Nanny to the Billionaire's Son

by Barbara McMahon

  She glanced around as the cab slowed. They had reached their destination.

  Mac didn’t know why it was important she agree to see him, but it was.

  “So you’ll have dinner with me Friday?” he pushed.

  She shrugged. “Why not. It’s not like I have a job to get to anymore.”

  Mac had had more enthusiastic responses to budget meetings, but he’d take what he could get.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said.

  “I’ll meet you at the restaurant,” she countered instantly. “I don’t know you, Mr. McAlheny. I prefer to keep meetings in a public place and keep my home life separate.”

  The cab swooped into the curb in front of the small office building that served as headquarters for the Beale Foundation.

  “Thank you for the ride,” she said, lifting her tote and handbag.

  “Francesca’s on Monteith Street, seven o’clock,” he said, getting out and assisting her to the sidewalk. “And it’s Mac, remember?”

  “I’ll be there,” she said and turned without another word to enter the building.

  Mac watched her for a moment. As he entered the cab, giving the driver the address for McAlheny Industries, he considered how dating Samantha would be different from seeing Teresa. Samantha Duncan was unlike any other woman he’d met. She didn’t seem impressed with him or his company. In fact, she was downright mad at him. How was he to know a simple inquiry would result in her dismissal?

  She was as unlike Chris as anyone he’d known—not that it mattered in the long run. He wasn’t looking for a relationship that lasted for any duration. He had a business to run and a son to raise.

  For a few weeks, maybe they could share some good times together.

  Was he getting jaded? Date one woman for a short time then move on?

  Yet what choice did he have? He was not planning to have his heart ripped out again by falling in love and having it end abruptly through death. Life was chancy enough without putting himself in situations that could hold him hostage to fate.

  By Friday afternoon, Sam was a nervous wreck. She had not come up with an excuse to avoid dinner with Mac. Maybe something would happen to make the engagement impossible. She tried to quell the escalating kickboxing butterflies by repeating it was only a meal with a prospective donor to the Foundation. The discarded ticket had been discussed and he’d surprised her by inviting her to a meal rather than threatening her with the police.

  On the other hand, if he hadn’t talked to Mr. Jordan, she would be working tonight and not going to dinner at one of the best Italian restaurants in Atlanta.

  A dusting of snow had covered the city yesterday and some traces lingered in spots. When Sam left the office, night had fallen and the glittering streetlights reflected on the patches of snow, glistening white in the dark. She found a parking place just a block away and entered the restaurant promptly at seven. She immediately spotted Mac leaning casually against one of the walls in the lobby, watching the door. He pushed away when he saw her and walked over. The butterflies increased their activity. She drew in a deep breath. She could handle this.

  “Hi,” she said, suddenly feeling shy.

  “Hi yourself,” he said. “Want to check in your coat?”

  “Yes.” She slipped out of it before he could help her and handed it to him. This wasn’t the Black and White Ball. She needed to keep her wits about her. He stepped to the cloakroom and checked it in. He tucked the ticket in his pocket. No escape that way tonight, she thought.

  “Our table’s ready, I told them you would be here at seven,” he said, guiding her into the large dining room. The maître d’ greeted them both and led them to a small table near the far wall. Most of the tables were already occupied. A large Reserved sign sat in the center of theirs, which was swiftly whisked away.

  “How did you know I’d be on time?” she asked when seated.

  “You’re the type.”

  “What type?” She glanced at the menu, her mouth watering at the selection. His words caught her by surprise.

  “Competent, businesslike, not someone to waste time—your own or someone else’s,” he said while also studying the menu.

  Sam wondered if she liked the assessment. It sounded boring and dull. Which she probably was. Who had time to develop exciting traits with all her responsibilities?

  When she looked up, his gaze was fastened on her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.

  “You told my boss you wanted to discuss the Foundation. Besides, this beats a tuna sandwich.”

  Knowing he wasn’t as certain about her joining him made her feel better about the evening. Despite his wealth and standing in the city, he had human doubts just like she did. She tried to keep that thought in the forefront of her mind.

  They began discussing the Foundation’s goals and the question came up about how Samantha had started work there.

  “So Charlene is the real reason I’m there today,” she finished, after giving him a brief recap of the car crash that had killed her parents and rendered her sister paralyzed from the waist down.

  “A lot of responsibility for one so young. You must have been only about twenty-one when it all fell on you,” he said.

  “Actually I was nineteen. I had to quit college and find work fast. We were lucky in one way, however. The house had mortgage insurance and upon my dad’s death, was paid in full. So housing is one expense we don’t have to worry about.”

  “But you worry about others?”

  She shook her head. “We’re not here to listen to my woes. Are you going to donate to the Foundation or not?”

  “Persistent, aren’t you? Yes, McAlheny Industries will give a perpetual gift, like Hadden.”

  His cell rang. Checking the number, he frowned. “Excuse me,” he said, answering the call.

  From his side of the conversation, Samantha could tell it was from a babysitter. She remembered Mac had spoken to his son at the ball. She couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but it was obvious the little boy wasn’t happy about his dad being gone. Mac talked to him for a few minutes, ending with, “I’ll see you in the morning as soon as you wake up, okay?”

