, she was a far cry from the teenager who had a mouth full of metal and a nervous hyena laugh, but Landon was awfully… GQ. She picked a piece of lint off her secondhand capris and avoided Angel’s scrutinizing gaze. Kimber wouldn’t even know how to behave around him.
Angel lowered her voice, though there was no need. Mick was paying no one any attention, not even Richie who was supposed to be running interference for this elusive talk. “I know you had a crush on Evan way back then,” she started.
It was a wrong assumption Kimber had never corrected when she was a teenager. Or since.
Angel smiled supportively before continuing. “But Evan won’t be there, so you don’t have to be nervous about seeing him.” A twinkle lit her light eyes. “Unless you’d like to see him. He is single, and if you and Lyon get along—”
“No.” She halted her friend’s speech, snuffing the hope that had begun blooming in Angel’s eyes. “I don’t want to date Evan. The crush I had on him”—Landon—“was over a decade and a half ago.”
Angel blew out a defeated breath. “Fine. Sorry. Well, if you’re worried about Landon, don’t.”
She nearly swallowed her tongue at the mention of his name. If Angel had any idea about the debilitating crush Kimber had harbored for him way back when…
“Would it make you feel more comfortable if I told you that Landon isn’t suffering
any weird rebound or depression from Lissa leaving him for Carson Whatshisname?”
Would it? A little. She liked to think he was over Lissa instead of pining for that awful woman.
“Landon and Lissa’s relationship wasn’t”—Angel scrunched up her face like she’d tasted spoiled milk—“normal.”
Whatever that meant. Kimber wondered if he’d had some strange sex fetish she didn’t know about. Some weird room rigged up with chains and—
Ew. No.
“And his penthouse is about three times the size of my house, so it’s not like you won’t have any privacy. Plus, it overlooks Lake Michigan.” She smiled.
Right. Because the view would seal the deal.
Angel lifted her purse off the counter and slipped it over her arm. Richie picked up on her cue and started for the door. Mick may be able to charm the ladies, but his bromance skills needed work. She lifted a finger to let her long-suffering husband know she’d be another second. “Landon is going to provide your meals and incidentals for the week.”
“I can feed myself, Angel. He doesn’t have to—”
“So don’t argue with him when he calls.”
Kimber felt her heart sink to her stomach. Or maybe her kneecaps. “What did you just say?” Because it sounded like Angel said he’d be calling.
“It’s a formality. He just wants to square away the details. He likes details.”
“When?” she asked numbly.
“After lunch.”
It may have been a long time since Kimber had seen Landon in person, but she’d seen a picture of him six months ago in the Arts & Entertainment section of the Chicago Tribune. In the photo, he and Lissa were leaving the charity dinner after the infamous YouTube video of Lissa making out with another man had gone viral.
The millionaire advertising guru and CEO of Downey Design had worn an immaculate black tuxedo and a frown that brought out the angle of his sexy, squared jaw and enviable cheekbones. Lissa had worn a practiced look of remorse, her hand hung limply over his arm, her body candy-coated in a clingy red Gucci dress, her gazelle-like legs long and graceful. Unfortunately for the supermodel, she had zero percent self-respect to go along with her zero percent body fat. Who cheated on someone as hot as Landon Downey, anyway?
He’d been perfect all those years ago before Kimber had lost her virginity, and having tested the waters a few times, she could see he was even more perfect now. She let out a sigh, and Angel leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Richie and I have to catch our flight home. Thank you for doing this. It means the world to Landon. And Evan,” she added with a lift of her manicured eyebrows.
“You knew I’d say yes, didn’t you?” Kimber asked, defeated.
Angel grinned, the expression lighting her whole face. “I knew if I stopped by in person you’d fold like a cheap suit.” She stole a glance over at Mick, who was pecking something into his phone. “Have fun breaking it to Romeo.”
But breaking it to Mick wasn’t what had her stomach in knots. It was that Landon was going to call her. Her. And she had no idea what she’d say when he did.
* * *
She spent the remainder of the afternoon with one eye on the telephone wondering what “after lunch” meant to a millionaire. What time did he eat lunch? Most people ate at noon, but sometimes she got caught up in a task and forgot to eat until two. Which is what time it was nearing now.
She sort of hated how money had been the factor that clenched the deal. But the plain truth was the amount Landon offered for the weeklong gig was tempting. As tempting as opening her mouth under one of those cascading, melted-chocolate fountains at a wedding. She’d done that once. For far less than what Landon offered.
Her eyes went to Mick, who’d abandoned his cell to touch up the daisy-yellow window paint that read Hobo Chic on the front window. He was the real reason she’d said yes; why she’d sold her soul for quick cash. Never underestimate the power of needing disentanglement from a bad relationship.
When she’d met Mick at a nightclub two years ago, her best friend Gloria in tow, Kimber hadn’t expected to have so much in common with him. But they had. Aside from being sexy in a rascally way, Mick, like Kimber, loved all things vintage.
