Marrying the Virgin Nanny / The Nanny and Me: Marrying the Virgin Nanny / The Nanny and Me. Teresa Southwick
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her, there was no way to reconcile abandoning her baby. If Brady was hers, Maggie knew there would be no walking away. He wasn’t her biological child and she couldn’t walk away. But there was also the small matter of the marriage to his father.
Although being driven around was a darn nice perk of the marriage, she thought, watching palm trees and buildings go by. Jason’s driver had picked Maggie and Brady up from the penthouse. She sat in the back with the baby in his car seat, sound asleep beside her. The movement always did that to him. Jason had forgotten his briefcase and she’d needed the car for errands. She’d told his secretary she would swing by the office and drop it off while they were out. And, of course, the woman had said she was dying to see the baby.
Her heart seemed to expand in her chest when she smiled at the infant, probably the only person on the planet who could make her smile this morning. After what happened the night before, specifically THE KISS—all capital letters.
She wasn’t so innocent that she didn’t know he’d wanted her. If only the feeling wasn’t mutual, but she’d be lying if she said that. Sleeping with Jason would complicate her already complicated life, but every part of her had tingled and begged to finally know what it felt like to be with a man. And not just any man.
Jason Garrett was the man she wanted. It couldn’t be explained away by the fact that she hadn’t been kissed in a very long time—before she’d entered the convent—by her disastrous first love. She hadn’t slept with him and there’d been no one since. Technically that meant she’d saved herself for the man she married.
Silly her. When he’d dangled a million dollars in front of her, she hadn’t inquired what he expected of her as his wife. Jason had been gone when she got up with Brady this morning. Now she had to face him for the first time after that kiss. In front of other people. Just goes to show that God had a sense of humor.
After exiting the 215 Beltway onto Green Valley Parkway, the car pulled into a business complex, then stopped in front of a multistoried building. As soon as the movement ceased, Brady’s eyes popped open.
“This is it, Mrs. Garrett.”
For a nanosecond, she thought the driver was talking to someone else. “Thanks, Martin. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Want to leave the little guy with me while you run the briefcase up to Mr. G?”
“I appreciate that, but his father wants to show him off.”
Maggie had the baby in one hand and the briefcase in the other when she walked into the Garrett Industries building. Her sneakers squeaked on the lobby’s marble floor as she headed for the elevator. After entering, she set both her burdens down and pushed the button for the eighth floor where Jason’s office was located.
The elevator opened right into the reception area and a half-circle cherrywood desk that sat in the center of the room. Behind it was a redhead in her twenties wearing a headset for answering the phone.
When a muted ring sounded, she pushed a button and said, “Garrett Industries, Mr. Garrett’s office. This is Chloe. How can I help you?” She listened for a moment and said, “Let me transfer you to customer service. Hold on, please.”
Chloe De Witt. Jason’s secretary. They’d talked just a little while ago.
Maggie stopped in front of the desk. “Hi. I’m—” She was going to say Margaret Mary Shepherd. But she wasn’t anymore. She was Maggie Garrett, although she had no idea who Maggie Garrett was. With the very efficient secretary staring at her this was no time for an identity crisis. “I’m Maggie.”
“Hi.” Chloe flashed a professional smile, then disconnected her headset from the phone and came around the desk. She was wearing a snug gray pinstriped skirt and long-sleeved white blouse tucked into the waistband. The four-inch black spiked heels made her slender legs look a mile long. Her thick auburn hair was stylishly cut and brushed her silky collar. She was pretty enough to be a model. Or a show girl. Either or both of which were probably Jason’s type.
After a quick glance at her own dark denim pants and red pullover sweater, Maggie felt like the peasant from Plain-ville, a drab and uninteresting dweeb.
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