Those Three Words: A Single Dad, Billionaire Boss Romance(6)

“Bye, Daddy.” She waves dismissively, her attention fully on showing Miss Silver her animal collection.

I close the door behind me and start back downstairs. It warms my heart that Eleanor is such a receptive little girl and that someone like Miss Silver can bring her the warmth and connection she needs.

Ever since her mom died when she was only six months old, I’ve struggled. I want to be engaged with her, to give her the kind of love and life she deserves and needs, but every time I look in her big, blue eyes, all I see is her mother, Meredith, and all the pain of that loss comes rushing back.

Some days it feels like just yesterday I was happy and fun-loving. I was ecstatic to be a father. I loved every second of Meredith’s pregnancy cravings and mood swings. I know that sounds crazy, but nothing made me happier than running to three stores at eleven at night to find the very specific brand of cracker she was craving.

We met when the telecommunications company I had founded, landed a contract with the hospital she was a director at. I was instantly drawn to her, moth to the flame and all that, but she wasn’t interested. She was focused on her career, had just gotten out of a toxic marriage, and was ready to dominate her thirties and travel the world. But I’m nothing if not persistent and after begging her for a first date that lasted a full twenty-six hours of just talking and sharing a bottle of wine, we both realized we were meant to be.

We were inseparable after that.

Nine months later we were married.

We enjoyed our time as newlyweds but after five years, we decided that our family of two was ready to be a family of three. Meredith got pregnant pretty easily, had no major complications, and was an instant natural at being a mother. She radiated pure joy and contentment.

Some of my favorite memories were those two and three a.m. feedings. She’d get Eleanor and come back to our bed and lean against me. We’d both sit there and just stare at our baby girl, gushing over how beautiful she was, who she looked like, how we both never thought love like this existed.

It was bliss… until two months later when Meredith’s postpartum symptoms became strange and unbearable. After several tests, a CT scan revealed a large tumor on one of her ovaries. The biopsy came back as cancerous and unfortunately, it had already spread to her uterus and her other ovary. They did an emergency hysterectomy but it was too late. Within three months she had wasted away to nothing and the doctors had said there was nothing they could do.

One month later, she took her final breath as I held her hand and sobbed.

I grab my phone and wallet and head outside to meet my driver Phil and head to my work event.

“Good evening, Mr. Hayes.”

“Evening, Phil,” I say, ducking into the car as Phil closes the door behind me.

I glance up at the house, seeing the light in Eleanor’s room still on, that image of Miss Silver at my feet dancing in my head, accompanied by her words, Did you only want me for the night? I shake the thoughts away just as quickly as they appear and attempt to make small talk with Phil to distract me.

“How are the kids, Phil? Gerald still pursuing biology at Northwestern?”

I stare out the window on the drive as Phil tells me about Gerald’s first year in college. I do my best to push any filthy ideas about seeing Miss Silver on her knees in front of me out of my head.

I’m forty-two; the last thing I need to do is get involved with a twenty-something-year-old, especially since she’s my nanny.

Even if it’s torturous to have her living in my house.

Even if she stirs a desire in me that’s been dormant for so long.

I refuse to be that cliché.





3





MARGOT





“The hands are the window to the dick.”

“What?” I furrow my brow at Shelly’s statement.

“Well, you know how they say the eyes are the window to the soul? My theory is that the hands are the window to a dude’s dick.” She says this very emphatically like it’s a validated scientific theorem.

“I thought they myth-busted that rumor about the distance between the thumb and forefinger or whatever having a correlation to size?”

“Oh no, I’m not talking about size.” She takes a bite of her panini as she continues to shake her head. She chews and swallows before finishing.

“I’m talking ability. Motion in the ocean, baby. I think if a man has nice manicured hands and knows how to subtly gesture with his hands, it directly correlates to his abilities in the bedroom. And don’t even get me started on hand placement, like softly touching your waist or the small of your back or your wrist. It’s enough to make me positively feral.”

I can’t help but laugh. Shelly and I hit it off the moment we met at the café I briefly worked at after getting fired. She’s the epitome of an extrovert and very confidently speaks her mind. We’re very much opposites of each other. She hates school, didn’t go to college, and is perfectly content living day to day with no plan, just rolling with life’s punches and having a blast.

She’s one of those laid-back cool girls. I wish I was more like her.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I roll my eyes.

“I grew up on Cosmo. My mom had like five hundred of them in her basement and I’d sneak down there and read them after my parents went to bed. Also, TikTok.” She smiles before taking another huge bite of her sandwich.