Eleven months ago she and Mick caught the entrepreneur bug and went into business, opening Hobo Chic together. She hadn’t stopped to think what would happen if they split—which they had, three months later—or what a colossally bad idea it was to tie her professional life to a guy she was sleeping with who refused to call himself her “boyfriend.”
Now here they were, stuck together like The Odd Couple except neither of them was particularly neat. Mick had been haranguing her to sell Hobo Chic for a few months now. He wanted to split the profit from the sale and go his separate way. She agreed with the separate-way part, but not the selling part. She’d put him off each time he asked.
Hobo Chic was her dream, her baby. She wasn’t willing to let it go. Not yet, anyway. She had a plan to buy Mick’s half of the store as soon as she saved enough. Landon’s money—and a gig she was woefully underqualified for—would be a good start to doing just that. In the meantime, she and Mick would just have to endure one another.
She fed a hanger through the shirt she’d ironed and shook her head. She’d thought prematurely partnering with Mick—both in her personal life and her professional one—had marked the end of her lapse in sanity. Clearly not, considering she’d agreed to become a live-in nanny for a man on whom she’d once harbored a knee-weakening crush.
Bats, meet belfry.
The cordless phone rang on the counter next to her, and she nearly jumped out of her lightly freckled skin. As she’d expected, the caller ID read: Downey Landon. She stared at the ten digits on the display, her only disjointed thought being, Ohmygawd, I have his phone number.
At the third ring, Mick turned and raised his eyebrows at her, paintbrush elevated in one hand. “You gonna get that?”
“Cover the floor for me?” She snatched up the phone without waiting for his answer. By the fourth ring, she’d shuffled her ballet flats along the battered wooden floor to the curtain-covered stock room. Once the curtain swished shut, she answered with a breathy, “Hello?”
“Kimber Reynolds, please.”
Oh, his voice. She had been too young to know what the sound of Landon’s deep, hypnotic voice had been doing to her. The nights she’d lain awake in Angel’s top bunk and listened to the melody of his words float up from the porch. She remembered how goose bumps lit her skin whenever he’d spoken. Now a woman, she knew exactly what that sensually deep voice had been doing. Making sweet love to her ear canal.
“Hello?” he asked when she’d gone silent.
“Speaking,” she said on a near moan.
“Landon Downey, Angel’s brother.”
Like he needed any introduction.
“Thank you for agreeing to stay with Lyon this week. I appreciate your willingness to step in at the last minute.”
Wow. Official. His tone made her stand straighter. “Oh, um. Sure.” She stepped behind a clothing rack and skirted another, distancing herself from the doorway. She didn’t need Mick overhearing her side of the conversation.
“I wanted to go over a few items with you if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. Sure.” Could she sound like more of an idiot? Say something besides “oh” and “sure.” And probably stop thinking of his voice and your pending orgasm.
If her stern self-talking-to wouldn’t jolt her out of her thoughts, Landon’s next question did.
“Do you have any food allergies or special requests for meals while you’re here?”
Last thing on the planet she’d expected him to ask. She’d been pretty sure he’d ask for her credentials; qualifications for being entrusted with Lyon. She’d spent the last few hours trying to decide if she should make up a story or be as vague as possible. She’d opted to wing it, though now it appeared she had nothing to worry about. Angel must have convinced him if h
is first question revolved around provisions.
“Whatever you have is fine,” she answered.
“What I have is Kona coffee and PowerBars,” he said in the same official tone. “I’m sure you’d prefer something else.”
Kimber tittered out a ridiculous little laugh and slapped a hand over her mouth. She did not just do that. She hadn’t nervous-laughed since she was a simpering teen. She cleared her throat.
“Do you eat organic?” he continued. “Require a certain brand of creamer for your coffee? I want to make sure you have what you need.”
Aw. That was kind of nice. And detailed. Kimber tried to think if she was brand loyal about anything she ate. Her cabinets were full of uninspiring foodstuffs like Hamburger Helper, macaroni and cheese, and cans of tuna. She couldn’t request that. Feeling like she should say something, she finally blurted, “I like potato chips.”
And I’m a moron.
He did chuckle this time, and she may have emulsified into a puddle of humiliation if it hadn’t been for how sexy he’d sounded. It was the way he laughed, deep in his throat, the sound short but powerful. Like a punch to the gut. How, again, was she supposed to live with this man for an entire week?
“Potato chips,” Landon repeated. “Perfect.” She had no idea what he meant by that, and he didn’t offer an explanation. She heard a scratching sound like he’d put pen to paper to write it down. He went through a list of questions, reiterating how he would provide all her expenses for the week she stayed with Lyon, and ignoring her when she insisted that wasn’t necessary. “There’s additional garage parking for your car, if you have one.”
She did. But she wouldn’t be taking her rust-filled rattletrap to his six-million-dollar penthouse on Lake Shore Drive. No, thank you very much. “I’ll take a cab if we need to go anywhere.”
“On me,” he said, writing again.
“No, that’s not—”
The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance) Page 2