opportunity to show off Bella all along. That, Clarissa supposed, was why they called it acting.
“Yes, this is my daughter, and,” Slade motioned to Clarissa with a nod, “this is my daughter’s nanny, Mrs. Hancock.” He emphasized both the words nanny and Mrs .
The reporter gave Bella a big smile. “You are just a doll.”
“Are you a reporter?” Bella asked.
The smile got even bigger. “Yes, honey, I am.”
In a matter-of-fact tone Bella said, “Reporters are bad people.”
Slade patted Bella’s back, half laughing, half choking. “I don’t know where kids come up with these things.”
“You told me so, Daddy,” Bella said.
Slade laughed again, and this time it definitely sounded more like choking. “Of course, I wasn’t talking about you ,” he told the woman.
She smiled back at him stiffly. “Of course.”
“My daddy and Clarissa aren’t having an affair,” Bella added.
Slade didn’t wait for any questions after that. He started walking toward the lobby again, quite quickly this time, and Clarissa matched his pace.
Bella hugged her father’s neck happily, like it had been years and not just minutes since she’d last seen him, and then kissed him on the cheek. It must have made an irresistible picture. Which is why, Clarissa told herself, flashes were suddenly going off around them.
Chapter 8
Clarissa stood outside Slade’s hotel door and knocked softly. She tried to appear as poised as possible for a person about to face the wrath of a man who had—at least in the movies—single-handedly stormed the White House, killed dozens of terrorists, and brought down a drug cartel.
She fidgeted with her hands, forced herself to stop that, then found herself biting her bottom lip.
She had known ever since the instant she looked up from Bella’s arm into Slade’s eyes that this time would come. He had said nothing to her the entire time they checked in at the hotel desk or even on the way to their rooms. Now the girls had their pajamas on, their teeth brushed, and lay on Meredith’s bed watching cartoons so Slade could—as he’d explained to Meredith—have a moment alone to speak with Clarissa.
Slade opened the door, moved aside, and curtly said, “Come in.”
She did. She stood in the middle of the room, looking first at the couch and then the chair. “Do you want me to sit down, or would you rather I stand while you yell at me?”
“One thing,” he told her. “I asked you for one simple thing.” He slowly paced back and forth across the floor of the suite. “I asked you to check in before me so I could spare myself any negative press. Was that too hard?”
“I only let go of Bella’s hand to get my key, and she took off outside. I had to go after her. What else could I do?”
Slade stopped pacing and turned to face Clarissa. “Bella called reporters bad people and then specifically told one we weren’t having an affair. How do you suppose that story will go over once it hits the internet?”
“I didn’t put those words into her mouth. You did.”
“Yes, but I hired you to take care of her. You were supposed to keep her away from the paparazzi.” He held one hand up in the air. “Reporters want a story, and you gave them one.” He emphasized his next words as though each one were a headline. “Slade Jacobson’s week-long getaway with gorgeous married nanny.”
Gorgeous ? Clarissa must not have looked sufficiently horrified by this headline because he added, “What will your husband say about that?”
Alex would probably say something snide about her not being so gorgeous when she got up first thing in the morning. “Don’t worry about Alex,” Clarissa said.
Slade thrust his hands in his pockets and began pacing again. His eyes were dark with anger. “You don’t realize what the paparazzi are like. You have no idea.”
“I was doing my best to control Bella—”
“I certainly hope that wasn’t your best,” he cut in. “One would hope
“Yes, this is my daughter, and,” Slade motioned to Clarissa with a nod, “this is my daughter’s nanny, Mrs. Hancock.” He emphasized both the words nanny and Mrs .
The reporter gave Bella a big smile. “You are just a doll.”
“Are you a reporter?” Bella asked.
The smile got even bigger. “Yes, honey, I am.”
In a matter-of-fact tone Bella said, “Reporters are bad people.”
Slade patted Bella’s back, half laughing, half choking. “I don’t know where kids come up with these things.”
“You told me so, Daddy,” Bella said.
Slade laughed again, and this time it definitely sounded more like choking. “Of course, I wasn’t talking about you ,” he told the woman.
She smiled back at him stiffly. “Of course.”
“My daddy and Clarissa aren’t having an affair,” Bella added.
Slade didn’t wait for any questions after that. He started walking toward the lobby again, quite quickly this time, and Clarissa matched his pace.
Bella hugged her father’s neck happily, like it had been years and not just minutes since she’d last seen him, and then kissed him on the cheek. It must have made an irresistible picture. Which is why, Clarissa told herself, flashes were suddenly going off around them.
Chapter 8
Clarissa stood outside Slade’s hotel door and knocked softly. She tried to appear as poised as possible for a person about to face the wrath of a man who had—at least in the movies—single-handedly stormed the White House, killed dozens of terrorists, and brought down a drug cartel.
She fidgeted with her hands, forced herself to stop that, then found herself biting her bottom lip.
She had known ever since the instant she looked up from Bella’s arm into Slade’s eyes that this time would come. He had said nothing to her the entire time they checked in at the hotel desk or even on the way to their rooms. Now the girls had their pajamas on, their teeth brushed, and lay on Meredith’s bed watching cartoons so Slade could—as he’d explained to Meredith—have a moment alone to speak with Clarissa.
Slade opened the door, moved aside, and curtly said, “Come in.”
She did. She stood in the middle of the room, looking first at the couch and then the chair. “Do you want me to sit down, or would you rather I stand while you yell at me?”
“One thing,” he told her. “I asked you for one simple thing.” He slowly paced back and forth across the floor of the suite. “I asked you to check in before me so I could spare myself any negative press. Was that too hard?”
“I only let go of Bella’s hand to get my key, and she took off outside. I had to go after her. What else could I do?”
Slade stopped pacing and turned to face Clarissa. “Bella called reporters bad people and then specifically told one we weren’t having an affair. How do you suppose that story will go over once it hits the internet?”
“I didn’t put those words into her mouth. You did.”
“Yes, but I hired you to take care of her. You were supposed to keep her away from the paparazzi.” He held one hand up in the air. “Reporters want a story, and you gave them one.” He emphasized his next words as though each one were a headline. “Slade Jacobson’s week-long getaway with gorgeous married nanny.”
Gorgeous ? Clarissa must not have looked sufficiently horrified by this headline because he added, “What will your husband say about that?”
Alex would probably say something snide about her not being so gorgeous when she got up first thing in the morning. “Don’t worry about Alex,” Clarissa said.
Slade thrust his hands in his pockets and began pacing again. His eyes were dark with anger. “You don’t realize what the paparazzi are like. You have no idea.”
“I was doing my best to control Bella—”
“I certainly hope that wasn’t your best,” he cut in. “One would hope
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