Baby for the Billionaire

by Maxine Sullivan

  Hands. Off.

  “Ms. Stefano,” he said. “Come with me.” He started to close the door to his office and caught a glimpse of another of the applicants scurrying toward the exit. Hell. Five down, though at least it was the one who’d advocated spanking. He closed the door and waved a hand toward one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat while I review your résumé.”

  He scanned it quickly to refresh his memory. Right, right. He remembered this one. He’d almost rejected her out of hand because she had so little practical experience. What had tipped the scales in her favor was the fact that she’d received her teaching certificate in early childhood and elementary education, as well as in special ed, and that she’d possessed glowing recommendations. They were right in line with the qualifications Derek recommended in his future bride.

  “I assume my assistant explained why I’m in need of a nanny?”

  “Yes, she did. I also read about the tragedy in the newspapers, Mr. Mason. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  He inclined his head, relieved that he didn’t have to go into lengthy explanations. The papers had been quite thorough in that regard. “I’m afraid you had the pleasure of meeting my niece, Isabella, a few minutes ago.”

  Annalise offered a quick smile, one that transformed her face, lifting it from striking to luminescent. “So I gathered.”

  “As you can see, she’s having a difficult time making the transition.” He held out his hands. “And who can blame her? Not only did she lose her parents three months ago, but she’s been uprooted from her home in Colorado.”

  Sympathy radiated off Annalise and her eyes glittered with a wealth of emotion. “That explains a lot about her current behavior.”

  Jack inclined his head. “When she first came to live with me, I contacted an agency to hire a qualified daytime caregiver. I went through their entire portfolio the first month. The longest stayed a week. The shortest clocked in at just under an hour. Since then, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and hire someone myself. Which brings me to your application, Ms. Stefano.”

  “Please call me Annalise.”

  “Fine. Annalise it is.” He paused on the first page of her application. “You’re qualified to teach elementary school. Why have you applied for a position as a nanny?”

  She didn’t hesitate, clearly anticipating the question. “I’m interested in attaining my master’s before taking on a teaching job. This position will provide me with more flexibility than teaching and fewer hours of preparation while I pursue that goal.”

  He tilted his head to one side. That would fit in with his own plans. She could pursue her master’s program—a program he’d be only too happy to pay for—while playing the role of devoted wife and mother. “Would you be willing to commit to an employment contract of two full years? And would you be willing to homeschool Isabella, if needed?”

  She folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze dead-on. “It will take me two years to complete my master’s program, so that aspect isn’t a problem. Since it’s the end of the school year right now, your niece and I will have the summer to work out a comfortable routine before fall classes begin. If you want to initiate a schooling program for her at that point, I’ll have the next few months to put together a curriculum that meets with your approval. Then I can implement Isabella’s lessons while I begin evening classes toward my master’s.”

  Despite her outer calm, he sensed a certain level of nervousness—almost anxiety—and couldn’t help but wonder what caused it. He allowed the silence to drag while he considered the various reasons for her turmoil. She could be nervous because she was lying to him about something, in which case he’d find a way to get to the truth. The irony of that fact didn’t escape him, considering this entire interview was a huge fraud. Even so, he needed to trust his future wife, which meant all the cards on the table. Of course, she could be nervous because she didn’t handle interviews well. One other possibility occurred to him, one that caused his gut to tighten and an unwanted hunger to gnaw at him.

  Maybe he made her uneasy. Maybe she’d experienced the same odd awareness that he had. She didn’t break the lengthy silence with a rush of nervous explanations the way many would have. That fact alone impressed the hell out of him.

  “Let me be frank, Annalise. I’m concerned that you may change your mind midsummer and take a teaching position, leaving me to go through this process all over again. Isabella’s had enough trauma and loss in her life without experiencing another so soon.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  Instinct told him that she spoke with absolute sincerity. Even so, he sensed an intense emotional current that continued to ripple just beneath the surface, though he still couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason for it. Perhaps it was a simple case of interview jitters. He glanced down at her file.

  “I see you’ve also had some training with special-needs.”

  She stilled in the act of brushing another loosened curl away from her eyes. Her expression grew troubled. “Has Isabella always been a special-needs child? Or is today’s incident related to the plane crash?”

  He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “It started after she came to live with me. I want to make sure I hire someone who can help her adjust. Frankly, I don’t think you have the necessary experience.”

  “Is she seeing a counselor?”

  “I don’t have much choice in the matter. CPS has insisted.”

  She raised an eyebrow at his dry tone. “With good reason. Children of that age can be manipulative. If she feels like you’re cutting her some slack because of her loss, she’ll use that for as long as it works. You should also consider talking to one yourself in order to learn how to best provide for her needs.”

  He leaned back in his chair and lifted an eyebrow. “Do I look like the sort of man who can be easily manipulated? Or is it just that you don’t think I can provide for her needs?”

