9. Lila

9

LILA

A fter I'd safely tucked Jamie into bed for the night, making sure to pepper his little blonde head with plenty of kisses for his benefit as well as mine, it was time to head home and debrief my nosy roommates about this whole dual-nannying gig. I took some time to make sure Jamie was out like a light before I left him in his room, relishing the sight of his sweet face so peaceful in sleep. Then I grabbed the baby monitor and went down the hall to knock on Mr. Pierce's office door.

I was almost too nervous to rap my knuckles across the smooth, black surface of his door when I was standing in front of it, though. Maybe I had a little bit of trauma left over from Reggie Mayhew's icky dad. But Aaron Pierce had his own significant amount of intimidation factor to contend with, too. Still, I made sure to tap hard enough to make my presence known, and he responded with an immediate, slightly muffled, "Come in," from the other side.

His office was as perfectly suave and brooding as he was. Dark walls and flooring, sleek modern furniture, pops of red in the decor to balance out the black and further highlight how delicious he looked in that burgundy suit. Well, actually, he'd shed the jacket at this point. I spotted it hanging on the back of his leather desk chair, and his thick forearms were exposed as he typed away on his sleek gunmetal-gray computer, his black shirt sleeves rolled up. He'd undone a button or two at his throat as well, and I tried not to immediately home in on the visible smattering of hair on his chest, the silver strands mixed in with near-black. A twisted part of my brain wondered if those hairs would be silky soft or coarse. An even more unhinged part of me wanted to slide my hand down his shirt and find out.

Though he'd told me to come in, Mr. Pierce took a long moment to pull his eyes away from his work and acknowledge my presence. In fact, he didn't look at me until I strode forward and placed the baby monitor on the edge of his desk. He raised his eyebrows. "Can I help you, Miss Dawson?"

"I was just letting you know that I'm leaving for the night," I explained. "Jaime's asleep pretty hard, but just in case he wakes up, you have the baby monitor."

He blinked at me. "And what am I supposed to do with that?"

It was almost funny hearing such a competent man not understand something so simple. But I knew if I even tried to laugh at him, I'd be fired in an instant. So instead, I explained, "You just listen in case he wakes up and starts fussing. Like I said, he should be okay until the morning. At this age, he's probably sleeping through the night most of the time. But if he wakes up and gets cranky, he probably just needs to be held for a little while. Easy peasy."

Even through his impassive expression, I could sense his hesitation, almost panic. Maybe he had expected a live-in nanny too, and all rich guys were just awful at communicating their expectations. Or else he just hadn't considered the fact that I needed to go home and sleep at night, leaving him alone with his nephew for eight hours or so.

"We might have to come up with some sort of living situation for you here to avoid this in the future," he said in a tone that was almost breezy for him. "I don't have time to focus on… fussing."

Oh, gosh. I wasn't looking forward to having to figure out how to reject an offer of free housing a second time, nor did I love the idea of splitting my time, even while unconscious, between the homes of two billionaires who didn't seem to like me much. Although I couldn't deny the fact that the prospect of seeing Aaron Pierce in his pajamas was alluring. Even just the sight of his forearms had me borderline foaming at the mouth, though, so I probably couldn't handle it if he walked around shirtless in expensive boxer-briefs.

"Well, uh, good luck with that," I said lamely. I cleared my throat, shifting on my feet. "I, uh, am out of here for the evening."

"I'll see you for your next shift," he said, his voice unfairly low and sultry, his eyes boring into mine.

"See ya," I squeaked on my way out.

It took me the full subway ride back to my walk-up apartment to shake the warm, prickly feeling Aaron Pierce's gaze had spread over my skin. But all semblance of lust was eliminated when I walked into the living room to see Gina and Christine contorted around one another in the center of our discount area rug like some kind of Eldritch horror. It took me a long second of confusion and one key glance at the pushed-aside coffee table, where sat a familiar white board game box, to realize they were playing Twister.

"Um. Hi?" I said as I stared at the weird demonic pretzel shape, searching for my two best friends' faces among all those twisted limbs. They immediately collapsed in their attempt to jump apart, letting out a near-unison "Lila!" shriek and scrambling up to come hug me.

"Oh my God, " Gina groaned as she hugged me tight. "We haven't seen you in forever!"

I laughed. "It's been a few days, tops."

"Exactly," Christine agreed. "For-fucking-ever."

"In the words of that fine-ass werewolf boy from Twilight, where the hell have you been, loca ?" Gina piped back in.

As crazy and borderline-codependent as they were, I adored Gina and Christine both and had since we'd all met in college. Back then, I'd been a naive little nerd who likely would have been friendless and alone if two extroverts hadn't taken me under their shared wing. I was baffled that they'd even decided to talk to little old me at the freshman mixer I'd mustered up the courage to attend by myself. Gina was the perfect Italian-American princess, her silken dark hair rocking a permanent blow-out and her caramel-brown eyes "lashed to the gods," as Christine liked to say. She even had the model height I lacked to complete that supermodel picture, though of course, she'd been blessed with more curves than you'd see on any runway. Men flocked to her, even back then.

Christine, on the other hand, was a different, more unassuming kind of pretty—at least at first glance. She was no less appealing to the male species, though, with brown skin that glowed in the sun and a strong, athletic frame. Because she was a sporty type, she wore her thick, wavy black hair in a ponytail most days and dressed down in jeans or plain athleisure, whereas Gina liked to rock full-glam just to run to the bodega. It just made Christine seem more approachable somehow, though. Both of my roommates had guys over more often than my poor virgin ears could handle.

