Page 61 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

“Oh, goody.” Brooke’s sarcastic tone and exaggerated eye roll said it was anything but good. “I’ll open them later. Probably more of Mom’s country club cronies. Why did I let her convince me to go through with this ridiculous reception? I swear, I’m not going to know a single person at this shindig.”

“You’ll know me.” Eli came up behind his wife, wrapped his arms around her, and dropped a kiss to the nape of her neck.

“And me.” Mallory stood. “I need to change out of my travel clothes. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Feel free to start dinner without me.”

With a pasted-on smile and what she hoped was a suitably jaunty wave, she turned to leave. She needed a few minutes of solitude. A time-out from her sister’s newly wedded bliss. As happy as she was for Brooke, watching her with Eli was a special kind of torture. Like a thousand knives to her fragile heart.

“Hey,” Brooke called after her.

Mallory stopped and spun around to face her sister, who was taking a stack of plates from one of the cabinets. “Yeah?”

Brooke handed the plates to Eli and pinned her sister with a worried frown. “You okay?”

Mallory brushed off her sister’s concern with another wave and started back toward her temporary bedroom.

“I’m fine,” she said over her shoulder. “Just tired. And hungry. I’ll feel better when I have some of that Szechuan.”

And when she figured out what to do about her train wreck of a life.

Brooke’s last words before Eli interrupted their conversation echoed in her head. Was she going to keep making excuses not to be with Rhys?

Or was her sister right, and it was time to start looking for solutions?

…

The sun had sunk well below the horizon and stars dotted the cloudlessnight sky when Rhys emerged from his office, his usually neat hair unruly and two—or was it three?—days’ growth on his chin.

He made his way across the foyer, through the great room, and into the kitchen, the only sounds the squeak of his shoes on the tile floor and the low hum of the air-conditioning. Had his house always been this big? Or did it just seem that way now that Mallory wasn’t there, filling the empty spaces with smiles and laughter and fancy food? Empty spaces he hadn’t realized existed until she showed up on his doorstep, as unexpected and unpredictable as a sudden summer storm.

And she’d left the same way.

Rhys headed for the stairs to check on Oliver before trying to force himself to sleep at least a few hours. One thing that hadn’t changed in Mallory’s absence was his renewed commitment to his son. He hadn’t hired a new nanny, and he was starting to think they didn’t need one. Mrs. Flannigan swore she could handle the cooking, as long as they didn’t expect anything close to Mallory’s level. And if he cut back a bit, delegated more work to Collins and the staff in New York, put in most of his office hours after Oliver was in bed, they should be able to manage on their own.

Mallory would approve. So would Beth.

Maybe that was why he’d rejected every candidate the agency had submitted. One was too inexperienced, one too high-strung, another too gruff. Collins had started calling him Goldilocks under his breath, complaining he’d never find one who was just right.

Trouble was, he already had.

Rhys reached Oliver’s bedroom and cracked the door open, expecting to find the room dark and his son sprawled across his bed, one pajama-clad leg sticking out from under the covers. Instead, the light was on and Oliver sat at the tiny table in the center of his room, a sheet of paper in front of him and a crayon clutched in one fist.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Rhys asked, squeezing himself into a pint-sized chair across from his son.

“I have to finish this first,” Oliver said without looking up, his bangs flopping over his furrowed forehead as he scribbled furiously.

“Finish what?”

Oliver’s crayon stilled, and he peered up at Rhys through the blond wisps of his bangs. “Promise you won’t be mad.”

Rhys frowned. “Why would I be mad?”

“It’s a picture. For Mallory.” Oliver’s lower lip trembled. “To make her come back.”

Rhys thought his heart couldn’t rip apart any more than it already had. He was wrong. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gave his son a shaky smile. “Can I see?”

“Sure.” Oliver pushed the paper across the table.

Rhys examined it for a few moments.