A Nanny For The Professor Read online

  A Nanny For The Professor

  Cass Kincaid

  Published by Cass Kincaid, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 by Cass Kincaid

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information and retrieval systems, without the written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, or actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Want To Read More From Cass Kincaid?

  Read the next standalone book by Cass Kincaid, A Nanny For The Mechanic!

  Chapter One

  Brock

  “You can’t be serious.” Brock was exhausted. Sleep had never sounded so good. And yet, here he was listening to Anna, the woman he’d depended on and relied on for the past six months to look after his daughter while he worked, tell him that she was taking another job. Her dream job.

  Like getting to hang out with his four-year-old daughter, Rynn, wasn’t a dream job of its own.

  Hell, it was his dream job. But getting to stay home and color in coloring books while eating macaroni and cheese and hiding out in blanket forts in the living room didn’t pay the bills.

  Which was exactly why he’d hired Anna, a nanny through the local agency, so he could take on the full-time professor position at Grexton University and provide everything he could to Rynn. And everything had been going well, completely according to plan.

  Until now.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hanlin. I just can’t turn down—”

  “Anna, you haven’t called me Mr. Hanlin in months. There’s no need to now.”

  “No,” she agreed. “But you sound mad. And when you sound mad, I get super professional. Call it a defence mechanism.”

  Brock could relate to that. Hell knows he had a few of his own defence mechanisms he tended to refer to when the situation called for it. “I’m not mad,” he insisted, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “Just disappointed. Not in you, of course, just the situation as a whole.” As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t blame her for taking the preschool job in Calledon. She was overqualified to be here babysitting every day—he knew that. But he’d thought he found the perfect companion for Rynn while he worked. And his daughter loved the woman, jabbered on about their activities and days spent doing outings and fun things. “You got along with Rynn so well.”

  “I know.” Anna sighed, pushing her dark brown hair past her shoulder. “And I’m sad to leave her. But I couldn’t turn down the opportunity, Brock.”

  “I get it. I really do.” He checked the calendar on his cellphone, then eyed her hopefully. “And there’s no way you can give me more notice?” It was a long shot, but he had to ask.

  “The job starts on Monday,” she replied sadly. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He pushed the phone into his pocket. “I’ll figure it out.” I always do, he thought. “Congrats on the new job, Anna. I really do wish you the best.”

  To his surprise, Anna leaned forward and hugged Brock before she thanked him and disappeared out the door.

  Six months, and now he was starting all over again. Damn it. He didn’t relish the thought of telling Rynn when she woke up in the morning. In that moment, a sliver of frustration jolted through him at knowing Anna hadn’t had the guts to tell the little girl herself.

  Oh well, he would be the one to break the bad news. To hold his little daughter as she cried big tears from her sparkly blue eyes that reminded him so much of her mama’s.

  Not for the first time, Brock wished Hailey, Rynn’s mom, was there. But fate had thrown a wrench into their plans for a lifetime together three years ago when Hailey was in a car accident that left the Hanlins as a family of two.

  Brock shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. He had to do what was best for his daughter, like he always did. And that meant getting on the phone with the nanny agency and finding a suitable replacement for Rynn’s caretaker.

  By Monday.

  He groaned. It was a Friday night. He’d just got home from teaching a three-hour lecture on the prose of Hemingway. The agency wouldn’t be open now, but there was a number for one of the managers he could call tomorrow morning since he was in a pinch.

  He would make it right, do whatever he had to do. For Rynn.

  ***

  Saturday morning was a time for cartoons and pajamas in the Hanlin household. Rynn, even at four years old, always seemed to sleep in a little later, which was the biggest gift Brock could ever receive seeing as he was a single dad with a full-time job and very little spare time.

  But Saturday mornings, those were reserved for daddy and daughter time.

  Usually, anyway.

  “Your cereal is getting soggy, Rynn Tin Tin.”

  Rynn came flying out of the living room, her little bare feet padding loudly across the laminate floor and the area run, and she pushed her cereal bowl up on the kitchen table, milk sloshing over the side onto the tabletop. “I’m all done!” she announced before racing back to her favorite spot in front of the television, eyes wide as she watched colorfully-clothed puppies bounce around on the screen, saving their kitten friends from some kind of peril.

  Ah, cartoons. If only every daunting situation could be solved within a half hour timespan, with everyone happy and content again by the time the credits rolled.

  Fortunately, just the sight of Rynn sitting cross-legged on the floor in her 101 Dalmatians pajamas and her long chestnut hair in a curly mess seemed to put Brock at ease. She always seemed to be the one to help him get through the tough things, and the little girl didn’t even know she was doing it. He would do absolutely anything for a simple “Daddy, I love you,” though—that’s what made his world revolve.

  And now, clad in his own red plaid pajama pants and plain white T-shirt, Brock had to pull himself away from those cartoons and that porcelain doll he called a daughter and handle something he didn’t want to have to be handling. It couldn’t be helped.

