The Billionaire's Nanny. Melissa McClone
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to help, but needing to do something. “Emma.”
She raised her left hand, an almost imperceptible movement he took to mean “not now.” He didn’t blame her, but sitting here unable to do anything brought back a dreaded sense of helplessness, of uselessness. He remembered being out on the water with his father during a storm. More than once AJ figured they would have to abandon ship. More than once he thought they would die. More than once he vowed to do something different with his life if they survived.
You’ll never amount to anything if you leave Haley’s Bay.
His father’s words pounded through AJ’s head like high tide against the harbor rocks. He’d spent the past ten years proving his dad wrong. In spades.
Except AJ’s private jet, fifteen-hundred employees and a net worth of eleven billion were irrelevant at the moment. None of those things could help Emma.
Her greenish complexion worsened. Her white-knuckled fingers, clutching the barf bag, trembled.
The plane continued climbing. If he unbuckled, he might end up on top of Emma. Better to wait until the plane leveled.
The least he could do was give her privacy. Not easy in this confined space, but he glanced out the window.
Tendrils of fluffy white clouds floated in the blue sky. A good day for flying, unless you suffered airsickness.
A moan filled the cabin.
The cat’s stop-they’re-torturing-me cry irritated AJ. Who was he kidding? Everything about felines, especially how much bandwidth people wasted posting “cute” cat pictures on the internet, bugged him. He wanted the cat to be a distraction when they reached Haley’s Bay, not during the flight. AJ drummed his fingers against the armrest.
Emma’s retching stopped. The cat kept howling. He suppressed a groan.
AJ wanted to start his day over. Nothing about his trip was turning out as expected. He wanted to make a triumphant return to Haley’s Bay. He wanted everything to go smoothly during his five-day stay. He wanted Libby with her anal-retentive organizing skills accompanying him, not some...nanny. He’d joked with Emma to see her response and glimpse her social skills.
What in the world was he going to do with an uptight, vomiting Mary Poppins? Libby had warned him about Emma’s problem with flying. If he’d known her issue involved bodily fluids, he would have asked his chauffeur Charlie to drive Emma to Haley’s Bay instead. A car ride would have been easier on her, on AJ, on the annoying cat.
He flexed his fingers. Libby’s brain must have been foggy after her appendectomy. He didn’t understand why she thought her best friend was the perfect person to take her place. Emma might be good with kids. She hadn’t been bad at bantering. But she didn’t seem up for the rigors of the job. Or his family.
Something clicked. The sound came from Emma’s direction. He glanced her way.
She held on to the barf bag with one hand and a wipe with the other. Her hands shook. Her face looked deathly white.
AJ’s chest tightened. He needed to do something. “I’ll call Camille.”
“I’m fine.” Emma’s words sounded strangled. She stared at her lap.
“You need help.”
She gave a slight shake of her head, washed her face, then tossed the wipe into the barf bag. “I’m doing better.”
Emma removed another wipe from her bag and cleaned her hands. No hesitation, no wasted movement, no hunching her shoulders trying to disappear.
“You’re doing great under the circumstances,” he said.
Her self-sufficiency and resiliency intrigued AJ. She was no damsel in distress waiting to be rescued by a handsome prince. Not that he was a prince. More like a black knight or the devil himself, according to his father. “But please let Camille assist you. That’s her job.”
“My job is to assist you, not cause anyone extra work.”
AJ studied the woman. Emma Markwell was not unattractive, in spite of her pallor. He would call her...unfinished, an artist’s sketch on a piece of canvas waiting to be painted. Her braided hair accentuated her heart-shaped face and clear complexion. Smart-girl glasses hid a pair of wide-set bluish-gray eyes and rested on a straight, pert nose. Tight lines hovered at the corner of her full lips.
Of course they did. She’d thrown up breakfast. But the way she handled herself impressed him. AJ had judged her too quickly and she was earning his respect now. He’d gotten seasick on a boat when he was younger and not handled himself nearly as well. Maybe she was up for the job.
A woman who dressed practically would be a refreshing change from stilettos and tight pencil skirts. The nanny was pretty. If Emma unbraided her brown hair and wore makeup to highlight her cheekbones and lips, she could be beautiful. She lacked the sophistication and worldliness of most women he knew, but a nanny didn’t need to dress to impress and show off flawless beauty. He imagined that Emma’s fresh young face and prim appearance earned her more jobs than looking like a sexy supermodel. She might not be a high-flying businesswoman, actress or socialite, but she reminded him of the women in his family—down-to-earth, practical, strong. So far she’d been less nosy than his grandmother, mom or sisters. He hoped Emma’s lack of interest in his personal life continued.
She tucked another wipe into the airsickness bag, folded the ends, then secured the flap with wired tabs.
Competent and capable. Resilient with an underlying toughness. Those traits would serve her well.
He wondered if she’d been disappointed by someone she loved. Perhaps someone she’d trusted had failed her. AJ’s skill at assessing staff had been key to his success, and he understood her qualities from his own experience. Setbacks made you stronger, if you didn’t allow them to win. And he knew how to help her. By putting what she needed within reach.
“It’s obvious you’re fine, but is there anything Camille can bring you? A glass of water? Ginger ale?”
Pink tinged Emma’s cheeks, the blush bringing much-needed color to her face. “No, thanks. The plane’s no longer climbing. I’m going to go to the lavatory and put myself back together.”
She sounded confident, but she hadn’t looked him in the eye since being sick. She might not be as in control as she appeared. “The bathroom is at the front of the jet.”
Emma’s gaze met his. Her vulnerability would have knocked him flat on his ass if he were standing. She was twenty-six, the same age as Libby, but Emma looked younger, like a naive college freshman away from home for the first time.
A protective instinct welled inside him. “Em...”
“Thank you, Mr. Cole.”
Her polite tone jerked him back to reality. She didn’t want pity. But he wasn’t offering that.
She unbuckled her seat belt. He did the same. “Don’t feel bad. Libby warned me you didn’t like flying. I’m assuming she spoke with Camille about adding airsickness bags to the seats.”
“I appreciate Libby’s foresight. She’s a good friend who knows me well. I’ll do my best to fill her shoes. In spite of the past few minutes, I’m up to the task.” Emma stood. She placed the strap of her large purse over her shoulder and held on to the barf bag. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
AJ jumped to his feet. She walked past him toward the front of the plane. His gaze followed, zeroing in on the sway of her hips and the purse bouncing against her thigh. Nice. Feminine. Sexy.
Whoa. What was he thinking? He didn’t want anything to do with Emma except to comfort and reassure her. He considered employees assets, efficient resources, not playthings. Besides, she reminded him of the girls back in Haley’s Bay, rather than the glamorous women he dated in Seattle, San Francisco or wherever else he might be working. The next-door neighbor types weren’t the kind of women he was attracted to now. Not