shifted Sofia to a more comfortable position on her hip. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Martin.’ She looked inside the dark interior of the limo. ‘Now, are we going to start this interview or what?’
* * *
Max sat frowning in the back of the limo. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. One minute he’d been fully in charge of the situation, and the next he’d been ushered into his own car by a woman who looked as if she’d had a fight with a jumble sale—and lost.
She turned to face him, her eyes large and enquiring as she looked at him over the top of Sofia’s car seat, which was strapped between them. ‘Fire away,’ she said, then waited.
He looked back at her.
‘I thought this was supposed to be an interview.’
She was right. He had agreed to that, but the truth of the matter was that, unless she declared herself to be a drug-addicted mass murderer, the job was hers. He didn’t have time to find anyone else.
He studied his new employee carefully. The women he interacted with on a daily basis definitely didn’t dress like this. It was all colour and jarring patterns. Somehow it made her look very young. And, right there, he had his first question.
‘How old are you?’
She blinked but held his gaze. ‘Twenty-four.’
Old enough, then. If he’d had to guess, he’d have put her at a couple of years younger. Didn’t matter, though. If she could do the job, she could do the job, and the fact that the small bundle of arms and legs strapped into the car seat was finally silent was all the evidence he needed.
He checked his watch. He really didn’t have time to chit-chat, so if she wanted to answer questions, he’d dispense with the pleasantries and get on with the pertinent ones. ‘How far away do you live?’
For the first time since he’d set eyes on her, she looked surprised.
‘Can we get there in under half an hour?’
She frowned. ‘Pimlico. So, yes... But why—?’
‘Can you pack a bag in under ten minutes?’
She raised her eyebrows.
‘In my experience, most women can’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t actually understand why, though.’ It seemed a simple enough task, after all. ‘I believe it may have something to do with shoes.’
‘My parents dragged me round the globe—twice—in my formative years,’ she replied crisply. ‘I can pack a bag in under five if I have to.’
Max smiled. And not just the distant but polite variety he rolled out at business meetings. This was the real deal. The nanny stopped looking quite so confrontational and her eyes widened. Max leaned forward and instructed the driver to head for Pimlico.
He felt a tapping on his shoulder, a neatly trimmed fingernail made its presence known through the fabric of his suit sleeve. He sat back in his seat and found her looking at him. ‘I haven’t agreed to take the job yet.’
She wasn’t one to beat about the bush, was she? But, then again, neither was he.
‘Will you?’
She folded her arms. ‘I need to ask you a few questions first.’
For some reason Max found himself smiling again. It felt odd, he realised. Not stiff or forced, just unfamiliar. As if he’d forgotten how and had suddenly remembered. But he hadn’t had a lot to smile about this year, had he?
‘Fire away,’ he said.
Was that a flicker of a smile he saw behind those eyes? If it was, it was swiftly contradicted by a stubborn lift of her chin. ‘Well, Mr Martin, you seem to have skipped over some of the details.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as: how long will you be requiring my services?’
Oh, those kinds of details. ‘A week, hopefully. Possibly two.’
She made a funny little you-win-some-you-lose-some kind of expression.
A nasty cold feeling shot through him. She wasn’t going to back out already, was she? ‘Too long?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d have been happy for it to be longer, but it’ll do.’
They looked at each other for a couple of seconds. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she delivered her next question. ‘So why do you need a nanny for your daughter in such a hurry? I think I’d like to know why the previous one left.’
Max sat bolt upright in his seat. ‘My daughter? Sofia’s not my daughter!’
The nanny—or almost nanny, he reminded himself—gave him a wry look. ‘See? This is what I’m talking about...details.’
Max ignored the comment. He was great with details. But nowadays he paid other people to concentrate on the trivial nit-picky things so he could do the important stuff. It worked—most of the time—because he had assistants and deputies to spring into action whenever he required them to, but when it came to his personal life he had no such army of willing helpers. Probably because he didn’t have much of a personal life. It irritated him that this mismatched young woman had highlighted a failing he hadn’t realised he had. Still, he could manage details, sketchy or otherwise, if he tried.
‘Sofia is my niece.’
‘Oh...’
Max usually found the vagaries of the female mind something of a mystery. He was always managing to put his foot in it with the women in his life—when he had time for any—but he found this one unusually easy to read. The expression that accompanied her breathy sigh of realisation clearly said, Well, that explains a lot.
‘Let’s just say that I had not planned to be child-minding today.’
She pressed her lips together, as if to stop herself from laughing. ‘You mean you were left holding the baby.... Literally.’
He nodded. ‘My sister is an...actress.’
At least, she’d been trying to be the last five years.
‘Oh! Has she been in anything I’ve heard of?’
Max let out a sigh. ‘Probably not. But she got a call from her agent this morning about an audition for a “smallish part in a biggish film”. Something with...’ what was the name? ‘...Jared Fisher in it.’
The nanny’s eyes widened. ‘Wow! He’s really h—’ She shut her mouth abruptly and nibbled her top lip with her teeth. ‘What I meant to say was, what a fabulous opportunity for her.’
‘Apparently so. She got the job, but they wanted her in L.A. right away. The actress who was supposed to be playing the part came down with appendicitis and it was now or never.’
Secretly he wondered if it would have been better if his little sister had sloped despondently into his
