Bride for the Billionaire Single Dad – Kate Tilney

MAYA The driver pulls to a stop in front of one of Seattle’s most exclusive high-rise buildings. I angle my neck in an uncomfortably unnatural way. “Wow,” I breathe out. The driver—whose name, I’m sorry to say, I’ve already forgotten in the blur that has been today—chuckles. “It’s impressive, isn’t it?” “You said it.” As a lifelong resident of the Emerald City, I’ve seen this building countless times. Of course, that was usually from a distance. And it was absolutely never with the expectation that I would be moving into a room on the top level. But, that’s exactly what I’m here to do. After graduating with a degree in early childhood education and development, I recently signed on with a nannying agency. I spent the past six months filling in for other nannies while the agency evaluated my results. When they told me I’d been offered a full-time, permanent, live-in situation with billionaire Ethan Maxwell, I’d just about passed out. The man whose face has graced countless newspaper covers—and a number of gossip magazines—has a five-year-old daughter named Grace. His first wife infamously left them both a few years ago for the heir to the throne of some small European nation. And, from what the agency told me, they’ve gone through a string of nannies ever since.


“Is his daughter a tough cookie?” I’d asked my supervisor. “From all accounts, she’s sweet as he can be. He, on the other hand, is a tough customer.” Armed with that knowledge, I am determined to make a good first—and lasting— impression. I really want to make this assignment work. And not just because it’s my first full-time position, and I’m eager to please. Though, that’s true, too. No, a job like this would change my life. The salary alone would wipe my student loans and credit card debt clear in a year. At the same time, I’ll be able to help my parents. They’ve owned the bakery since before I was born. But with inflation—and the skyrocketing rents in Seattle—money is tight. Even if they won’t let me send them money outright, there’s no way they’d say no to my helping my little sisters pay for their own college educations. That would be life-changing for all of us. Grabbing a couple of my bags, I pull my shoulders back and stride inside.

The driver directs me to a private elevator and tells me he’ll bring up the rest of my luggage. I try to protest, but he insists he’s just doing his job. My stomach twists itself into knots as the elevator shoots up the building. My ears pop. That’s wild—my ears are popping like I’m on a ride instead of going home. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to that. When the doors open again, I’m greeted by a stately older gentleman in a crisp suit. “Welcome, ma’am.” He bows his head in greeting. “We have been expecting you.” “Please, call me Maya.” I offer him my hand, which he takes with a warm smile. “I’m Hendrichs, the butler. If there’s anything you need, just call and I will be happy to accommodate you.” First the driver and now this butler.

Ethan Maxwell certainly has good taste in his employees. I’ll definitely have a lot to live up to in working here. “Miss Grace is taking a nap,” he says as he leads me down a corridor. “I’ll show you to your room, but first, Mr. Maxwell wanted to meet you.” I nod and try my best not to gape as we walk through the oversized penthouse with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of Seattle. As I said, I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ve been to the top of the Space Needle. But I’ve never seen my city like this. The palatial penthouse is also decorated like it’s about to be photographed for Architectural Digest. In fairness, it has been featured in the magazine. One of my sisters sent me a link to the article when I told them about my job. But the photos don’t do it justice. Taking my bags, Hendrichs leaves me outside a door. “Just knock when you are ready, ma’am.

” “Maya,” I remind him. “Maya.” He gives me an encouraging grin and strides down the hallway with my bags. Taking a deep breath, I raise my hand to knock but pause. My underwire is digging into my boob. I bet it’s giving me a really weird bra line. Besides that, it’s uncomfortable. I don’t want to wriggle around in my chair uncomfortably like I’m a little kid. Checking over my shoulders to make sure the coast is clear, I dip my hand under the V of my neck to make the adjustment. My fingers have just reached the offending wire when the office door swings open. I freeze, hand down my shirt eyes wide as I come face to face with Ethan Maxwell. Taller than I imagined, his shoulders are broad and his tailor-made suit clings to his lean muscles. His jawline is hard enough to cut through diamond. He also has the most captivating pair of rich, dark brown eyes. There’s interest and intrigue in them.

And, if I’m not mistaken, there’s some humor as well that seems to sparkle. “You’re the new nanny, I believe.” His lips twitch. “Is everything okay?” “Of course,” I nod so enthusiastically, I’ll probably have a headache later. He clears his throat and lowers his stare briefly to my chest. I follow his gaze and gasp. Oh my God. Here I am in the presence of one of the most illustrious—and sexiest— billionaires in the world. Not to mention, my new boss. And I’m standing here with my hand down my shirt. Oh, this can’t be a good start. TWO ETHAN “I don’t need your help finding a date to the gala,” I say to my mother, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m not there to socialize. I’m there to give a check and to leave.” “But these events could be so much more,” she says over the phone.

“Agatha has been gone for three years now. You can’t keep shutting out the world forever.” “I’m not shutting out the world.” I’m the CEO and chairman of the board of a thriving company. I spend most of my life schmoozing people. “You’re just trying to shut out my world.” I sigh. There’s no point in having this conversation with her. A society woman through and through, my mother won’t be happy until she sees me settled. Presumably with someone whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower or whose father invented the Toaster Strudel. Been there. Done that. And now my sweet little girl is growing up without a mother because the woman I’d foolishly married—on my mother’s recommendation—hadn’t been satisfied with a mere billionaire. I imagine it’ll be quite a shock to her when she one day discovers that while she may one day be queen, her husband’s royal coffers aren’t nearly as full as mine. You reap what you sow.

Still, I can’t completely hate my ex. After all, she did give me the best thing in my life: Grace. I only wish she hadn’t hurt our daughter so much by disappearing from her life. I should probably marry the next normal woman I meet to give her a mother. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. There’s a ding, and I check my messages to find that the new nanny has arrived. I have a good feeling about this one. After a string of disappointments, I hope I’m right about this one. She is a bit green, but she’s had sterling reviews in her employment so far. Plus, after taking a look at her financial records, I can see she really needs this job. That probably sounds crass. But in my experience, I’ve found that some of my best employees are the ones who are most grateful for a good salary complete with benefits. I wish I could say the same for my fellow billionaires. “Mother, I have to cut this short,” I say before she can whine some more. “The new nanny is here, and I need to meet her.

” “Oh, I wish you’d let me find a proper nanny for you,” Mother says. “We should probably bring someone from England. They have the best nannies. Or maybe someone from Austria.” “I think you’ve watched the Sound of Music a few too many times.” I sigh. “Look, Mother, I need you to let me live my life. I’ve done pretty well for myself in business without your interference.”

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Updated: 15 September 2021 — 03:12

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