"What do you mean, where have I been? Working my two jobs. You guys are the ones who've been busy having actual social lives while I've been the most in-demand nanny in New York City." I tried not to sound too bitter about that, but it was hard when I knew my friends were always off galivanting with cute guys while I was changing diapers.

"As you should be," said Gina, nodding. "You're damn good at your job and adorable to boot. What single DILF wouldn't want you around to watch his kids?"

"Oof, too soon. Remember Mr. May- ew. " Christine winced at the same time as I wrinkled my nose.

"Okay, he was gross, but it kinda proves my point, don't you think?"

"Tell us about the new gigs," Christine pivoted, pulling me by my hands to sit on our thrifted velvet sofa with her. Gina tumbled onto the cushion beside us. "Do the kids love you already?"

"Maybe," I said. "But I am definitely obsessed with both of them."

I gave my friends a brief rundown of my first days at the Kramer and Pierce households, making sure to emphasize how adorable Olivia and Jamie were before I let myself complain about their not-so-cuddly father figures. Maybe I was worried Karma would come to get me if I complained too much about these objectively great jobs that had fallen into my lap, but I also just preferred to keep things positive whenever possible. It was a lot easier without no-fun Miles Kramer and grumpy Aaron Pierce around to rain on my parade.

"It's just been… a lot trying to juggle working for both of them," I admitted after Christine and Gina both encouraged me to "let it out". They were frequent passengers on the complain train, and I had to admit it could be cathartic sometimes, especially when we ate ice cream and complained about men with a rom-com playing on the TV. "I was worried that I'd have to quit, but I guess Mr. Pierce really wanted to keep me, because he suggested I start watching both kids together. So now, I have to reach out to Felipe and ask him to mediate that between his two less-pleasant colleagues."

I rolled my eyes to really sell my exasperated act, even though I knew that wouldn't stop my friends' Spidey senses from tingling when I brought up Felipe. It was hard to even mention him without turning into a starry-eyed idiot, and of all the people on earth, the two women in front of me were especially attuned to any topic relating to me and men. When I'd confessed to them that I was still a virgin on a drunken slumber party night back in college, they'd made it their personal mission to try and get me laid.

"Ooh, Felipe, " both of them seemed to sing in unison, grinning mischievously. Then Gina asked, "So, are you gonna sext him or what?"

"What? No!" I sputtered. "It's a business thing. I wouldn't know how to even start… that. "

"It's easy! Here," Christine said, and my adrenaline spiked when she snatched my cell phone out of my hand. Gina squealed with excitement, and I let out a panicked half-yell, and soon, we were playing the least-fun game of monkey in the middle to ever exist. Both of my taller roommates were keeping my phone away from me as my short and stout frame tried desperately to reach for it, and no matter how I tried to plead with them to give it back, they insisted they were helping me out.

"We've got to flirt with him at least a little on your behalf! It's for the greater good!" Gina told me.

"Yeah, the greater good of you falling in love and getting some hot billionaire D," Christine agreed, and even through my panic, I laughed with them at that. Tired of the game, Gina finally grabbed the phone from her accomplice and ran off to her bedroom, locking the door behind her so I couldn't get in.

"Gina, you'd better not send him anything dirty," I called through the door.

"I'm not sending him a picture of my tits, if that's what you're implying!"

"Do you have a picture of Lila's tits in there somewhere?" Christine asked, and I let out an indignant noise.

"No, no, don't worry, girly! I would never leak your nudes, even if you had them, which I doubt."

She wasn't wrong, but I still felt a little like a sulking child to know I'd been made so easily.

"Ooh, just tell him you've got an important question to ask him and send a winky face!" Christine suggested through the door. "That'll get him. Men are so easy."

"Good idea!" Gina said.

"Terrible idea!" I cried. "Please, get out of there. If you'll just give me my phone back, you guys can help me write the text and I'll try to take your advice a little."

Gina's head popped out of the door in seconds. "Really?" she asked with narrowed eyes. Christine looked at me with just as much skepticism.

"Yes, really," I sighed. "I'll still make it professional! But… I don't know. I would like to see him again. Maybe we can… let him know that."

Their squeals almost broke the sound barrier.

After what felt like an hour of crafting a "perfect" risky text—an oxymoron in my book, but I knew I needed to take risks sometimes if I wanted the kind of man-shaped rewards my roommates always had—I was faced with a message that might actually work. Two birds, one digital stone.

The text in question read:

Hey, Felipe! Hope you're doing well since we had lunch together :) Mr. Pierce wants to know if we could work out some arrangement where I could nanny both kiddos at once, but he's not sure whether Miles would be on board. If you could talk to him for us, I'd be so happy! In fact, there might be a little reward in it for you. ;) It'd be so good to see you again. xx

Christine insisted on the double kiss ending. Gina insisted on the winky face. I insisted there was no way I could send a message as overtly flirtatious as that, but then Gina was reaching over and pressing the Send button herself, and the deed was done. Whether I liked it or not, I'd just sent a risky text to Felipe Rojas.

I really had no business trying to flirt with someone like Felipe—gorgeous, filthy rich, and otherwise completely perfect. He could easily land a much more perfect woman, surely. A swimsuit model or a humanitarian or the heiress to some other great fortune would make more sense with him. Not some twenty-two-year-old virgin with society-induced body image issues and romantic notions of princes and castles and dragons. But then again, the way he'd looked at me made me feel like the most special person on Planet Earth, smiled with the force of a thousand suns… There was a possibility I wasn't overestimating myself at all. Of course, I was terrified that he'd respond poorly. But the bigger worry in my mind was a double-edged sword. What on Earth would I do if my friend-induced flirting actually worked?