Grumpy Billionaire CEO's Nanny

4.

Xander

"Hey Dad," Mason greets, walking up to me while I drink my cup of coffee.

There's a bashful look on his face that immediately makes me suspicious. I drop my cup and phone on the table and face him, giving him my undivided attention.

"Hey, Mase."

"So, don't get mad," he begins, and I shake my head.

"That depends on what you have to say."

If you're going to get mad, then I might as well not say it," he counters.

"I'm guessing the reason you're coming to tell me is because either you need my help with something or you need me to do something for you."

He shrugs and I'm drawn to his shoulders. He has gotten so big in the past few months. It almost feels like he's grown up when I haven't been watching. It causes a pang in my heart.

"No, if you're just going to get mad at me, then I might as well find another solution. One that will have a more favorable outcome."

I smile, leaning back into my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. I taught him that. And it's nice that he was paying attention. Mason tends to act like me a lot. He's dependable, responsible, and he takes care of his sister. Not to mention they're both extremely intelligent. I realize everyone thinks their kids are the next Einstein but Mason and Madison are smarter than most other children, like I've been told many times at parent-teacher conferences.

"And where exactly would that other solution be?"

"Uncle Declan," he replies.

Right—their crazy, annoying godfather.

"Alright, fine, let's make a deal. The punishment will fit the crime."

He immediately shakes his head full of brown curls. "No deal."

I laugh. "I'll dial the punishment back twenty percent."
Fourty," he argues.

Yeah, my son's going to make an amazing businessman.

"Alright, you have a deal. Now tell me what's up," I prompt.

He lets out a tiny sigh before sitting down in the chair next to me.

I accidentally spilled Mads' paint in the art room," he says.

I'm silent for a moment. If Mason's more business like me, then Madison's like her mother: artistic, cheerful, full of energy and bright light.

"Come on, Dad, say something," my son prompts.

"I'm drawing out the suspense," I tell him. "Pun intended."

"I don't follow. What's a pun? Could you explain?" he asks and I promptly do so.

"Anyway, your sister's going to be upset if she wakes up and finds her paint gone."

"Which is why I wanted you to get someone to go get it."

I raise an eyebrow. "How about you go get it? I'll get Jack to drive you to the closest art store."

He balks. "But I haven't eaten breakfast yet. And school is in an hour."

"You can have breakfast once you're back. And I'm sure you can get your sister's paint and be back in an hour."

"I need to wake Madison," he says with a small pout.

"I'll do it. You go. Get dressed and Jack will be waiting for you outside."

His head falls back and he groans dramatically. It's nice to see that he's still a normal kid.

"Is this my punishment?"