  “Daddy’s just going to make a phone call, baby girl.” He picked his cellphone up off the kitchen table. “I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

  He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her about Anna’s departure as her nanny yet. He needed a pot of coffee and a chance to steel himself against her impending breakdown before he announced the news.

  Brock also figured it’d be better to have someone lined up to tell Rynn about before he tried to explain. He dialed the manager’s number and let it ring, already feeling guilty for making a business call on a Saturday morning. But the business in question was his daughter’s care, so good luck telling him it wasn’t a good time.

  “I’m sorry to call so early on a weekend,” he said when the thick-voiced manager answered on the other end. “It’s Brock Hanlin.”

  Immediately, the manager perked up—he’d heard the news that Anna’s notice had been given. For all the notice it was. She was gone, with no time to ease into the transition.

  “No need to worry, Mr. Hanlin,” the manager assured him in the most theatrically encouraging voice Brock had ever heard. “I’ve got a new hire that would be pe
rfect to step in and take Anna’s place. Your little Rynn will love her, and I’m sure you will, too.”

  Doubtful I’d go that far. “As long as she’s here by Monday morning so I can meet her and observe her with Rynn before I have to teach my afternoon class, that sounds good. Thank you.”

  All he could hope was that Rynn did love her, because Brock was out of options.

  Chapter Two

  Camilla

  She was hesitant, right from the get-go. After all, Camilla had just gotten out of the most nightmarish nanny position she’d ever experienced in her life. It was also the only job as a nanny she’d ever had, so she didn’t have anything else to compare it to. But if that was what being a nanny was all about—dealing with two six-year-old twin boys who had a fondness for setting makeshift traps that inflicted pain on their unwitting victims and purposely destroying things in their parents’ home just so the babysitter would get in trouble, Camilla wanted no part of this career choice anymore.

  Unfortunately, she had no other prospects at the moment, and the nanny agency’s call came before she had the chance to win the lottery and run off to some beautiful tropical island.

  Another nanny position. This time, caring for a four-year-old girl. The agency manager swore she was a delight to be with, and that the parents were reasonable and excellent clients who’d just been left hanging by their previous nanny, who’d taken another job and left them without help.

  Camilla felt bad enough about that, which was why she accepted the position despite getting a call on a Saturday morning about it, and despite being ridiculously skeptical that the little girl was an angel—the manager’s words, not hers—and the parents were as easy to get along with as she was led to believe.

  Either way, Camilla was twenty-one years old, with an apartment to pay for and other bills to pay. She needed a job. So, she agreed to meet with the father of the little girl on Monday morning and let him interview her—he’d probably interrogate her, that was more accurate—while she met her new client and then stayed for the afternoon.

  Which led her there, to the cobblestone front step she stood on, where she knocked on the front door and gaped at the old-world charm of the estate-like home before her. It wasn’t massive, but the elegance the building portrayed, the intricate stonework and wrought irons railings, made the house more beautiful and fancy in her eyes than any oversized mansion ever could.

  The door swung open, and if Camilla’s mouth wasn’t hanging open at the sight of the house, it was now, due to the sight of the man standing in front of her.

  He was older than she was, maybe mid or late thirties. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, buttoned all the way up except for the top button or two, and his hair was gelled to give it that styled-yet-messy look she’d seen only perfected in commercials. A dark shadow of stubble lined his cheeks, chin, and upper lips, but it was neat and tidy and...intoxicating. Paired with his eyes, a sheer blue that pierced through her and made it impossible to look away, and his obviously chiseled body beneath the otherwise muted shirt and khakis, Camilla wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a more alluring man in her entire life.

  “Oh, wow...hey, I mean. You must be Camilla Benton....right?”

  He sounded just as unsure as she felt. That was when Camilla realized she was staring at him, wide-eyed. The only saving grace was that he looked caught off guard, too.

  “Yeah.” She shook her head, trying to clear her racing thoughts. She held a hand out in attempt to prove she had some manners. “I’m Camilla. The agency called me this weekend about your nanny leaving your family on short notice. I apologize for that inconvenience, by the way.”

  “I’m Brock, Rynn’s dad.” He shook her hand, and Camilla wasn’t sure if he could feel the heat that seeped between their touching skin. It seemed to set her ablaze deep inside, far past the point where only their fingers touched, making her cheeks heat up in response. “Come in, Camilla. Rynn’s just in the living room.”

  She followed him inside, glancing down at her gray linen pants and dark purple long-sleeved shirt, wondering idly if she looked okay. Then, she wondered why she cared.

  Oh, right, because your new boss is sexy as hell.

  She shook the thought from her mind—she didn’t need that kind of distraction, especially not today when she was supposed to be making a good first impression. She was bound to make a fool of herself if she didn’t focus on what mattered most—Rynn, the little girl her world would revolve around each day.

  “Rynn, there’s somebody here to meet you.”

  Camilla noticed how Brock’s voice changed when he called out to his daughter. An octave higher, softer, more affectionate. It was downright adorable.

