The Billion Dollar Sitter Read Online Free Page A

as I laid his son back into his luxurious crib.
    I turned toward him with concern. A flustered concern, but still, concern. "Mr. Knight, what are you doing?"
    He let out a breath. "I'm sorry, am I going too fast? I assumed you wanted this when you signed the contract."
    "The contract? I, um..."
    "You didn't read it, did you?" His hands on his hips, he turned his back to me. "I knew I should have told them to simplify it. A lot to cover, custody rights, loopholes, constant what-ifs, so much nonsense on something that should be simple."
    "I didn't, no. I could barely understand it. I assumed it was elementary, I take care of Ty for a year, I get a million dollars."
    "I requested other things within the language. I want you to be a mother, Marci. With everything that entails."
    "A,  a mother?" I repeated, flabbergasted.
    "Yes. But I did not seek to trick you into such things. My apologies." He stepped through the door as quickly as he came, leaving me alone to silence.
    I turned and checked on Ty Jr. He was going to be fine for at least a few hours. I stroked his hair before following after Mr. Knight.
    With the house being as huge as it was, it wasn't exactly a simple task. I walked down the hall, looking for him, keeping quiet. Perhaps the servants slept here as well, and it'd be cruel to awaken them.
    At the top of the foyer in the grand hall, I stopped, a painting catching my eye. It looked like I walked past a mirror. A large frame holding an oil painting, a portrait likely commissioned by Tyson.
    A reflection – it was me in the portrait. Maybe not exactly me. She had a different hair color, a different eye color. But her face? It was close enough to easily be my cousin. Maybe even a sister. She even had my figure.
    It was Margaret. It hit me moments afterward – I was wearing one of her nightgowns.
    Slowly my mouth dropped open, all my body's energy in my rushing mind, putting everything together. Did he just choose me because I looked like his wife? Am I suppose to replace her? Was he a man gone crazy with the grief of losing his wife?
    Money can't save you from that agony. I've lost dear, close relatives, people who meant the world to me. My mother would offer me ice cream, some new clothes she couldn't really afford. It didn't alleviate the pain. And grandparents, favorite aunts weren't people I'd call soul mates.
    It didn't take long for the next realization to hit me, but it took far longer than it should have. He wanted me.
    My fantasy was coming dangerously close to reality. I'd been thinking about him that way ever since I laid eyes on him. Apparently I had signed a contract agreeing to let him have me, and to give Ty Jr. a brother or sister. The birth control prohibition suddenly made a lot more sense.
    I shuddered. I was still a virgin, never even kissed. It felt like I'd be skipping so many steps, agreeing to be with him for a year. Maybe even longer.
    He was two decades older than me, even. But if love happens, love happens, right?
    All I knew was that I couldn't make this decision in this hallway, admiring the artistry that went into his wife's portrait. I looked down the hall and saw twin doors, one hanging open to reveal a dim light. My heart told me that was the master bedroom, and inside there, he waited, thinking as deeply about this as I was.
    After a deep breath, I started toward it, my feet heavier with each step. This may be the most important conversation of my young life.
    The door was light, giving way to my strength with ease, and I found him sitting on the oversized windowsill, staring out into the night. A huge moon beyond the window added light to the room, aside from the quiet glow of a lamp in the corner. He sat so quietly, lost in his own thoughts. He was still dressed in his business wear, black pants, black socks, a collared shirt and a vest.
    I took few more steps across a fancy throw rug. "Mr. Knight?"
    "I didn't just pick you because you look like Margaret, you know," he began, not