  “Look, I’m not saying you can’t or shouldn’t give her love and stability and reassurance. I’m just suggesting you don’t allow pity to make you too indulgent.” Then she grinned, the vibrant flash of it arrowing straight through to his gut. “And now I’ve moved from dispensing unwanted advice to lecturing. It’s well-intentioned, honestly.”

  He knew it, just as he knew it was advice identical to that of the psychologists he’d consulted. “How would you deal with her temper tantrums? If I hire you, you won’t be able to do what you did a few moments ago and hand Isabella off to someone else. Next time you’ll be the one in charge.”

  “I’ll try a variation on what I did today. Ignore her screaming when practical, making sure she can’t injure herself. Remove her from the situation when necessary, particularly if we’re in public. Afterward, talk to her in a calm fashion and make it clear that her behavior is unacceptable. In time, when she doesn’t get the response she’s hoping for, she should stop.” She offered a wry smile. “Of course, then she’ll try something else.”

  Curiosity filled him. “What did you say to her before you put her out?”

  “I told her that screaming is unacceptable behavior, and that there are consequences when she chooses to resort to a tantrum.”

  “What sort of consequences?” His eyes narrowed. “Do you believe in spanking?”

  “No, I don’t,” she retorted crisply. “Do you?”

  A smile loosened his mouth before he could prevent it.

  “No.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “So, if you don’t utilize corporal punishment, then how do you plan to change her behavior?”

  He was genuinely curious, since none of the methods he’d attempted had worked. Of course, he had not been consistent, nor had he been Isabella’s main caregiver except for those first weeks immediately after the plane crash. Right on the heels of her release from the hospital, his work obligations had taken up most of his time, limiting the hours he spent with her. Plus, he doubted the interim sitters he’d e
mployed had helped the situation. There hadn’t been any consistency in his parenting and it showed.

  “Is she intelligent?”

  “Highly.”

  Annalise nodded. “She needs to be challenged intellectually, as well as physically, in order to help her stress level. In other words, she needs to engage in activities that will allow her to cope with her grief and confusion and work through them at her own pace. It would help to have a daily schedule that doesn’t vary, so she knows that every day she gets up at the same time, eats at the same time, goes to bed at the same time, all of which gives her a feeling of security.”

  “She doesn’t have that right now.”

  Annalise lifted a shoulder in an expressive shrug. “Because she’s so young she may not be able to verbalize her fears and concerns. It would help to find creative outlets that allow for that expression. Painting or coloring, games that require organization, regular exercise, other children she can socialize with so she can just be a quote-unquote child for a while.” She paused. “Does she have nightmares?”

  “Yes.”

  Annalise nodded, as though not surprised. “She may also revert to behaviors she exhibited at a far younger age, such as thumb-sucking or bed-wetting.”

  “I haven’t noticed any of that, so far.” Well, except for one not-so-minor detail that he’d neglected to mention—her refusal to speak.

  Annalise leaned forward. “As I said, continuing with a counselor is vital. He can help you and Isabella’s main caregiver develop some strategies to assist in her recovery.”

  Annalise was right and he knew it. He glanced down at his list of questions and moved on to less complicated issues. “I’m sure my assistant mentioned that this job is five days a week, daytime shift.”

  “Will you be hiring a nighttime caregiver?”

  “I did that right after I brought Isabella home from the hospital. Mrs. Walters will arrive at the end of your shift and cover until I get home. She also stays overnight when I’m out of town on business. If I needed you on an occasional night, would that be a problem?”

  “Not at all.”

  So far, so good. He tapped a finger on the list of questions and moved on to the next issue. “Do you have a first-aid certificate?”

  “Yes, as well as a criminal-convictions certificate.”

  He flipped through the file until he found them. The first-aid certificate was recent and, as expected, she didn’t have a criminal record. “Do you have any problem with my running a background check?” The slightest hesitation combined with a hint of worry passed over her features. His gaze narrowed. “Problem?” he asked coldly.

  She shook her head. “No, I can see where you’d need to do that. I’d just appreciate some time so I can warn my friends and relatives.”

  “Warn?”

  She sighed. “Alert. Is that a better word for it? I’d like to call them first and ask for their cooperation, so they’re not taken by surprise.”

  “Fair enough.” If she really was hiding anything, his private investigator would find it. He moved on. “Do you smoke?”

  “No.”

  “Are you involved in an intimate relationship?”

  Again, she hesitated. “How is that germane?”

  He studied her curiously, wondering if he’d hit on something. “I need to know if you have any obligations that may interfere with your ability to give Isabella your full attention.” Or prevent her from becoming his temporary wife. “I also need to know about anyone who may come into regular contact with my niece so that I can have them checked out.”

  “Of course.” She inclined her head and another curl escaped, this one just behind her left ear. The shiny black ringlet bounced against the long line of her neck, providing an irritating distraction. “No, to answer your question, I’m not in an intimate relationship.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “What about a casual relationship?”

  A hint of color marched along the sculpted curve of her cheekbones. “I’m not in any sort of relationship at all.”

