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She thought Dakota was the nanny.
She was now the freakin' nanny.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
She had to think fast. She’d been mistaken for the nanny they were clearly expecting.
Okay, she needed to start acting like a nanny. But how?
She figured the first thing she should do was stop holding the baby out in front of her as if she were afraid of it.
Right.
Fuck.
She didn’t have a clue how to be with children, let alone take care of them.
"Oh, I’m just allowing the baby to get used to my scent," she said, lying through her teeth.
What did she think the kid was? A little pup? God help her.
Right. Act like a freaking nanny.
"There, there," Dakota said as she brought the little girl to her chest. She was petrified of dropping the bundle. It didn’t help that she was still very flustered.
One thing remained. She had to get a grip. Her life depended on it.
"Michael, Preston, and Zachary will be with you shortly. These are their foster sister’s kids, by the way. She just dropped them off here last night and ran off with a band. She wants them to adopt her kids. They’re already calling them dad. Can you believe that? Oh, and just a word of advice before I leave. Every girl they meet tries to seduce them. Don’t bother. They don’t sleep with the help. Ever. Please tell them not to be late for their meeting."
Before Dakota could register the flood of new information, chaos like she had never known before erupted all around her.
Chapter Four
If she had to retell the story, Dakota would say it started with a little spit-up.
Okay, maybe a lot of spit-up.
The baby she had maneuvered to rest over her shoulder, so she could sell the idea that she was in fact a bona fide nanny, decided that was the ideal position to regurgitate a feed, which, by the smell of it, she might have consumed roughly three months ago.
Dakota cried in horror as the warm baby throw-up rolled down her shoulder, the thin strap of her top not enough to protect her bare skin. She brought the baby forward and received the rest of the projectile all over the front of her.
"That’s my cue to leave," the woman said, revolt clearly visible in her voice as she covered her hand with her mouth and tried not to throw up herself.
That seemed to trigger Dakota’s own gag reflex, and suddenly she was making weird sounds and trying to swallow it all down again.
Oh, god, she was going to puke.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
The baby, which she once again held as far away from her body as she could, gurgled happily now that she had dislodged her dinner. Could anything smell worse?
"I’m Princess Charlie. What kind of a princess are you?" The little girl asked, tugging on her skirt, oblivious to the calamity Dakota faced, while the boy still seemed undecided on whether he liked her or not, evident by the way he narrowed his eyes at her.
She felt as if he were looking into her soul.
Yeah, no, buddy.
What kind of a princess? Probably one who was going to end up dead. A dead princess. But she kept that tidbit to herself.
