Page 11 of The Billionaire's Distraction

She’d had two long relationships—and several shorter ones—with computer geeks.And she’d always thought of herself as their kind of woman.She was the safe choice.The girl next door.

Not the type men like Tony glanced at more than once.

She wasn’t athletic.She wasn’t the type who turned heads when she entered a room.Her hair—mousy brown and desperately in need of a trim—was usually pulled into a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she chased children.Her wardrobe was jeans and sweatshirts in winter, shorts and tee-shirts in summer.Work clothes.Clothes that could survive craft glue, fingerpaint, and grass stains.

Mini skirts?Dresses?Manicures?Not in her world.She hadn’t had a haircut in…what, six months?And if she painted her nails, they’d be chipped within a few hours, thanks to Play-Doh and peanut butter sandwiches.

She sighed again, forcing her eyes away from where he’d vanished, and turned back just in time to see Jacob and Mark walking toward her.Their faces were serious, their steps measured, but there was a glow in their cheeks, the soft evidence of play.

“Hey, guys,” she said warmly, crouching a little to meet them.“You’ve been so good today.Thank you.”

They didn’t say anything, just stared up at her with oddly solemn faces.That was strange.So Naomi crouched, dug into the bag she’d dropped at her feet, and pulled out the bright red frisbee she always carried “just in case.”

Waving it in the air, she asked lightly, “What do you think?Are you up for a bit of chase?”

Both boys lit up, their eyes sparking with excitement.“Yeah!”Jacob shouted.Mark bounced in place, clapping his hands together.For the first time that afternoon, their bodies vibrated with anticipation instead of menace or obedience.

Naomi grinned and launched the frisbee across the park.The boys tore after it, legs pumping furiously, their laughter carrying back to her on the warm breeze.They dove, collided, scrambled back to their feet, and tried again, giggles spilling from them each time one tumbled into the grass.

They weren’t very good at throwing it back—Mark’s tosses veered wildly to the left, and Jacob’s throws wobbled like drunken birds.Their little arms strained, their small hands clutched the plastic disk with all the determination in the world, and their faces shone with the joy of trying.

She threw again and again, watching them chase until their cheeks became flushed and their hair stuck damply to their foreheads.They tripped, rolled, tackled each other, and then collapsed in giggling heaps before springing up for more.

If their father were here, he would probably berate them for being so clumsy, for not mastering the perfect throw on their first try.But Naomi knew the truth.The point wasn’t to perfect a skill—it was to run, to laugh, to feel the stretch of their growing legs and the pull of breath in their lungs.It was to let thembe children.

For almost an hour, the boys played like that—pure joy, pure energy, burning off the pent-up chaos that always seemed to gnaw at them.And for almost an hour, Melissa Peterson sat quietly on the far bench, her shoulders hunched, her eyes hungrily fixed on her sons.From where Naomi stood, she couldn’t miss the mother’s expression—pained, wistful, but softened by the joyous sound of her boys’ laughter echoing through the park.

Eventually, Jacob launched himself into the air after one of Naomi’s throws, missing spectacularly and landing flat on his back in the grass.He laughed so hard tears filled his eyes, and Mark flopped down beside him, both of them kicking their legs and clutching their sides with helpless giggles.

Naomi wandered over and dropped to her knees, smiling down at them.They were a mess—grass stains on their shorts, dirt smudged across their cheeks, their eyes glowing with happiness.“Okay, okay,” she laughed, “I think the frisbee won this round.”

Catching their breath, the boys stretched out on their backs at her feet, staring up at the sky.Naomi stretched out between them, and on a whim, pointed at a puff of cloud drifting overhead.“That one looks like a dragon,” she said.

Normally, they would have scoffed—too “babyish,” too “dumb.”But today?Today, they leaned into it.Mark jabbed a finger upward, shouting, “That one looks like a race car!”Jacob pointed to another, insisting it was “totally a dinosaur.”

Naomi played along, laughing with them, marveling that whatever Tony had said had cracked something open in these boys.For the first time since she’d started working with them, they weren’t posturing, weren’t mimicking their father’s swagger.They were simply…being kids.

It felt like magic.

Overall, it was a wonderful, unexpected day—one that gave her the most precious thing of all: hope.Hope for the boys.Hope for herself.Hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a future where their sweetness could survive and thrive.

Much later that night, still warmed from the glow of the afternoon and desperate to thank Tony—and maybe, hopefully, find out exactly what he’d said to her little charges—Naomi baked.

“Just a thank you,” she murmured as she pulled the tray of cupcakes from the oven.They were perfectly browned, the scent of vanilla filling the small space like comfort itself.She’d chosen vanilla because she hated chocolate cake, but she made an exception for the frosting.Her buttercream was rich, whipped light, and swirled with melted chocolate before she piped it in soft peaks over the cooled cakes.Carefully, she set each finished cupcake into a container.

It wasn’t much.But it was something.

Chapter 7

Melissasatonthefar bench, her hands knotted tightly in her lap as she watched her sons sprint after the frisbee.Jacob’s shout of triumph carried across the park when he managed to catch it against his chest, tumbling to the grass in a heap.Mark dove after it next, missing completely, but he laughed so hard he toppled over anyway.The two of them rolled across the grass together, giggling, breathless, cheeks glowing pink.

Her heart soared.

It had been so long since she’d seen them laugh like that.Her boys—her beautiful boys—were still in there somewhere.Still capable of joy, of kindness, of being children instead of miniature replicas of their father.Tears burned her eyes as she pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

Naomi.

Melissa understood what the nanny had done.Any other day, Naomi might have gathered the boys and marched them back to the house after their earlier bullying.But not today.Today, she had kept them in the park, let them run, let them burn off their restless energy until laughter bubbled out of them like a spring.And Melissa knew—deep in her bones—that Naomi had done it for her.To give her a chance to see her children smiling, laughing, and happy.