  “Just a heads-up,” Brock added, almost wincing. “She only found out Anna wasn’t coming back last night. I can’t decide if she’s okay about the whole thing yet or not.”

  There was no time to feel out the situation. The little girl came sprinting out of the living room, where, through the open-concept living room, Camilla could see a cartoon on the television screen with bouncing alphabet letters bobbing across it.

  The first thing she noticed was the girl’s eyes—piercing and gorgeous, just like her father’s. But they had a different shape, more almond than round. Her hair was slightly lighter than Brock’s, and it trailed down her back in loose, buoyant curls. She looked like one of the fancy dolls Camilla’s mom used to collected in a china cabinet in their living room when she was growing up.

  “Well, hey, Rynn.” Camilla bent forward, hands on her hips. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

  The little girl stopped an arm’s length from her, eyeing her up conspicuously. “You don’t look like Anna.”

  Not off to a good start, she thought, but she kept a smile plastered on her face. “Maybe not, but I bet we’ll have lots of fun, anyway.”

  “What’s your name?” For a four-year-old, Rynn was quick. Maybe the interrogation wasn’t going to come from her father after all.

  “Camilla.”

  “Like the puppy stealer?” Rynn screeched out the words, her eyes wide to show how appalled she was.

  “What? No!” Camilla could barely keep her expression neutral, biting back her laughter. “Camilla, not Cruella. Rynn, I love puppies, but I promise I don’t steal them.”

  The little girl slowly narrowed her eyes, mulling it over. Finally, she nodded as though she’d come to some sort of conclusion. “Okay, then. You can come and watch 101 Dalmatians with me.” The little girl reached out for her hand and tugged her toward the living room, her mind made up.

  Camilla glanced up at Brock. It was her turn for her eyes to be wide. But Brock didn’t look alarmed at all. In fact, the corners of his mouth had curled up and he was pressing his lips together, amused.

  “Looks like you’ve passed the test,” he joked, mumbling to her as his daughter pulled her past him.

  “I have a funny feeling I’m going to be owned by this little girl before the day’s done,” she chuckled under her breath.

  She couldn’t be sure because Rynn was pulling her away from him, but Camilla thought she heard him mutter, “Welcome to the club.”

  Chapter Three

  Brock

  Whatever Brock expected when he opened that door, Camilla Benton wasn’t it. Her eyes were chocolate and dark-lashed, and her hair was such a rich shade of auburn that he hadn’t known such a color existed. The slender frame of her body dressed in casual linen-blend pants and a deep purple shirt was thin, but her outfit was fitted enough to show the shapeliness of her arms and thighs. The woman was athletic, maybe a runner or a fan of yoga.

  And she was sexy as sin. Naturally beautiful, her eyes held the hint of makeup—maybe mascara, but he didn’t know one pencil or tube of the stuff from the next—but it wasn’t needed. Camilla exuded beauty in a quiet way.

  But it was a very, very real way, and it had Brock’s body humming with the appreciation of it.

  Then, he had watched Rynn assess the w
oman with the narrowed eyes of a seasoned negotiator, like she had a mental checklist she was checking off as her eyes roamed up the woman and then back down to her sock-covered toes in the kitchen. Whatever his daughter saw in Camilla Benton, she liked it.

  So did Brock. And that worried him a bit. At least, it did until he spent the rest of the morning grading essays at the kitchen table, coffee cup cradled beside him, listening to the woman and child discussing the television show that was on but they were only half-watching, Camilla prompting Rynn to count along with the cartoon characters and Rynn proudly proving that she could. They wound up in a magical, make-believe world of their own, transforming into Princess Rynn and Queen Cam—as Rynn quickly shortened her name to—and Brock actually felt bad for having to interrupt them when he pulled his briefcase into his hand and headed for the door to teach his evening class.

  “Everything good here?” he asked, amused at seeing Camilla with a plastic tiara on her head, one that matched Rynn’s to a tee.

  “Everything is wonderful,” Camilla chuckled, standing to her full height. “Time for work?”

  “I’ve got a three-hour lecture until ten o’clock,” he explained. “There’s a list on the fridge of the approximate times and activities Rynn is used to in the evenings. If you have any questions, my cellphone number is on it, too.” His eyes met hers. “Use it any time, Queen Cam.”

  It could have been the trick of the light, but he thought he saw Camilla’s cheeks redden. And he might have known for sure if he hadn’t been so enamored by the way her eyes darkened when he spoke.

  She heard the innuendo in his voice, the promise.

  He kissed her daughter on the forehead and told her he loved her, then strode out the front door, fully aware that Camilla wasn’t the only one whose body was coming alive at that very same unspoken promise.

  ***

  After Monday’s late afternoon lecture, Brock broke a few speed limits wanting to get home. He couldn’t wait to hear about the evening Rynn and Camilla had enjoyed together, but he wanted to hear it from the nanny’s mouth. That way, the next morning he could compare her story with Rynn’s own version.