The Nanny

BERKLEY ROMANCE Published by Berkley An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC penguinrandomhouse.com Copyright © 2023 by Lana Ferguson Excerpt from The Fake Mate copyright © 2023 by Lana Ferguson Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader. BERKLEY and the BERKLEY and B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Ferguson, Lana, author. Title: The nanny / Lana Ferguson. Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Romance, 2023. Identifiers: LCCN 2022038780 (print) | LCCN 2022038781 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593549353 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593549360 (ebook) Subjects: LCGFT: Romance fiction. | Novels. Classification: LCC PS3606.E72555 M37 2023 (print) | LCC PS3606.E72555 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20220818 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022038780 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022038781 First Edition: April 2023 Cover design by Rita Frangie Cover illustration by Monika Roe Book design by Alissa Theodor, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. pid_prh_6.0_143149737_c0_r0 To my sweet mother, who once asked me: “Wouldn’t you rather write children’s books instead?” I told myself I wouldn’t be nervous. They can’t actually see me, so why is my heart pounding so hard? I adjust my camera for the fourth time, checking the angle before I assess my outfit again. It’s a cute bra, and the underwear match—what comes next is nothing that I haven’t done a thousand times before. It’s just that now, I’ll be doing it for unseen viewers for pay. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I need the money. That it’s my body, and I’m taking ownership of it. Everything that I do from this point onward is my choice, and I’m in complete control. That thought makes me feel brave. I take a deep breath. I check my wig. I adjust my mask. I can do this. I start the camera. CHAPTER 1 Cassie I’m going to be homeless.” I hear Wanda clucking her tongue all the way from her kitchen (which, incidentally, isn’t that far away in a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment), and when I raise my face from the aged velvet of her couch, I can see her shaking a spatula at me. “No pity parties,” she tells me. “You aren’t gonna be homeless. You can take the couch if need be.” I make a face at the aforementioned velvet couch, glancing from it to the pile of newspapers at the end of it to the television that defies time by refusing to die inside its wooden shell. “I couldn’t . . . impose,” I say tentatively, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “I’ll figure something out.” In my third year of grad school for occupational therapy—losing my job as a therapy assistant at the children’s hospital was not part of the plan. I’ve barely been making rent with the salary they were giving me, and now that they’ve had to downsize, my even tinier apartment across the hall from Wanda’s place is looking more and more like it will be a thing of the past very soon. “Nonsense,” Wanda argues. “You know you’re welcome here.” I blow one auburn curl away from my face, pushing up from the couch cushions to a sitting position. I’ve known Wanda Simmons for about six years now; I met her when she invited me in for tea after I locked myself out of the apartment my first week here. A seventy-two-year-old woman as my best friend wasn’t exactly on my list of things to accomplish here, but she might be more interesting than I am, so I guess there’s that. “Wanda,” I sigh. “I love you. You know that, but . . . you have one bathroom and no Wi-Fi. It would never work out between us.” “It’s the age difference, isn’t it,” she pouts. “Absolutely not. You will always be the only woman for me.” “I’m just saying. The option is there.” “And what are you going to do when you bring home your bingo men, and I’m sitting here on your couch?” “Oh, we won’t bother you. We’ll go to the bedroom.” I grimace. “I am all for you getting yours, but I absolutely don’t want to be on the other side of these very thin walls for it.” Wanda chuckles as she stirs the sauce for her meatballs. “You could always go back to doing those booby cams.” I groan. “Please don’t call them booby cams.” “What? It’s a camera. You show your boobies. You get paid.” I let my face fall back against her couch. I sort of regret telling Wanda about my . . . history with OnlyFans, but I hadn’t quite anticipated that she would be able to handle her tequila better than I did the night I bared it all. Not that I’m ashamed of it, by any means. It was good money. Taking cash from people looking to get their rocks off was an easy decision when faced with a looming tuition bill that I couldn’t begin to pay for otherwise. I mean, good tits should really earn their keep. I think Margaret Thatcher said that once. “You know I can’t,” I sigh. “I deleted my whole account. All my subs are gone. It would take me another two years to build them back up.” Besides, I learned my lesson the first time around. At least I kept that part to myself. “Then what are you going to do? Have you been looking for another job?”