Page 69 of Nine Week Nanny

"I figured since I’m responsible for his education, I should have a proper plan." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "No sense reinventing the wheel."

Responsible for his education. I expected a nanny to handle Lennon's basic needs, maybe keep him entertained. Not this level of investment.

"You didn't have to do all that." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

"I'm a behavioral therapist who specializes in child development." She leans against the counter, sure of herself in a way that rattles me. My eyes dip, catching the soft shadow between her breasts as she bends closer.

I’m speechless.

"This is what I do, Pope."

Lennon watches our exchange with those too-observant eyes, fork hovering between his plate and mouth.

"Well, I appreciate it,” I say after clearing my throat to gather myself. I mean it more than she knows. "Honestly, education hadn't even made my crisis list yet."

Something softens in Sloane's expression. "That's why I'm here. To handle the things you haven't had time to think about."

"I appreciate it."

Her smile reaches her eyes this time. "You're welcome."

I want to touch her. I want to pull her to me and ask if she'll come to my room tonight.

Instead, I drink my coffee and watch her wash the pan she used to scramble the eggs.

I look at my watch and realize I'm lingering too long. "I'm heading out. Good luck with the meeting. See you guys this afternoon, Lennon," I say directly to him as I offer him a fist pound before walking out.

The sleek conferencetable stretches before me like a runway, polished mahogany reflecting the harsh fluorescents overhead. Robert passes the legal briefing across to me, his Mont Blanc pen tapping impatiently against his legal pad.

"As you can see, Pope," Caleb says, "relocating the uncontracted staff to other facilities is a delicate operation. We've identified the key personnel who have expressed a desire not to join the private practice, but we need to ensure the transition is seamless."

I nod, scanning columns of names that should concern me. These are the people whose lives are being upended by my business decisions. This is the kind of logistics I've been working on for years.

"What's the status of the legal injunction from Mr. Daniels?" I ask.

"We expect it to be a long process," Caleb says, his tone grave. "We need to prepare for the worst, but hope for the best."

He's right, but all I can think about is the way Sloane's hair smelled like citrus this morning.

The staff continues discussing the transition. I'm so tired of thinking about it, but that is why I'm here. For some reason today, I can't concentrate on any of it.

"Pope? Your thoughts on the membership tiers?" Robert prompts.

I clear my throat, forcing myself back to the boardroom. "The platinum tier needs adjustment. We're undervaluing direct physician access."

My phone vibrates against the table. Sloane's name appears on the screen. My heart rate spikes instantly.

Lennon and Micah found a hermit crab on the beach. They named it Bruce Wayne. Sorry to bother you, but he insisted I send you a pic.

A photo follows. Lennon's small hands cradle a tiny shell, his face serious with concentration. Something warm unfurls in my chest.

"We're discussing patient acquisition costs," Robert says, frowning at my distraction. "The risk factors on page seven?—"

"Right."

Risk factors. I've never been risk-averse in business, but with Sloane, every moment feels like standing on a precipice. The risk of her walking away when this temporary arrangement ends. The risk of Lennon getting attached. The risk of me getting attached.

Too late for that.