Those Three Words: A Single Dad, Billionaire Boss Romance(3)

“Holy shit!” I yelp as I hop up off the couch. I can’t hold back the smile as my heart thuds wildly in my chest. I am literally a perfect candidate for this job, and they want someone who can start ASAP.

I open my email and copy the address. I attach my resume and spend the next thirty minutes crafting a perfectly worded cover letter and link to my LinkedIn profile. I hold my breath, hit send, and flop back against the couch.

Finally, a glimmer of hope.





“And you have a degree in education?” Miss Perry, a willowy woman with a perfectly tight bun and beige skirt suit, reads over my resume. Her short-clipped nails are the softest shade of pink and her skin is smooth and shiny, like she’s been freshly Botoxed.

“Yes, a double degree actually in music education as well as early childhood education.”

I squeeze my fingers together in my lap, trying to calm my nerves.

“I see and your last job ended because?” She peers precariously over the glasses that are perched on her nose.

“Budget cuts unfortunately. I was there for three years but the funding for the music program wasn’t renewed so… here I am.” I plaster a nervous smile on my face as she returns her gaze back to the paper in her hands.

“Oh, and I brought a letter of recommendation from the school I just taught at.” I reach into my bag and produce the document, handing it to her.

I resist the urge to recite my resume for her. I want to explain why I’m perfect for this position, but something about how uptight she is makes me lose my nerve. Not to mention the sheer monstrosity of a house that I drove up to, complete with a massive wrought iron gate. I had no idea places even existed like this in the Chicago suburbs.

“Great.” She gives a tight-lipped smile and places the resume on the desk in front of her, along with the letter. “We’ll call you.” She stands and juts her hand out to me.

“Okay.” I shake her hand. “Thanks again so much for taking the time to interview me. I’ll be anxiously waiting to hear from you.”

She walks me to the front door in silence, only the clicking of her heels on the marble floor echoing around us.

“Oh, and just so you know, my schedule is completely open. I have no obligations so if I got the job, I’d be fully committed.” She stares at me blankly, her hand resting on the front door handle. “What I mean is no husband or kids or pets or anything. Not even a boyfriend,” I say around a chuckle.

“Bye now,” she says and I take the hint, stepping through the front door, and it closes behind me.





One full week and nothing.

No callback.

No email.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and double-check the ringer is on. I also make sure I don’t have any missed calls or texts. I’ve left two voicemails and a follow-up email. I know I sound desperate, but I am desperate. I’m on my last month’s rent and I have a total of $122 to my name.

A fleeting thought pops through my head. Maybe now is the time to reach out to Warren Dorsey. He’s a billionaire several times over. I push the thought from my head as quickly as it enters.

“Still nothing?” Shelly, my coworker at the local café I managed to snag a barista job at, asks.

“Nope.” I sigh, putting my phone back into my apron.

“Dammit, that sucks,” she says as she hops off the counter and removes her apron.

I’m grateful for the cash tips we split each day at this place but it’s still minimum wage and I won’t get my first paycheck for another week.

I walk over to the neon open sign in the window and turn it off before locking the door. Because we’re a café, we open early so I’ve been able to work a twelve-hour shift every day this week—four a.m. to four p.m.

“Have a great night, Shelly.” I wave as we both walk our separate ways.

My phone rings and I jump, then dig my hand into my pocket and pull it out. I don’t recognize the number but as someone who has just applied to dozens of jobs, I know it could be a possible employer.

“Hello, this is Margot.”

“Miss Silver?” A deep, syrupy voice says my name on the other end.

“Yes, this is Margot Silver.” I try to sound chipper and upbeat, as if that will help them determine if they want to hire me.

“This is Graham Hayes,” the man’s voice says. “The nanny position.”

“Oh!” I say, surprised. Who is this calling me? It’s certainly not Miss Uptight Perry. “Yes, how can I help you, Mr. Hayes?”

He clears his throat before speaking again, his voice doing weird things to my insides.

“I realize this is very unorthodox, but I’m kind of in a bind here. My housekeeper, Fiona Perry, who you interviewed with, is on vacation and didn’t hire anyone yet. I found your resume in a pile and thought maybe you could help me?”

“Yeah, absolutely. What can I do for you?”

“I need a nanny to start right away.”

“Okay, like how soon?”

“Tonight. Right now, actually. I’ll pay cash.”

I don’t think twice. I accept the job, jump in my car, and rush to the Hayes’ residence. I’m once again reminded just how imposing his residence is when I ring the buzzer at the front gate that is adorned with a massive H, for Hayes I assume.