Falling for the Nanny: Hot & Heavy in Paradise, #11

By Dezi Dixon

Khloe Davis needed a job in the worst way. After being fired for sending an email saying her boss had a micro *ahem,* she'd do anything to keep her new one happy. Even break traffic laws to get there in time.

Parker Balls got it done in the boardroom, but his homelife resembled a business deal gone south. He loved being a dad, but finding a good nanny proved difficult. With a call to Helping Hands he'd have the best in-home childcare in the area, but he doesn't expect to see her on his doorstep, the woman he fired for insulting his not-so-micro *ahem*.

When the pair finally bury the hatchet, the worst should be behind them. But not everyone is happy to see them together. When these two enemies become lovers not everyone is on board.

Warning: This book contains hot roll playing, a knife-wielding secretary, and a man who smells like a dragon slayer fresh from the woods (he does not have a micro *ahem*). Once you open this one, you'll be swept away by Balls...Parker Balls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dezi Dixon
• Release date: Jan 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393872375

Book preview

1

Khloe

The phone hadn’t finished its second ring before I swiped my finger across the screen and answered breathlessly. Damn clothing manufactures making women’s pants that don’t have pockets to store a phone. Thankfully, I was only a few feet away when the first ring happened, and I set a sprinting record in high school. Otherwise I might have missed the call that would change my life.

Is Khloe there? A high-pitched woman asked on the other line. I’m calling from Helping Hands.

Yes! I did a little Napoleon Dynamite in my living room and it bit my bottom lip to stop from screaming in excitement. Only twenty-four hours on the job market and I got my first case. Or family. Or assignment. I didn’t know what they were called yet, but I was determined to be the best damn nanny this town had ever seen so I’d learn the lingo, eventually. Let’s hope they had a Wikipedia page or something.

This is Khloe and I am ready and willing for whatever you want to give me. Hopefully that didn’t make me sound like an eager beaver, but even if it did, my mama always said the truth will set you free. Fingers crossed this time it would get me a cushy job. I needed money and did not have the boobs to be bouncing them around on The Strip for cash. Not that I had anything against women who did, but you needed something bigger than a B cup and the only way I was getting bigger involved plastic surgery, which cost money. The lack of money situation had already been established, so it was all a vicious cycle making the entire industry off limits.

I didn’t have the chest for a Vegas job, but I rocked the top bun like no other and I had more black clothing in my closet than all the drag queens in Vegas combined. I couldn’t be a stripper, but I definitely had the skills to be a nanny for one of the rich and famous in Vegas. Given my luck, it probably be a mom who started out as a stripper, met a sugar daddy, and got to spend the rest of her life living it up in her mansion paying me to watch her kids so she got the biggest prenup payout possible. I did not fault that woman.

Do you think you can get there in the next forty minutes? the woman on the phone asked, bringing me back to the reality where I missed all of her previous information about the job while doing my dance of celebration.

Crap. I couldn’t say I hadn’t been listening to my very first job. My best friend Letty worked hard to get me the position at Helping Hands. Her boss, Tina, married the owner Ted who helped nannies and mannies find positions all over the county. If I messed up, I’d be eating noodles for dinner every night.

Of course, I’m ready to go. I’d figure out the small details later.

Do you know how to find the neighborhood? she asked, sounding relieved to have a competent employee. Boy was she in for a surprise.

Double crap. I’d missed the address? Um, can you give me it one more time so I can make sure I got it right for my GPS?

She rattled off a street address, which I scribbled on a scrap piece of junk mail from my kitchen table. I don’t want to say I was poor, but I didn’t live in the high-rent district these people did. If traffic was right, I could get there in sixty minutes. Probably.

"He’ll be expecting you in forty minutes so please don’t be late. As I said, this is an emergency case and we do our best to keep all