  He fought the satisfaction her response elicited. “How do you get along with your family?”

  He’d caught her by surprise again. “There’s just my father, and we get along fine.”

  “How often do you see him?”

  Her brow puckered in bewilderment. “Once a week. Sometimes more often, now that I’m back in South Carolina.”

  “Does he live in Charleston?”

  “Jim Isle, born and bred.”

  “How much contact do you anticipate he’ll have with Isabella?”

  To his surprise, a flash of alarm flickered through her eyes, darkening the honey gold to a deep amber. “I … I don’t anticipate there being any contact between them.”

  He digested that for a moment. “Why not?” he finally asked.

  She floundered for an instant. It was the first time he’d seen a serious crack in her composure and it filled him with curiosity. “Because my time with Isabella is business related and the time I spend with my father is personal. I really don’t see the two crossing paths.”

  Interesting. “You believe in keeping your work and home life separate?”

  “Don’t you?” When he didn’t respond to the question, she brushed it aside with a fleeting wave of her hand. “Yes, I prefer to keep the two parts of my life separate.”

  “Is there some reason you don’t want your father to come into contact with Isabella? Does he have a criminal record? Would he be a bad influence on a child?”

  “No,” she instantly denied. “Not at all. My father is a good man. I just prefer to keep my family life private. Is that a problem for you?”

  “I have no objection either way.”

  Surprise swept across her face, followed by relief, before she masked her emotions behind a facade of calm serenity. It was an interesting transformation to watch. He suspected her exquisite self-control was an innate part of her personality, and he couldn’t help wondering what circumstances had occurred in her life that had required her to develop this ability. Had she also experienced trauma? Was that why she shrouded herself in unruffled composure, as a way to combat the whirlwind of strife and turmoil?

  He took a quick stab in the dark. “You mention your father, but not your mother.”

  She took a quick breath. “My mother died when I was twelve.”

  “A difficult age to lose a mother.”

  A dry smile kicked up the corner of her mouth. “Is there a good age?”

  “No. Even so … You must have learned coping mechanisms.”

  “Eventually.”

  “Would any of them help Isabella?”

  “Some.” She considered briefly. “In theory.”

  “Why in theory?”

  “Because Isabella isn’t me,” she explained. “What worked for one person might not work for another. It’s not a one-size-fits-all.”

  He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a long moment. He was tempted to hire her. So very, very tempted. Again, he sensed a ripple of tension just beneath her calm expression. “You’ve met Isabella. You see how much work it’s going to take to get through to her. Why do you want this job so badly?”

  Annalise moistened her lips and answered with care. “Isabella needs help. Maybe I can give her that help. At the very least I’ll find out whether I’m capable of handling special-needs children.”

  “I’m not sure I want to hire someone who regards this as an experiment or a test of their capabilities.” She didn’t respond to the observation, though he could tell his comment worried her. “There’s one other detail you should know about Isabella.”

  “Which is?”

  He decided to lay it out for her. If it scared her off, he’d know she was wrong for the job. “After we explained what happened to her parents, my niece stopped speaking.”

  Annalise inhaled sharply. “She doesn’t talk? Not at all?”

  “She screams. That’s her communication of choice. So you can see why I’d like t
he most experienced person possible for this job.”

  “Yes, I can understand that,” she conceded. “But I’d still like a shot at the position.”

  Jack released his breath in a slow sigh. There were two reasons he didn’t plan to hire Annalise Stefano, despite the urge to do just that. The first and most important was that she didn’t have the necessary experience. Good instincts, but little hands-on practice. What if Mrs. Locke decided Annalise wasn’t knowledgeable enough? He’d have precisely one shot at this. If the caseworker gave the thumbs-down, he couldn’t run out and find a replacement bride. No, whoever he chose would have to be as close to perfect as possible.

  The second reason he hesitated was the attraction he felt toward Annalise. It didn’t bode well for a successful working relationship and threatened unending complications down the road. Plus, it didn’t make sense to keep such blatant temptation in his home. Too risky.

  He flipped the file closed. “I appreciate you coming in for this interview.”

  She fought to maintain her composure. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?” A dark, husky note slipped into her voice and he gained the impression that she’d pinned a lot of hopes on this job. “You’re not going to hire me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Stefano.” He let her down as gently as possible. “You’ve only just completed your studies. You haven’t had any practical experience. I need someone who’s actually worked with children like Isabella.”

  She didn’t argue, although he suspected she wanted to. “If you change your mind, you have my number.” She stood and approached his desk, holding out her hand. “Thank you for considering me, Mr. Mason.”

  He took her hand again, experiencing that same oddly appealing dichotomy of strength overlaying fragility. Of vulnerability warring with quiet determination. He didn’t doubt she’d have thrown her heart and soul into helping Isabella, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a horrible mistake in not choosing her. He deliberately quashed any doubts. Doubts equaled weakness, and he learned at his father’s knee never to allow weakness to influence a business decision.