Mr. Hot Grinch (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss 3)

“Jesus, Sam, that’s rude.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “I know. Sorry. Would it be better if I said you should go in looking like a boss bitch and not a basic bitch?”

“No! For the love of peanut butter and jam!” We weren’t allowed to swear in boarding school, and blaspheming was even worse, so those are our old go-to.

Hearing it just makes Sam laugh even harder.CHAPTER 3LukeThis is a stupid plan. And not just the nanny bit. All of it.

I’m letting a stranger into my house. Never mind that I do know who she is because I’m computer literate, and I’m able to do a basic background search by putting her name into a few places. Never mind that I have Samantha’s recommendation. Ostensibly. Never mind that I do want my son to have someone there for him, especially because the past two years have been the worst kind of shit show. Never mind, never mind. Never mind that I need to do this because I’m out of other options.

I’m just worried about Shade. Worried he’ll get attached the way he does with the other nannies, and it will all go to shit.

Worried that our home is going to be thrown into chaos again.

Worried that after everything, this is just one more thing neither of us needs.

I guess, for the time being, I have to stuff my worries in a sack—that was my mom’s favorite saying—and get on with it because I really don’t have any other choice. I need a nanny, and Shade needs someone who is soft and compassionate to fill the void of not having a mother. I can be a lot of things, but being a mother is off the table. I just don’t know how to be one. Elizabeth Hardington needs to figure some things out. Hopefully, it will be a win-win, right?

Fuck. This is the worst plan in the history of worst plans.

I have zero time to worry about that, though, because the doorbell chimes, and I know she’s here. I know because I’m standing in the kitchen, and I have a security camera installed at the door. I can see her. I take a few seconds to observe the screen. She looks different from the odd photo I could find of her online. Her family is fairly private and is hardly ever in the media. While her father can easily be searched, it’s hard to find pictures of his daughter.

Elizabeth is not what I’d call beautiful in the Hollywood sense. Maybe in any sense. Or maybe I’m just a shitty judge because I haven’t looked at another woman since I met Brittany, and I have zero desire to do so now, even though she’s been gone for over two years.

I stalk through the house, trying to work off all the negative energy so that I don’t look like a monster when I open the door. Apparently, it doesn’t exactly work because the first thing Elizabeth does is shrink back.

“Whoa,” she whispers.

“Whoa,” I echo because I’m an asshole.

Elizabeth swallows so loudly that it’s quite obvious she’s nervous. Her hands clasp in front of her, and she’s wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and canvas shoes. Very hipster of her. I wonder if she’s into playing the bad-ass rich girl who does whatever she wants and gives her middle finger to the world or if this is just how she normally dresses. She has a huge black duffel bag looped over her shoulder and a designer purse hanging off the crook of her arm.

I suppose, up close, she’s actually passably pretty. She has long hair that tumbles over her shoulders and down her back. It’s dyed this strange ash blonde color that sets off her light green eyes, bow mouth, high cheekbones, and pale skin. How anyone can be pale in Florida is a mystery to me. Clearly, Elizabeth isn’t the outdoor type. She’s quite petite. She’s on the thin side, but her shirt and those tight jeans do outline some stunning curves. And she’s average height, around five-six.

Once I’m done with my body scan and overt scrutiny, which I know is ridiculously rude, I clear my throat. “So. Elizabeth.”

She winces. She probably doesn’t want me to know who she is. She gives me this no-nonsense, I’m not about to answer questions about my family, background, life, or myself if it doesn’t pertain to the job look she’s probably perfected for the media over the years. Maybe everyone else too. Her chin tilts defiantly, and her eyes flash.

I’m slightly surprised to find I’d describe her as adorable when she tries to be tough. It’s obvious she has some sass because running away from home, leaving everything behind, even if it is temporary—yes, I have all the details from a few phone calls—takes guts.

“Are you going to let me in, or should I call Sam to come and pick me up?”