Page 28 of His Surrender

“So?” she asks.

I push away from the cabinet and wander toward the windows overlooking the city. “He’s … different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

I think back to Saturday morning. Dean pacing the kitchen with Liana against his shoulder. The look on his face every time she cried. The relief that washed over him whenever she settled.

“Different human.”

Sydney goes quiet. “That’s not what I expected you to say.”

“I didn’t either.”

She waits patiently, knowing I’ll eventually fill the silence.

“The billionaire part disappears when he’s with Liana.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s just …” I smile to myself. “A dad.” The words feel strangely significant. “An exhausted, sleep-deprived dad who’s trying really hard.”

“And?”

I hesitate. “I think …” My fingers trace the edge of the kitchen island. “I caught him looking at me a couple of times.”

Sydney gasps dramatically. “I knew it!”

“I didn’t say he was checking me out.”

“What else would he be looking at?”

“I don’t know.” I laugh. “Maybe he was wondering what the hell he was thinking, hiring a college grad who wanted a job in graphic design to be his live-in nanny.”

“Or”—she drags the word out— “he was checking you out.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

I glance toward the nursery, where Liana is sleeping peacefully.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I didn’t. Either way … I’m here for one reason. To help take care of that little girl.

Everything else is just noise.

I’m sitting on the couch with Liana against my shoulder, gently patting her back while I wait for a burp, when I hear the private elevator doors slide open.

My stomach does an embarrassing little flutter.

Ugh, I should have never had that conversation with Sydney today. One conversation about my teenage crush, and suddenly, I’m hyperaware of his presence.

I shift my attention back to the tiny baby resting against me, smiling as she lets out the tiniest contented sigh.

Footsteps echo against the hardwood floor.

I glance up, which proves to be a big mistake.