Undercover Nanny. Wendy Warren
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plenty of ammo. He had no experience taking care of kids 24/7; the house had been in chaos every time she’d arrived. Plus, he had thrown away a decent accounting job for a lifelong dream of opening a restaurant. Now he’d hired a nanny who was young, beautiful and had no formal nanny experience. Maybe he needed to have his head examined.
Daisy was still staring at him mutinously, arms wrapped so tightly around her waist she was probably cutting off her air supply.
“This one’s red,” he said, waggling the remaining suit. “You like red.” He gave a nod to the top that showed off her curves. She’d been wearing red the first time he saw her, too. “Pick a suit. I’ll teach you to swim.” Before she refused—and she was going to, he could tell—Max sighed. “Fear of water could be a problem when you’re taking care of four kids who love to swim, Daisy. We’re an outdoorsy family.”
“I said I wasn’t afraid.”
“Fear of drowning then.”
“I’m not afraid of drowning! I just never…I haven’t had…” He looked at her doubtfully, conveying his certitude that she was scared but didn’t want to show it. The tactic worked. “Oh, fine, I’ll try on a bathing suit!” She grabbed the red number out of his hand and quickly chose two other suits from the nearest rack. “I’ll be back,” she said, the implied instruction clear. You stay here. There would be no swimsuit modeling.
Attitude colored her every step away from him. She was peeved. Watching her stomp away, Max grinned. He had no idea if he’d saved himself and his family by hiring Daisy, or if he was setting up his own slow torture.
D.J. stood under the shower in Max’s master bathroom. The tears that flowed down her face mingled with the streams of water from the showerhead. She cried silently so no one would possibly hear her, but she felt like six kinds of a fool, nonetheless.
D.J. remembered exactly the last time she cried, it happened that infrequently. And usually for a very good reason. When Eileen died—that was the last time. This time she didn’t have a reason at all. Well…
Max had taught her to dog paddle. That was her reason.
Scrubbing her hair more vigorously than necessary, D.J. tried to put aside the image of his smiling at her fumbling attempts to swim without snorting a schnozful of chlorine. He’d smiled patiently, full of encouragement…the way he’d smiled at James when the less athletic twin had tried to dive like his brother, and the way he’d smiled at Liv in her water wings. The amazing thing was that D.J. hadn’t felt diminished by his consideration; she’d felt nurtured. Held. Even when his hands hadn’t been touching her. And when they had…
Lordy, Lordy. What was wrong with her?
Putting her palms on the slick, tiled wall in front of her, D.J. braced her quivering body. She was strong. She was independent. For years and years she’d viewed herself that way and believed her survival depended on her strength. She didn’t know the shaky, glob of Jell-O feeling inside her, and she didn’t want to know it. Max Lotorto was merely a man. This excess of emotion was absurd. She must be PMS-ing.
Turning off the water, D.J. wrapped a towel around her body and stepped from the shower. Max had said he wanted to talk to her after the kids were fed. Most likely he was going to press his point about a contract. Naturally she would not agree, but she wanted to be able to think clearly, unemotionally when they spoke, so that she could impress upon him the need to search for a real nanny. Immediately.
After today D.J. knew it was time to leave. With luck, Loretta would be satisfied with the information D.J. currently had and would offer appropriate compensation. Maybe the money wouldn’t be as good as what they’d originally agreed on, but once D.J. was safely back in Seattle, she could get a second job to pay off the bills that were in arrears. It would all work out.
That was her chant as she dressed in a denim skirt and short-sleeved blouse. It will all work out for everyone…It will all work out for everyone….
She was about to leave the bedroom when her cell phone rang. Running to retrieve the phone from her purse, D.J. frowned at the name showing on her caller ID: the Oasis. What was that? The phone number had an unfamiliar area code.
She pressed the talk button. “D. J. Holden.”
“Ms. Holden? This is Loretta Mallory.”
Relief and adrenaline surged concurrently as D.J. hurried to close the bedroom door. She could hear the children playing in their rooms and had earlier left Max in the kitchen, working on the Italian meal he’d promised them. She assumed he was still there. “Loretta,” she breathed as the door clicked. “Boy, am I glad to hear from you! Gotta tell you, I was a little worried when I spoke to your housekeeper. She wouldn’t tell me a thing.”
“Janelle is well-trained to protect my privacy.” Loretta spoke with a lock-jawed stinginess that made nearly every sentence she uttered sound like it required exhausting effort. D.J. had thought she was used to the affectation, but this evening the older woman sounded more stiff-lipped than usual.
“I respect your privacy,” D.J. assured her politely, “but when I’m working on a case, I like to keep in touch with my clients. Even if they’re on vacation.” When Loretta chose not to respond, D.J. asked, “How long will you be gone?” She lowered her voice. “I have some information—quite a bit, actually—about your grandson. I think you’ll be very pleased. I’d like to give you the information in person.”
“Impossible. Tell me what you’ve got.”
“We can’t meet in person?”
“No, Ms. Holden. I’m recuperating. I had minor surgery.”
Recuperating. Loretta was recuperating? Then why all the secrecy regarding her location? If there was one thing that bugged the stuffing out of D.J., it was finding out that clients were lying or hiding important details. Quickly she put together the facts: ill matriarch is looking for estranged heir; ergo, matriarch could be very ill and trying to hide it.
D.J. didn’t have the patience right now to muck around. “Loretta, are you ill?” she asked baldly, unmindful of her client’s penchant for privacy. If D.J. was about to reunite Max with a dying grandma, she wanted to know it. She didn’t want to spring it on him.
“No, I am not ill,” the woman snapped as if the very word was offensive. “I am the picture of health, Ms. Holden. What information do you have for me?”
Hardball, eh? For dramatic effect, D.J. allowed a sizable pause. “Where are you, Loretta?”
D.J. knew she was pushing her luck. She still wanted the money from this gig, but now she wanted to protect Max, too. The more information she had about Loretta, the more information she could give Max when the time came. Now that she knew him, she didn’t want him to walk into a situation completely blind.
It took Loretta several long moments to decide how to answer. “Kindly remember that I am paying you, young woman,” she snapped imperiously, but just as D.J. thought she might have to back down, Loretta sighed noisily, indicating she was about to speak again. “I am the CEO of a company founded by my husband. I worked as hard as anyone to make the business a success. I sacrificed. Yet after my husband died, I had to fight for the right to remain part of a company that would not have existed without me. In some ways, it is still a man’s world…D.J.” This time she emphasized the unisex initials. “Working in the industry you do, I expect you to know that. What you have probably yet to realize, however, is that power in business also belongs to the young. I am seventy-one years old. To protect my position on the board, I should not appear older than fifty-five. I had liposuction.”
D.J. was momentarily stunned into silence. The way the conversation had been heading, she’d expected Loretta to say she’d had a facelift. But, “Liposuction?”
“Correct. I expect your discretion.”
Realizing she had pressured Mrs. Mallory into a disclosure that was, after all, none of her business, D.J. agreed swiftly. “You’ll have