The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny

The Billionaire’s One-Night Stand Nanny THE BANKWORTH CLUB BILLIONAIRES BRITT BENTLEY Copyright © 2022 by Britt Bentley All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [email protected]. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. To MW, the best friend I could ever ask for, xoxoxoxoxoxo Contents 1. Flora 2. Ryan 3. Flora 4. Flora 5. Ryan 6. Flora 7. Ryan 8. Flora 9. Ryan 10. Flora 11. Ryan 12. Flora 13. Ryan 14. Flora 15. Ryan 16. Flora 17. Ryan 18. Flora 19. Ryan 20. Flora 21. Ryan 22. Flora 23. Ryan 24. Flora 25. Ryan 26. Flora 27. Ryan 28. Flora 29. Ryan 30. Flora 31. Ryan 32. Flora 33. Flora 34. Flora 35. Ryan 36. Ryan 37. Flora 38. Flora 39. Ryan Epilogue Flora About the Author CHAPTER 1 Flora “Today is the best day of my life,” Edie said for at least the hundredth time. She was glowing, her cheeks rosy and blushing against the pale silk shift she was wearing, eyes alight with happiness. I pulled my already-taut smile even tighter, taking another deep breath. “I’m really, really happy for you, Edie,” I replied. “But maybe don’t let James hear you say that.” Edie burst into delighted giggles. “Flora!” she admonished. “You know he’d understand.” I did know. Despite the dress–despite the glow on her cheeks and the sparkle behind her eyes–this wasn’t Edie’s wedding, but the debut of her very first novel. We weren’t in a church or a hotel ballroom, but a charming little bookstore filled with happy tables of books: crisp-covered new releases up front, and well-worn, vanilla-scented used ones in a comforting labyrinth of back rooms. Her husband–had it been three months they’d been married already?–was also a writer. He would understand if Edie was nearly as excited about this as she’d been for their simple courthouse wedding. They were perfect together. “I’m just so happy,” she said again, taking my hand in hers and giving it a tight squeeze. I looked over to her–we were the same height tonight since I was wearing my tallest heels–and hoped that if she noticed a shimmer of tears in my eyes, she’d think they were happy tears for her. I followed her gaze as she stared over my shoulder at James, soft, sweet adoration on her blushing face, and tried not to let my own smile slide. Edie was my best friend. We met in a freshman literature class almost a decade ago, where we bonded over our appreciation of the classics… and passion for romance novels. Now she was married, and published, and I couldn’t be prouder. I loved Edie. She deserved every happiness. And I needed a second alone. “Go, Edie,” I said, inclining my head at her suit-clad husband. She nodded, flashing a brief smile at me before striding across the sunny bookstore into the arms of her true love. Edie’s life was all roses and book releases. Mine was falling apart. I’d heard on Monday that my job–the job I loved, the job I’d dedicated myself to for two years–had been eliminated. District-wide budget cuts. I was the most junior teacher, so I was it. We’ve loved having you as a member of our school family, Flora, the principal had told me, but unfortunately… I’d nodded, and accepted the paperwork with as much grace as I could manage, and then I’d made it to my car before bursting into tears. I’d pulled out my phone to call Edie, and seen a message from her: a screenshot of a starred review in a literary journal and a billion happy emojis. I couldn’t ruin that. omg YAY! I’d sent back, blinking away my blurry vision. I’ll tell her in person–and then, after I’d seen her in person several times and hadn’t quite managed to–after the book launch, I’d amended. A new husband who was head-over-heels for her, a brand-new career doing the thing she always wanted most, and by the way they were making eyes at each other during tonight’s event, I was sure a baby wouldn’t be far behind. And here I was, single and unemployed at twenty-six, feeling like a child myself. I retreated to the quiet depths of the stacks. The front tables in the spacious bookstore were all piled high with Edie’s debut, bearing her new married name right there on the cover–I already had a copy, the title page inscribed To the best friend I could ever ask for, love, Edie xoxoxoxoxoxo–but I’d seen that a small table in the back of the shop still held romances not written by my best friend. I made my way toward it, hoping to find something engrossing enough that I could just… not be me for a few hours. My heart sank, my hopes of a moment alone to collect myself dashed. There was already someone standing at the table–a man. Great. I straightened, preparing to turn back to the party. I didn’t feel like dealing with some random guy who would invariably ask me, “Why do women read this, anyway?” and make me feel irritated as well as pathetic. And then he looked up at me, a half-smile on his face, and my breath caught in my chest. He was tall, with rich brown hair cut conservatively short, a faint smile on his lips. Wide shoulders in a dark suit too formal for the event–maybe he’d come from work–tapering down into a narrow waist. But it was the way he held himself that made me stop and look: confident. Self-assured. Like he knew exactly who he was, and what he wanted, and didn’t care what