Grace Green - The Nanny's Secret

“I’m here about my daughter. I want to ask…” Jordan stopped midsentence and turned to leave.

Felicity stood still, her face very pale. “You owe me an explanation,” she said. “You can’t come here in the middle of the night and not tell me why.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What is it? What’s wrong? Is it little Mandy?”

Jordan almost wanted to plead, but his pride wouldn’t let him. “Mandy’s miserable, we need you—would you say yes if I offered you your old job back?”

Grace Green grew up in Scotland but later emigrated to Canada with her husband and children. They settled in “Beautiful Super Natural B.C.” and Grace now lives in a house just minutes from ocean, beaches, mountains and rain forest. She makes no secret of her favorite occupation—her bumper sticker reads: I’d Rather Be Writing Romance! Grace also enjoys walking the seawall, gardening, getting together with other authors…and watching her characters come to life, because she knows that once they do, they will take over and write her stories for her.

Grace Green loves to write deeply emotional stories with compelling characters. She’s also a great believer in creating happy-ever-after endings that are certain to bring a tear to your eye!

Jordan’s sister has her own story in

The Pregnancy Plan #3714

Harlequin Romance®

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE ®

3622—THE BABY PROJECT

3658—TWINS INCLUDED!

The Nanny’s Secret

Grace Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For John

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FELICITY FAIRFAX’S gray eyes pricked with tears as she gazed into the window of West Vancouver’s Kiddi Togs store. “Wouldn’t Mandy look adorable in that daffodil-yellow dress, Joanne? Oh, I’d love to buy it for her. If only—”

“If only Jordan Maxwell would let you anywhere near his daughter. But that,” Joanne declared, “is never going to happen.”

“How can he be so cruel?” Heart aching, Felicity turned to her friend, her heavy blond braid glinting in the early June sunshine as she flicked it back over her shoulder. “Yes, his wife and my brother Denny had an affair, but that had nothing whatsoever to do with me!”

“Of course it didn’t. But you’re a Fairfax and that’s enough for Mr. High and Mighty Maxwell. As far as he’s concerned you’re persona non grata…and will be for ever.” In an obvious effort to divert her, Joanne indicated a quilt displayed in the window. “Is that another of yours?”

“Mmm.”

“I love the kitty motif. And I’m impressed. You’ve really upped your output lately!”

“I’ve had lots of time to sew now that I don’t have Mandy to look after.” Felicity clutched her friend’s hand. “I miss her desperately, Jo. I’ve cared for her since she was a week old and I’ve always loved her as if she were my own. My life feels so empty, so pointless, now.”

“I know, sweetie…but you must try not to dwell on it.” Gently, Joanne eased her away from the window. “Let’s go treat ourselves to a latte and a chocolate biscotti and talk about something else.”

“I can’t even think about anything else.”

But Felicity allowed herself to be led along the sidewalk toward the Hill o’ Beans café on the corner.

“Jo,” she fretted, “I worry about her. I know her mother didn’t pay her much attention, but even so, for Mandy to have lost both of us in one fell swoop…she must feel utterly abandoned and must be missing us terribly.”

“Missing you, at any rate—you’re the one she spent most of her days with for the past almost four years. Jordan Maxwell must be either incredibly stupid or incredibly stone-hearted to have cut you out of her life.”

“I hear he’s enrolled her at the Wedgwood Avenue Day Care.”

“Really? It has a terrific reputation and wonderful staff. She’ll be happy there.”

They’d reached the Hill o’ Beans, and as they entered the café with its tantalizing aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, Joanne added, a little anxiously, “Don’t you think?”

“I hope so.” With a deep and soul-felt sigh, Felicity followed Jo to the counter. “Oh, I certainly do hope so.”

Jordan Maxwell swung open the door of the Morningstar Realty office building and strode into the umber-carpeted foyer.

“Good morning, Jordan.” The middle-aged receptionist grimaced. “The meeting’s already started.”

He was late. Again. His boss was going to be hopping mad. If Phil Morningstar had one obsession, it was punctuality. The world of real estate waited for no one! And every morning this past week, since enrolling Mandy at the Wedgwood Avenue Day Care before returning to work after a prolonged absence, Jordan had been late for Phil’s daily finger-on-the-pulse meetings.

“Thanks, Bette, I’ll prepare myself for the usual flack attack. So…did you apply for that raise yet?”

“Not today I haven’t. His ulcer’s playing up.”

“Oh, great, just what I want to hear!”

“Jordan, just a second, you’ve got a—”

“Later, Bette.” He loped past the reception desk.

“But—”

He shook his head, and rounding the corner to the corridor, headed toward the boardroom. As he went, he scraped an exploratory hand over his jaw…and muttered under his breath as he felt the unevenly bristled skin.

He should’ve taken the few extra minutes to shave at home. He’d never mastered the art of running an electric razor over his chin while driving—and trying to shave while dodging his way through rush-hour traffic and at the same time trying to pacify Mandy who was wailing her heart out in the passenger seat beside him was nerve-shattering at best.