  He replaced the phone in his pocket. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay,” Sam said.

  “Do you remember I told you at the ball that we just lost our longtime housekeeper and nanny? Well, Tommy doesn’t like the new one I’ve hired. She’s daily and only agreed to stay longer tonight as a special favor. I need a live-in nanny fast and so far none of the agencies I’ve contacted can locate a suitable one.” He looked at her again.

  “What?”

  “After we spoke the other day, I called Jordan Maintenance and spoke again with Amos Jordan. You’re right, it’s my fault you lost that job. I have one to offer you in exchange.”

  Sam just looked at him. Instead of making an issue of the ticket, he was offering her a job? What was he up to?

  “I’m listening,” she said after a moment.

  “I’m looking for a live-in housekeeper—”

  “I’m not interested.” Good grief, live with the man? She’d never get any sleep. She was having enough trouble these nights dreaming about their dances, that special kiss. How could she possibly consider working for him?

  “Hear me out. I have a woman coming in from seven in the morning until six at night. But she leaves promptly at six, unless we make prior arrangements like this evening. I can’t get away from work at a set time every night. I need someone to watch Tommy from six until I get home.”

  Sam nodded, feeling a spark of anticipation. “So you’re offering me a babysitting position until you hire a live-in nanny?”

  “Seems the least I can do to make up for your job loss.” He mentioned a sum above what she had been earning at the cleaning service.

  “How late do you work?” she asked. Jordan had paid her for six hours of work each night.
<
br />   “Sometimes as late as ten or eleven. Most nights I try to get home before Tommy goes to bed at eight.”

  “Hourly rate?” she asked.

  “Flat fee per week, some nights you may be there until almost midnight. Most nights you can leave before eight.”

  If most nights proved true, she’d be receiving more than she received before for only two hours of work each day. How hard could it be to watch a three-year-old for two hours?

  She was undecided. Wary of a deal that sounded too good to be true, she was tempted by the income. And fewer hours would mean she could work with her sister to devise and implement firm plans for marketing Charlene’s work this year.

  But to work for Mac McAlheny? She wasn’t sure that was wise. He affected her on a primal level. Could she work for him and not want something more?

  “I’ve never worked with children before. Surely you could find someone else better suited.”

  “Come meet Tommy, see what you think,” Mac said.

  Sam considered the offer. It sounded perfect. If things would once go her way, she could get the repairs finished and paid for and resume her night school college work. She was so close to her degree and eventually the career she longed for. That’s what she had to do, keep her eye on her goal and not get sidetracked by a gorgeous man looking for help with his child.

  Sam hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll meet your son and see where we go from there.”

  Mac smiled with satisfaction. He would get to see more of Samantha Duncan—and find out exactly why she caught his interest. The current situation was perfect for hiring her. It would atone for causing her to lose her job and help him out after Mrs. Horton’s rather strict rules. He had an idea Sam would be good for Tommy. And, perhaps, for him?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SAMANTHA drove home thoughtfully. She wasn’t sure if she understood why Mac McAlheny had offered her a job. She tried to analyze it from all different angles. She didn’t think he was angry she’d taken the trashed ticket. In fact, he seemed content to talk about a variety of subjects at dinner—including a perpetual grant for the Beale Foundation.

  But his job offer had come totally out of the blue. Why had he made it?

  She’d never worked with small children. Could she be what Tommy McAlheny needed? For the most part they would only spend a few hours together before the little boy went to bed at eight. How hard could that be? Then she’d just need to be there until Mac returned.

  But what about weekends? He’d mentioned he’d need her to watch his son occasionally on the weekends when he had to travel or work on a special project. He had not said anything about watching his son while he dated—but Sam knew that would be part of it. She frowned when she thought about him taking someone out for dinner and dancing. She couldn’t possibly consider him hers, but even she knew that New Year’s Eve kiss had been special. Even now, several days later driving a car through the dark streets, she could almost feel the sensations that had zinged through her with his kiss.

  “This is strictly a job,” she said aloud as if to dispel the memory.

  Charlene was not home when Sam arrived. It was unlike her sister to be out so late. Sam hoped it meant she was having fun at her friend’s house. Normally Charlene invited friends to their home, which was set up for wheelchair access to everything on the first floor. It was hard for her to get in and out of cars and maneuver in other homes that weren’t wheelchair friendly.

  Sam changed into her warm nightgown, donned her robe and slippers and went down to fix some hot chocolate. She was just about to go upstairs when her sister returned so she veered to the front of the house to greet her.

  “Hi,” Charlene said, turning in the doorway to wave at a departing car. She closed the door on the cold and spun around to face Sam.

  “You must have had fun…you’re so late getting back,” Sam said with a smile.

  “We had a ball. Talked and compared notes on quilting. She showed me what she’d done using my pattern. It turned out great. How was dinner?” she asked as she pulled her jacket off.

  “I’m not sure. I went thinking we would be talking about the Foundation, but I got an offer of a different kind. I may end up watching a small child for a few hours each evening.”

