Page 17 of Billionaire Grump

There has to be someone who’s qualified and good with Amelia. Clare can’t be the only woman out there.

While I’d like to avoid her for the next few days, I don’t entirely trust her with my daughter. But I can’t afford to take a week off work when I have to shore up specifics with my assistant on travel arrangements for my trip to Europe.

And it can’t be postponed, which is fine, since I’m not leaving for a week. But that doesn’t give me a lot of time to deal with my Clare situation. Or the Amelia situation, either, for that matter. Even if I fire the nanny, I can’t bring a five-year-old to my meetings at the hotels that I’m looking to purchase.

My assistant isn’t going to offer to watch Amelia. Besides, I’m not leaving Amelia alone for a week after just meeting her and bringing her home. She needs stability.

Is a new nanny going to help with her settling in? Not likely, but Clare needs to prove herself capable over the next week.

And I need to get my dick in check as well.

I can’t be having lurid thoughts about the sexy blonde sleeping across the hall from me. And that vibrator she had sitting on top of her clothes in her suitcase.

The dark-pink shaft and girth of that fucker. There’s no way a piece of plastic is getting her off.

My cheeks burn, imagining her putting it between her legs. Her hands caress her body, play with her breasts, and trail toward her pink pussy.

What does she fantasize about?

I’m not foolish enough to think it’s me. I just met the girl.

I run a hand through my unkempt, wet hair and collapse onto the cool mattress. It does nothing to still my raging cock that has decided to wake up for round two.

Not tonight, buddy.

I can’t let her get inside my head.

* * *

The next morning, I wake as the sun comes up. I shower and dress before coming out of my room, donning work attire even though I don’t intend on going into the office. But that doesn’t mean the office might not come to me.

My assistant has already texted that she’s going to swing by this afternoon with the documents I need, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a half dozen other employees show up at my door as well.

Especially with the rumors circling about Amelia.

How could they not with the shit my assistant Nancy did? How many billionaires are in New York City? And the contact number, thankfully, wasn’t my cell phone, but it was my direct line at the company.

Does Nancy want me to fire her ass? Because it’s tempting as hell. But the better punishment would be to make her deal with the money-hungry ladies lining up to nanny for my daughter.

The vultures are coming in for the kill, wanting to see Amelia. I wouldn’t be surprised if the media outlets and news vans are lined up outside the gate.

Another reason not to go anywhere for the next week. And then to fly private to Europe. I don’t need the hassle of my face, or my daughter’s, plastered all over the television.

I want to protect her.

I head out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I haven’t even glanced at my phone this morning, an unusual occurrence. That’s typically the first thing I do when I wake up, reach for my cell phone.

Except I’m not interested in the numerous texts and missed calls. There will be voicemail messages from countless people whom I interact with, trying to weasel their way into my life for the inside scoop. Probably so they can try to sell it to the media bastards who want to ruin anyone’s life at the first chance of a hefty payday.

Yeah, I’ve dealt with their shenanigans far too many times. It was one of the reasons that Katelyn and I didn’t stay together. She couldn’t handle the pressure of constantly being under the spotlight.

I never blamed her for breaking things off, but I also hadn’t known she was pregnant. Had she realized it when she ended our relationship?

Hell, is that even what we had?

We spent most nights screwing at her place or mine. We rarely went out. She hated the media circus when it came to dining out.

It goes with the territory of fame. Not that I’m famous, I’m just wealthy. They’re not mutually exclusive, but I’ve been in enough magazines as Most Eligible Bachelor that it makes some girls uncomfortable.


Tags: Willow Fox Billionaire Romance