The boardroom door was ajar, and he could hear Morningstar’s abrasive voice all the way along the corridor. But when he pushed the door open, a hush fell over the room.

Jordan felt a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on him, but his own came up against Phil Morningstar’s steely glare.

“Sorry, Phil. I got held up.” He slipped into his seat, the rustle of his suit jacket against the polished mahogany table the only sound in the room.

Then somebody chuckled.

Dumping his briefcase on the floor, Jordan glanced around the table, and saw his colleagues were smiling. Jack LaRoque, the office Lothario, grinned and, focusing his gaze on the breast pocket of Jordan’s jacket, tapped his own.

Jordan looked down and saw Mandy’s pink hairbrush sticking out of his pocket. He must have stuffed it there after tidying her mop of blond curls. His gaze shot back to his boss, whose lips were compressed to a pencil-thin line.

“Sorry,” Jordan muttered. But as he thrust the brush into his briefcase, his cell phone rang. Cursing silently, he checked the caller ID.

“I’ll have to take this.” He threw Phil an apologetic glance. “It’s my daughter’s day care.”

The caller was Greta Gladstone, the owner.

“You’ll have to come and pick Mandy up,” she said. “She’s been having hysterics ever since you dropped her off. This isn’t going to work out, Mr. Maxwell. You’ll have to come up with some other arrangement.”

His day was going rapidly from bad to impossible.

“I’ll be there,” he said, “in five minutes.”

He surged to his feet. “Phil, I’m sorry, I have to—”

“You took three months off to be with your daughter after you lost your wife, Maxwell. Fine. Understandable. But enough is enough.” Morningstar pressed a hand to his chest and belched. “I’ll give you one more week. Get your personal problems sorted out before next Monday or—”

“Next Monday. Right. Thanks, Phil.” Jordan was already halfway out the door. “Thanks a bunch. I’ll have everything sorted out by then. I swear.”

Jordan called his sister the moment he got Mandy home.

“Lacey, thank the lord you’re there.” His daughter had fallen asleep in the car, and he held her limp figure in his arms as he spoke. “I need you to come up. Are you free?”

Lacey was twenty-five to his thirty-four and a world-famous model. She was forever flying off somewhere to a shoot; and she routinely smiled or pouted at him from the cover of top fashion magazines when he passed the local newsstands. With hair like sable, skin like cream, and legs that didn’t know when to stop, she was drop-dead gorgeous.

She was also super-smart, and he was hoping she would come up with some way out of his present dilemma.

She lived just a few minutes away, in a waterfront condo, and by the time he heard her car purr up his drive, he’d made a pot of coffee. As he was walking across the foyer to the sitting room with two steaming mugs, Lacey let herself in by the front door with her own set of keys.

“How come you’re at home?” she asked. Lending elegance to a simple white cotton T-shirt and blue jeans, she preceded him into the sitting room, walking with the trademark fluid glide that had graced hundreds of catwalks. “Shouldn’t you be out selling houses, now that Mandy’s at the Wedgwood Avenue Day Care?”

“Sit down, Lace.” He waited till she’d arranged her long willowy body in an armchair, before he handed her one of the mugs. Setting his own mug down on a side table, he paced the room. “Mandy’s not at day care. She’s upstairs, asleep.”

“Is she sick?”

He shook his head.

“Then wh—”

“She was expelled.” He scratched a despairing hand through his hair.

“Oh, honey.” Lacey rested her mug on her knee. “She wouldn’t stop crying?”

“Yeah, she’s been the same all week. When I made to drop her off today, she was sobbing and clinging to me like a terrified kitten. I felt like a monster, prying her little fingers free and then handing her over…as if I didn’t want her.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, to try to blot out the ugly image. When he opened them again, he saw worry clouding his sister’s face.

“Oh, Jordan, I’m so sorry.”

“What the hell am I going to do?” he asked. “If this goes on, she’s not the only one who’s going to be thrown out. Morningstar’s had it up to here with me. I may be one of the top salesmen in the Lower Mainland but he’s given me till a week Monday to get my personal affairs in order and if I haven’t, it’s—” He slashed his throat with his index finger. “Game over.”

He slumped down in a chair and somber silence fell on the room as they drank their coffee.

When they’d finished, Lacey said in a tentative tone, “Honey, won’t you even consider Fel—”

“No!” He shot up from his chair and scowled down at her. “Don’t even say that name in here, I don’t want—”

“We’re not talking about what you want now.” Lacey stood and confronted him, her green eyes pleading. “Jordan, I understand how you feel—after what happened, I don’t blame you for hating Denny Fairfax—”

“Lacey, I’m warning you—”

“But his sister had no part in what he did, she didn’t even know until after the car accident that he and Marla had been involved in an affair for several months before it happened. And although you lost your wife—”

“In more ways than one!”