  “How did that come up? I didn’t know you knew anything about taking care of kids,” Charlene said.

  Sam took her sister’s jacket and hung it on the lower of the closet poles and picked up her chocolate she’d placed on the small entry table. “Want some hot chocolate?”

  “No, I’m full from Betty’s meal. Spill.”

  “It’s not a sure thing yet—I’m to meet the little boy tomorrow. If we hit it off, I’d start Monday after work. It’s still an evening job, but when else can I find a second job?”

  “Should beat cleaning offices for six hours a night. Maybe you can rock him so you sit for a while,” Charlene said with a smile.

  Sam sipped her beverage. “I’m not sure three-year-olds like to be rocked. That’s more for babies. We’ll see. He may not like me.” Then what would Mac do?

  “I was heading for bed.” She wanted to think about their dinner and the commitment she’d made.

  “Me, too. I had fun tonight, but I’m tired. Good night, sis.”

  Sam climbed the stairs to her bedroom as Charlene headed down the hall to hers. She hadn’t told Charlene all the details and wondered why. Perhaps because she wasn’t sure about the job. Yet despite the uncertainty, she felt a spark of excitement.

  She’d get to see Mac again. Get to learn a bit about his personal life and meet his son. The child he’d had with his wife. Was he over her death yet? Did he keep her pictures around for this son to see?

  And what all would he expect of his son’s nanny? Could she live up to his expectations?

  She sure hoped so.

  Mac lay in bed. The dark was complete except for the faint spray of stars he could see from one of the windows. It was late and he should be asleep. But he was thinking.

  Mrs. Horton was competent, but more old-fashioned and strict with schedules. Tommy seemed to be subdued around her. When Mac questioned her about their evening, she’d said only that Tommy had gone to bed right on time. As if she’d allow anything else.

  Would his son like Sam?

  What was there about her that had him making such a ludicrous job offer out of the blue? She’d been worried about the blasted ticket—afraid he’d be upset she’d used it. He considered her finding it an act of providence. Now he’d wanted a way to see her again.

  In a few weeks, hopefully sooner, he’d find the perfect live-in housekeeper and not need for Sam to babysit Tommy.

  But until then, he’d see her almost every day. Surely in a short time he’d grow indifferent to her and move on?

  He turned his head slightly, not able to see in the dark the photograph of Chris that sat on his bedside table, but knowing it was there. She was laughing, the delight of her happiness shone through in that candid shot. He missed her so much. But it was becoming harder and harder to feel her with him. Her laughter had enchanted him yet its echoes had long ago faded. Her blue eyes would forever live on in Tommy. But tonight, instead of seeing her, he saw Samantha Duncan. Her face danced in his mind anytime he closed his eyes.

  He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake hiring Samantha. But when he’d heard about the damage the hurricane had done, and realized his call had gotten her fired, it was the first thing that came to mind as a way to help. She might go after funds for the Beale Foundation, but Sam wasn’t one to take charity herself.

  Mac threw off the covers and grabbed a shirt to pull on over the shorts he slept in. He wasn’t getting any sleep thinking about Sam. Maybe he’d put in a few hours catching up with e-mail. She’d be here tomorrow and he couldn’t wait to see her in his home.

  The next morning Samantha dressed in warm jeans and a thick cable-knit white sweater. She had debated for a while about what to wear to meet Tommy. Hearing the echo of her
mother’s voice, start as you mean to go on, she eventually just wore what she was comfortable in. She’d probably be down on the floor playing with the little boy; no sense wearing dress slacks for that. Be yourself, was another axiom from her mother. People will either like you for who you are or not. But you’ll never have to worry they are your friends only because you are acting like someone you are not.

  She was not some glamorous socialite who traveled in exalted circles in Atlanta. She was a working woman who had a dream to move west. It might be an impossible dream, but it was all hers.

  Charlene had prepared waffles for breakfast, with warmed maple syrup and spicy sausages. Sam headed for the coffee first, however.

  “Looks great,” she said as she sat down.

  “I heard you moving around so knew how to time the meal,” her sister said as she rolled into her place at the table. “So what time do you go?”

  “Ten o’clock. I think if I hit it off with the little boy, I’ll stay for a bit while his father is there, so Tommy can get to know me. The longtime housekeeper they had left last week and Tommy isn’t so fond of the new nanny. She leaves at six each evening, so I’ll just have time to get there immediately after work.”

  Charlene looked at her. “Where’s the mother?”

  “She died when the little boy was a baby.”

  “How sad. Goodness, she couldn’t have been very old. I hope you get the job, sis. You’ll be perfect at it. Look what good care you take of me.”

  Sam shook her head. “You make it easy for me. And you could sell those beautiful creations you make to bring in money. We really have to do something about marketing them this year.”

  Charlene nodded, not looking as confident as she had on New Year’s Day.

  Sam felt the edgy nervousness increase as she drove to Mac’s home. She wanted to make a good impression on the little boy and had stopped at a toy store to buy him a picture book. She didn’t know if it was in order to bring a present. Would Mac think she was trying to bribe his son into liking her?