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"Jessie, are we set for tonight?" I ask, eyeing the documents and tablets before us. "And are you sure you're okay missing out?"
Jessie, the epitome of organization, glances up from her laptop. "Aidan, everything's in order. Caterers are ready, security's briefed, and the sea turtle ice sculpture is setting. Don't worry about me; I'm looking forward to a quiet evening with a good book and tucking Grace in. You're a great boss. Enjoy the gala."
I exhale, grateful. "Thanks, Jessie. Really." Her assurance and the mention of being a good boss resonate as I leave.
It's not just about perfect management but ensuring those around you are content.
Checking my watch, it's time to escort my personal Disney princess to a ball, albeit one with ecological speeches and turtle appetizers. The elevator, slower than a lazy sloth, finally reaches our suite.
Knocking on the door—Grace insists it's polite—I chuckle, imagining her organizing her stuffed animals into a royal court. True to form, she flings the door open, nearly toppling me with her excitement. I scoop her up, her coily hair smelling of coconut oil and sunshine, no doubt styled by Lacey's loving hands.
"You look like a dream, princess," I whisper, and she giggles with delight.
Then there's Lacey—vibrant, kind, and tonight, absolutely stunning. She steps into view, and everything else fades. It's one of those moments to remember, her in that silky champagne dress, curls framing her face, her olive-green eyes twinkling.
For a moment, I forget everything else.
"You look stunning," I finally say.
Lacey smiles. "It helps when your outfit costs five thousand dollars."
"Ruby nailed the look."
"Thanks. But I styled Grace and myself," she admits, her laugh soft. "Sketching designs is a hobby of mine. I appreciate you doing this for us," she adds, glancing at Grace. "She's the true star tonight, isn't she?"
"Absolutely. Belle's got nothing on her," I assure Grace, who corrects me with a sigh, "It's Princess Belle, Dad!"
"Right, my apologies to Princess Belle," I say, playing along. "But she doesn’t hold a candle to my girls."
Referring to them as "my girls" doesn’t go unnoticed. But Lacey just grins wider, her smile saying everything.
"Let's go enjoy a magical night then," she says, her voice a notch huskier.
As we make our way to the limo, I take in the effortless way Grace and Lacey interact, how they seem to complete each other's sentences and share a secret language.
In just a few weeks time, Lacey has colored in the blank spaces in my life, making it fuller and richer somehow.
By the time our ride pulls up to the venue, my stomach is entirely in knots. Until delicate fingers wrap around mine. Lacey squeezes my hand, offering a small smile.
“You’re going to kill it. Don’t worry,” she says softly, and I am reminded why I'm in so much trouble when it comes to her.
My new nanny shouldn't make me feel like this. Feel like I'm seventeen again, with my first crush and all the insecurities that come along with it.
Feel like I could walk away from this gala and be content with just holding her hand for the rest of the night.
But I know that's not possible. Lacey is a temporary addition to our family, here to help out for a short time before moving on.
She releases my hand as we step out of the limo and I try to focus on my speech.
Entering the Magnolia Hall of Wonders museum for the event, I'm greeted by familiar faces—colleagues, friends, and my players.
I spot Marcus and Ryan across the room, surrounded by a group of admirers. And for a split second, I feel a pang of jealousy.
Jealousy because I can't hold Lacey's hand all night.
Jealousy because it'd be front page news if I did. Jealousy because of the responsibilities as the Seattle Storm team owner that say I can't afford to let my guard down.
I turn to her, steeling myself against the berry scent of her perfume. "You'll have to excuse me. I?—"
