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And yet, I can’t focus on a damn thing.
I stand with Phillip Langford and his wife, Abigail, making polite conversation while my eyes keep darting across the room, tracking flashes of blue and gold as Annie moves through the crowd. It’s not intentional—at least, that’s what I tell myself. But ever since I laid eyes on her in that damn dress, my brain refuses to cooperate.
“You’ve outdone yourself this year, Cole,” Philip says, swirling the bourbon in his glass.
He’s been an acquaintance for years, an old-money investor with a keen business mind and a taste for the finer things in life. “It seems your guest list gets more impressive every year.”
“Necessary evil,” I reply, sipping my own drink. “Keeps the right people happy.”
Abigail, a statuesque woman with a sharp eye for fashion and a sharper tongue, smiles as she glances around.
“Well, I’d say everyone is quite happy.” She gestures toward a small group laughing by the bar. “Though I must say, I was shocked to see you with such a radiant companion earlier.” Her gaze flicks back to me, curious. “Not your usual type.”
Philip chuckles, clearly amused. “Yes, the young woman in blue—who is she?”
Before I can answer, I see her approaching.
Annie.
She moves effortlessly through the crowd, her dress flowing around her with each step, looking every bit as poised and elegant as any socialite in the room.
But there’s something different about her—something real. A warmth that the other guests don’t quite have. And completely unaware that, wherever she goes, all eyes—especially mine—are on her.
She stops beside me, offering me a polite smile before glancing at Philip and Abigail.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says, her voice light.
“Not at all,” Philip assures her. “We were just asking Cole about you.”
“Oh?” She raises a brow at me before turning her attention back to them. “I hope he said good things.”
Abigail laughs. “He was about to. But I’d much rather hear it from you. How exactly does one go from working at Silver Screen Studios to being a nanny?”
Of course, everyone knows already.
Annie’s expression lights up, and I swear the entire damn room feels a little warmer.
“Oh, it’s a story,” she says, grinning. “And probably one of the weirdest career changes you’ve ever heard.”
Philipchuckles. “Now I have to know.”
“Well, picture this,” Annie begins, gesturing dramatically. “I was working as a receptionist at Silver Screen Studios, answering phones, directing calls, dodging the occasional crazy fan trying to sneak onto the lot—just normal Hollywood things.”
Philip and Abigail both laugh, fully engaged, and I find myself watching Annie more than listening to the words.
She has that effect.
It’s in the way she talks, the way she tells a story—not just with her words but with her hands, her expressions, the little pauses she takes for effect. She’s entertaining in a way that feels natural, not forced.
I never had that skill. Never needed it. My conversations tended to revolve around business, numbers, things I could control. Small talk and social charm? Never my strengths.
But Annie? She makes it look effortless.
“So then,” Annie continues, “I’m packing up to go home one day, and before I can take off, who’s striding across the lobby but Mr. Wagner here. And wouldn’t you know? He’s heading right for me! Long story short? All of Robbie’s caretakers were busy that night, and suddenly, I found myself in this whole new life.”
I appreciate that she doesn’t mention the way Robbie’s previous nanny quit suddenly, leaving me high and dry. Despite the air of innocence floating around her, she clearly knows her audience… and how much they love gossip.
Abigail gasps. “That’s incredible.”