The Billionaire's Nanny

But I do. “A lot. I hate it. My boss is an asshole, the firm is sleazy. Our clients are scuzz balls. I don’t sleep well and it’s embarrassing to tell people what I do. My only good friend is Andrea because I don’t trust the other people in my firm and that’s who I see for 60 hours a week.” I actually feel tears spring to my eyes. I never cry. I also never really let myself think about this stuff. I blink them away. “But it’s a job people would kill for. Maybe literally. And it pays the bills. I tell myself it’s temporary, but I wonder how many people grow old in a job they hate that they thought was temporary?”

Tyler reaches across the table to take my hand. “A lot of them. But you don’t have to. You’re young, you live in the lawyer capitol of the world. Do you think you’d stay in law?”

“Yeah. Probably? I don’t know. It’s what I know how to do. It’s what I spent 130 thousand dollars learning to do.” I sniff and smile at him. “I think I can cross professional surf god off my career list.”

“Are you kidding? A gorgeous black woman that surfs? You’d be like a unicorn. A few more lessons and you’re in the big time.” He grins at me.

“I don’t want your Affirmative Action charity. Or to make my living almost drowning. At least I get to breathe air in a law firm.”

“It’s not all sulfur and brimstone then?”

“Only in the partners’ offices.” I glance at the menu. “So, what do we eat?”

Tyler waves the waitress over and orders Kerry Kerry and Keshi Yena.

“So…what will those be?”

“Wait and see,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “So you were going to tell me where your friend has gone?”

“Ah, right. Andrea. Well, I brought her here hoping to help her forget a man she thought was cheating on her, but it turned out he wasn’t and he came down here and bought a boat and rescued her from a terrible date and took her away to his house on Bonaire. You know, as you do.”

“Uh, wow!”

“I know, right? Billionaires, who needs ’em?” I drained my wine glass and set it down for more.

Tyler

What the hell is this?

I’ve known this girl what, five hours? six? and I can barely focus on her words. And not because I’m busy thinking about how to get her into bed–did that, thanks, and it was great–but because my brain has turned to mush. It’s like all I can do is look at her in the candlelight and think, “Girl pretty.”

I feel like I hit a time warp, and I’m sixteen year old me, stunned that a girl is even talking to me, unable to think of what to say back. Only I’m 35 now and that computer obsession that made me a social reject in high school has made me a billionaire.

I summon the analytical part of my brain. Kiera is attractive, yes–big brown eyes with a keen intellect behind them, a smile that suggests she’s up to no good, killer bod that she knows just how to use…but I’ve been able to have my pick of hot girls for quite a while now. I even get smart hot girls. Even smart, hot, rich girls. But it’s almost chemical…I’m just…she’s…Girl pretty.

I pour more wine into her empty glass, but only half way. At least until we get some food. Focus on her words. Ah right, friend ran off with a rich dude.

“Who is he?” I ask. I’d come to the island for a high stakes poker tournament. Aruba was thick with billionaires at the moment.

“Walker Alexander. Tiny Tina Snack Cakes? And she’s this health food nut!” Kiera takes another sip. Those lips, perfectly soft. “She seems happy, though. He seems nice.”

“A nice rich guy, go figure.” I smile, hoping to get a gauge of how she really feels.

She gives a little shrug. I imagine that in her job, she doesn’t see the best of humanity. And while it’s totally legit that you’d get down on the One Percent if your job introduces you to the high class criminal element, I don’t want to mislead her. I don’t need this to turn into some sitcom “she doesn’t know he’s rich” scenario.

“Since you’ve been so honest with me, I’ll admit that I’m actually pretty rich.” I try to give my most winning smile, but really there’s no way to say that that doesn’t make you sound like a total douche.

She looks genuinely surprised. Was I giving off “hobo” to her?

“Oh yeah?” she asks, “so those good investments were really good,huh? It’s not a trust fund keeping you going?”

“Hardly. I’m one of those assholes that sold an app to Google for way more than it was worth. You know, one of those dweebs that used to get beat up in high school but now hires jocks for minimum wage to go find us the last Star Wars figurine we need for our collection.” Only the first part of that is true, but I’ve found self-deprecation to be disarming in such situations. Okay, maybe I was kind of a dweeb.

Kiera cocks her head at me and grins. The candlelight makes her skin seem to glow. Girl pretty. “I don’t believe you. I mean, I believe you may have made an app and sold it, but you just aren’t the figurine type.”

“Busted. No, I was a skate rat, but not the cool kind the bad girls wanted to date. More the emo kid super into Weezer.”

Kiera laughs out loud, actually thumping the table.

"Not that funny," I mumble. “Weezer’s awesome.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she says, “No. No they aren’t. But that’s okay, I liked some terrible bands, too.”

Her eyes are shining with mirth. Makes it easier to forgive her slighting Weezer. “Oh yeah, like what?”

She clears her throat and looks around the room as if making sure no one is listening. “I happen to own a Britney Spears poster. For real. Present tense. In my old bedroom at my folks’ house, sure, but I still have it.”

“And you dare make fun of me? Hmpf.”

“Just tell me one thing, Tyler. Did you wear eyeliner?”

“No, but I wanted to. I wouldn’t have been allowed.”

She cocks an eyebrow at me. “A rebel like you?”

I sigh. I guess it’s about to get heavy. Either that or a quick change of subject. What the hell. Get it out of the way. “I grew up in foster care, so, you know, breaking the rules could mean getting booted out.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” Her hand has gone to her mouth and the mischief has left her eyes. I swear, dropping the foster care bomb is like saying you have cancer.

“No, it’s fine, Kiera, really. I wasn’t abused or anything. It’s just that you grow up without that un

conditional love a lot of times. So I was always aware of just how far I could push things without going too far. It wasn’t a storybook childhood, but it wasn’t Stephen King, either.”

“Ugh, I do this all the time, stick my foot in my mouth! And I asked you about a trust fund!” She’s still horrified. I need to lighten it up.

“Look, it made me who I am. I got to go to college for free because I had good grades and no money. I worked part time so I could stay in San Francisco since I had no real home. And that work gave me the skills to develop the app that made me a pile of cash. It all worked out okay. Honest.” I smile at her and take her hand. She smiles back, but it’s a sad smile.

Before I try to launch into a comedy routine to see her laugh again, the waitress arrives with the food. I see the look on Kiera’s face and say, “It’s delicious, I swear!”

That brings back a genuine grin. "It has to taste better than it looks," she says.

The waitress laughs. “It’s not fancy food, just good food that stays with you. Kerry Kerry and Keshi Yena chicken.” She sets them down and heads off after we assure her we don’t need anything more.

I serve some of each onto Kiera’s plate and she digs right in–always a good sign.

"Oh, this is good. Which one is this?"

“That’s the Keshi Yena. It’s like a wheel of cheese baked with chicken and pickles inside.”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before you ordered. That sounds revolting. But it’s good! So what’s the Kerry one?”

“Shark meat in a cream sauce of some sort.”

Kiera’s head comes up and she gives me the side eye. She spears a tiny piece and tastes it gingerly. “Huh. That’s good too. Mild. I never had shark before.”

“Surfers love to eat sharks. Fuck those guys.”

“And as a corporate attorney, I feel a little like a traitor.”

“If they find out you’ve developed a taste for flesh, they won’t let you come back.”

Kiera sighs, just a little. “Yeah, poor me.”

“Don’t,” I say impulsively, “Don’t go back. Come with me. I’m going to sail back to my place in Peru. Peak surf season is coming, it’s gorgeous.”