Page 17 of The Billionaire's Distraction

The door opened suddenly.Naomi jumped, shoving her phone in her pocket, pretending to busy herself with the stack of toys by the sofa.

Mr.Peterson’s housekeeper bustled in, her arms already full of groceries.“Boss is on his way back, dear,” she warned briskly.“The boys will be extra rambunctious.They always are after mornings with their father.”She delivered the words like a prophecy, her lips pursed in sympathy.

“Thanks for the head’s up,” Naomi replied evenly, waiting until the woman disappeared into the kitchen with her bags.

The moment she was alone, Naomi pulled her phone back out, her fingers flying before her courage could falter.“Mancini, huh?You’re brave handing over your secrets like that.Let’s see if you’re ready for what I can uncover,”she typed, hitting send before she could overthink it.

Her heart thudded as the little message bubble disappeared.Silence.No reply.She hadn’t expected one—Tony Mancini didn’t strike her as the type to text back immediately.Or maybe ever.

Sliding her phone into her pocket, Naomi straightened her shoulders and turned toward the playroom, readying herself for round two of the day.The fantasy of strong arms and secret texts gave way to reality: two little boys tearing back into the house, their father’s toxic influence clinging to them like smoke.

The afternoon stretched ahead, long and exhausting.The boys were louder, rougher, testing every boundary she laid down.

But every time her phone buzzed in her pocket—even with nothing but a meaningless notification—Naomi’s heart leapt with the foolish hope that it might be him.

Tony Mancini.

The man who had kissed the top of her head in the middle of a bomb scare.The man who ordered her coffee like it was nothing.The man who left her shaken and beaming with just a single text.

And now, she knew his name.

Chapter 10

TomPetersonpulledtheMercedes into the drive, his jaw tight.He’d spent the entire morning parading his boys around, sitting them on his knee in front of his VPs, spinning some nonsense about “the next generation” of Peterson Industries.The idiots had clapped, smiled, and pretended to fawn, because that was what they were paid to do.

But inside, Tom had been grinding his teeth.

His kids were brats.Loud, restless, squirming every second.He’d taken them out to lunch afterward, an expensive steakhouse downtown, and they’d embarrassed him there too—spilling juice, whining about the menu, fighting over the bread basket.He’d had to laugh it off in front of his colleagues, as if it was endearing.As if he wasn’t ready to throttle them by the time dessert was served.

And now, after dumping his boys with the nanny, his temper grew hotter.He could already hear Naomi’s soft, sweet voice carrying through the hall and it irritated him.

She sounded…happy.

That grated.How could she sound so damn cheerful whenhe’dhad to deal with those two monsters for hours?

He stalked into the living room and stopped, watching from the doorway.

Naomi was curled on the sofa, her legs tucked under her, a book open across her lap.The boys leaned against her, one on each side, their heads resting against her arms, their eyes drooping as she read out loud to the two brats who had been obnoxious beasts just a few minutes ago.Now, they pretended to be the picture of domestic bliss.

His lip curled.

These two hellions were going to take over his business?He snorted with disdain.As if the little brats would ever be intelligent enough to take over his empire.The older one couldn’t even read yet.Who the hell fails the entrance exam for kindergarten?Tom’s jaw clenched.Pathetic.

And Naomi, what was she really doing?Reading.Reading!Yeah, she was reading out loud to the kids but…?For that, he was paying her more than most professionals earned in a month.Babysitting.Story time.Coddling.

Turning away, his irritation boiling, Tom retreated to his office.He shut the door, settled into the leather chair behind his desk, and pulled his laptop closer.A few clicks, and the browser filled with tabs he knew by heart.Porn sites.

He scrolled impatiently, dismissing one thumbnail after another.Nothing appealed.Not until he found a video—a dark-haired woman with her hair tied back, her features faintly resembling his nanny.

“Close enough,” he muttered, clicking.

His body responded quickly, fueled by irritation and fantasy in equal measure.It didn’t take long until his release washed over him.A few minutes later, he sat back with a satisfied sigh, closing the tab before the fake moaning became grating.

But as the post-release fog cleared, his lip curled again.

Videos weren’t enough.

He wanted Naomi.