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Chapter4
LANDON
Harper Presley.
There she was, popping into his head again.
The roar of the crowd faded, and her voice was the only sound he could hear.
And why was that?
Six months ago, he’d heard her sing.
That might be a bit of a stretch. It was more of a taunt-laced, sing-songy one-liner. She chanted her friend’s name and what sounded a hell of a lot like the wordweirdo, which would have fit the scenario.
Penny, Penny, Penny, Penny, Penny and the weirdos.
Christ, it had stopped him dead in his tracks. He’d messed with his hat to shield his eyes to keep her from seeing that he was watching her and waiting, no, yearning for her to part her lips and tease her friend again with the snarky tune.
Still, it wasn’t just her voice that left him dumbstruck.
She was simply stunning.
Her chocolate-brown hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders.
And that body! The thought of Harper Presley in a miniskirt got his pulse racing.
She wasn’t spindly like the skin and bone models he’d dated. She was more of a petite powerhouse. This woman had curves that could render a man speechless—and that’s precisely what she’d done.
The first time he’d seen her was when the tech billionaire, Rowen Gale, one of the men in his nanny match men’s group, got set up with his nanny.
Yes, he was a part of a nanny match men’s group. It sounded like utter bullshit, but it was the real deal.
The foursome included Rowen, the hothead chef, Mitch Elliot, and the boxing champion, Erasmus Cress, and himself, the world’s pop heartthrob.
Mitzi had contacted the mysterious nanny match maven, Madelyn Malone, to help with the nanny selection. That’s when he’d become part of a group of single male caregivers waiting for the matchmaker to place them with a nanny.
The other three guys had been matched over the last six months.
And now it was his turn.
He was the last to go.
In a little over a week, he’d employ a nanny, and his title of absent uncle would change to permanent caregiver when he took custody of his niece, Aria.
Aria.
It was a beautiful, flowing name. But don’t be fooled by the delicate, melodious moniker.
His niece was a seven-year-old spitfire with enough boldness in her little finger to take out half the globe with one searing glance.
He loved the kid to pieces. She was the perfect combination of Leighton and Trey with her blue eyes and dark locks. A fact that made his heart swell and then crack into a million pieces.
She’d lived with Tomàs and Bess these past two years.
He’d always known this was a temporary arrangement.
But six months ago, an end date to his responsibility respite had been set.
