The One Love Collection - Lauren Blakely Page 0,2

and Hayden have been logging in regularly, watching the mom as she sits on the tiny birds, as she grooms them, and as she feeds them.

“Mr. Eagle usually brings fish deliveries, but tonight he brought Mrs. Eagle a squirrel,” Abby says, her amber-flecked eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Must be a special night. Because you know the saying?”

“Which one is that?”

“Nothing says true love like a squirrel.”

“It’s the complete and absolute proof of his devotion,” she says with a laugh. “I took a screenshot to show Hayden in the morning.”

On the tablet, a huge bald eagle is feeding her two babies, tugging at the meat between her claws with her beak and dropping it in hungry mouths. It’s ridiculously adorable and completely badass at the same time. Hayden will love it. She conked out early tonight. Another swimming lesson late in the day did the trick, sending her to the land of nod ahead of schedule.

“This is Mother Nature at its finest, capturing these animals doing their thing.” Abby parks her chin in her hand and watches the evening feast in the poplar tree, wonder in her eyes. I lean closer. My shoulder is next to hers, a mere sliver of space between us. No, this is not the fulfillment of all my dreams about Abby, but I can’t deny that being this near to her is borderline arousing. Could be because it’s been a while. Could be because she smells like vanilla and sunshine. But it could also be because I’ve been wildly in lust with her for precisely seven months longer than I should.

It was kind of a first-day thing for me. Wish I could say otherwise, but that’s the truth. Insta-lust. Trouble is, it’s morphed into a helluva lot more than lust in all this time she’s spent in my home, with my family, with my kid.

Admiration. Fondness. The real deal.

It’s turned into exactly what I cannot have.

A big thing for the nanny.

If I could roll my eyes at myself, I would. Maybe even kick myself. But I can’t, so I zone in on the screen instead.

The mama eagle drops a piece of food into one eaglet’s beak, then the other.

“I guess we call that mouth-to-mouth squirrel delivery, and it is pretty awesome,” I say, because you’d have to be heartless not to find this webcam footage fascinating. The big bird gathers the babies underneath her when the feast is over, keeping them warm. I point to the uneaten portion of the dinner. “They have enough left over for a few more meals. She should really put that in Tupperware.”

“I’m sure Mr. Eagle is at the market, picking some up right now. It’s important to keep it fresh,” she says in mock seriousness. Then she turns to me. “Want me to let you know when they go back for seconds?”

“Absolutely. Please send me a full report on the next eaglet feeding.” I look at my wristwatch. “I need to head to my dinner. I should be back by eleven.”

“If you need to stay later to entertain Gabriel, it’s totally fine. I have a book, and my Italian app to work through,” she says, tapping her iPad. She already speaks four languages and is learning a fifth. When I interviewed her for the job, she told me she spent her junior year of college in Barcelona on a study abroad program. She grew up knowing Spanish, but wanted to master it, and she has. She offered to teach some basics to Hayden, and now my daughter is picking up a few new phrases. That’s one of the many perks of working with someone like Abby.

“I’ll definitely be back on time,” I say, because I don’t want this dinner with the hot new chef everyone is wooing to last forever, and because I need to be considerate of Abby’s time. She works full-time for me, since I have primary custody of my daughter.

Abby scowls as she circles her finger in the direction of my chest. “You’re not going to wear that, are you?”

Her tone makes it clear the correct answer is no, but I have no clue if she means the pressed white shirt, or the silk tie.

“And which sartorial item evokes your displeasure?”

“The tie,” she says crisply. “It’s all wrong.”

“Why, may I ask?”

“It’s too Wall Street.”

“I did work on Wall Street for a decade.”

She nods several times. “It shows. That tie makes it abundantly clear you’ve spent plenty of hours with Standard & Poor’s,” she says with a smirk. “Not