Dirty Little Secrets Read online

  Dirty Little Secrets

  by Lizzie Shane

  The Bouquet Catchers: Book Three

  Copyright © 2017 Lizzie Shane

  Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights reserved under copyright above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dirty Little Secrets

  Widowed father of twin girls and descendant of a political dynasty, Aiden Raines has been going through the motions since he lost his wife, throwing himself into work and focusing on taking care of others. He might work a few too many hours, but he’s getting by and he isn’t interested in rocking the boat—or getting involved in another relationship. Until he finds himself growing keenly aware of the woman who’s been right under his nose for years…

  Samira Esfahani moved to DC and took the job as a live-in nanny when she was running away from a failed marriage. After learning how wrong she’d been about her ex-husband, she wasn’t ready to trust her romantic instincts again, but if she were to decide she wanted a man, Aiden Raines would be the prototype for the perfect one. Unfortunately, he’s also her boss, and off limits in more ways than one… until one kiss changes everything.

  As much as Samira wants to be with him, she’s leery of trusting her heart—especially if being with Aiden would thrust her into the political spotlight, or worse, leave her hiding in the shadows as his DIRTY LITTLE SECRET.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  For my grandfather, David, the smartest man I ever knew, and my grandmother, Ivalee, the woman with the biggest heart.

  PROLOGUE

  Two and a half years ago…

  “You’ve been creating curriculum for pre-K programs for the past two years, you have a master’s degree in early childhood education and now you’ve decided you want to be a nanny?” The petite young woman sitting across from Samira raised her eyebrows, as if skeptical of the choice.

  Samira adjusted her grip on the folder that had carried her resume, fighting not to fidget. “I’m looking for a new start.”

  The pretty little blonde’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a temporary gig for someone who wants a break from their life. I realize you’re overqualified, but the position is long term. My girls need stability.”

  “That’s perfect,” Samira assured the young mother. The girl looked exhausted, but since the job posting was taking care of twin toddlers, that wasn’t surprising. “I’m very reliable. I would never leave you in the lurch.”

  She could only assume that was what had happened with the previous nanny. Jackie had mentioned the first nanny when she recommended Samira for the job, though her friend hadn’t explained why she was no longer with the family. In the world of DC nannies, it could be anything from visa problems to sleeping with the husband—though Jackie had assured her the Raineses were a good family to work for, not the kind to get embroiled in the latest beltway scandal.

  “The position is live-in. Are you married? Planning to be?”

  Samira rubbed at the spot on her left ring finger where a band no longer dug into her skin. “Divorced,” she admitted. “With no intention of remarrying.” Ever. She would have her own life now and she wasn’t giving that up for anyone.

  Chloe Raines’s expression softened minutely. “Men are scum, aren’t they? My father destroyed my mother in their divorce. I’d probably think the entire species was doomed if my Aiden wasn’t a prince among men.” She grimaced as she said the last, as if her husband’s princeliness was a source of irritation rather than pride. “Our last nanny flirted with him shamelessly and I’m not sure he even noticed.” The young woman tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, her eyes flicking back down Samira’s resume. “You wouldn’t see much of him—at least not at first. He works a great deal. I thought law school was the worst, but apparently working your way up at your first firm is even more demanding.”

  No wonder the girl looked so exhausted. Raising twins with virtually no support would drain anyone. And she did look drained. Like someone had pulled the stopper and all the vitality had run out of her. Her face was pale, eyes sunken and the fragile bones of her wrists stood out as she repeatedly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. That hair was the one incongruity. The blond curls were lush and perfectly styled—like a beauty queen’s. A strange contrast to her makeup-free face and stained T-shirt.

  Even in her exhaustion, she was lovely. Though there was a harshness in her expressions, a bitterness that seemed ill-fitting.

  “What kind of name is Samira?” Chloe asked out of the blue and Samira fought not to react.

  “Persian.” She kept her voice calm, uninflected.

  Chloe’s lips pursed at the answer. “I see you’ve just moved to the DC area. How long were you in St. Louis?”

  “All my life, except college. I was born there. My father is a professor at Washington University. Ancient civilizations.” She offered the information readily. See? Nothing to see here. No history of radical militant anything. Just a nice, friendly academic family. An American family, though not everyone saw them that way these days.

  She’d heard stories from other women who’d been fired from daycares because their skin tone had scared the rich, white, suburban parents, but nothing like that had ever happened to her. And she hadn’t expected Chloe Raines to discriminate.

  “Jackie referred me,” Samira reminded her. “We studied together at Notre Dame.”

  “That’s right.” Chloe smiled slightly at the mention of the other nanny, who wore a hijab and was much more outspoken about her beliefs than Samira had ever been. “Brooklyn and Trent just love her. What a find.”

  I’m a find, too. Samira silently urged her, but refrained from speaking, projecting hope and trustworthiness for all she was worth.

  Chloe set aside Samira’s resume, folding her hands in her lap and meeting Samira’s gaze. “May I be frank with you?”

  Samira swallowed nervously. “Please.”

  “I’m dying.”

  Samira’s ja
w dropped at the harsh, unexpected words. “I…”

  “Cancer,” she went on baldly—and Samira’s eyes flicked involuntarily to the glorious blonde locks. Now obvious as a wig. “I’ve already outlived my original prognosis. Which my darling husband thinks is a sign I’m going to beat it and we’ll still be able to live happily ever after, but I’m a bit more practical. I might have a few more months, but two months or six, I’m dying.” She waved a hand at herself. “This is a good day, if you can believe it.”

  Samira opened her mouth, but had no idea what to say.

  “Our last nanny flirted with my husband and accepted compliments on my daughters like they were her own. Trying to step into my shoes before I was even in my coffin. So she had to go.”

  Samira nodded, still unable to find words.

  “No one would mistake you for their mother,” Chloe went on, her face as strangely expressionless as it had been since she’d announced she was dying.

  Samira’s gaze flicked to the large framed photo on the sideboard, the two grinning cherubs with their fuzzy platinum blonde curls and bright blue eyes. No. No one would mistake them for hers, with her olive skin, black hair and dark brown eyes.

  “Far from being an obstacle, the fact that you’re… darker is an asset to me.” Chloe smoothed a hand down her wrinkle-free yoga pants. “I won’t be here much longer and I don’t want my daughters raised by someone who will be so busy trying to replace me she will erase me from their history and assume the role of mommy.”

  “I would never do that,” Samira promised, her voice husky.

  “No. You couldn’t.”

  Her throat tightened. This was not what she’d expected from this interview when she walked into the stately townhome where it seemed like these people had the perfect upper class life. “There are new treatments—”

  “Don’t. I get enough of that positive thinking crap from my husband.” Harshness hummed through Chloe’s voice again—and this time Samira heard it for what it was.

  Anger. Fear.

  Rage at the world that had dealt her this hand and fear of not just dying, but being forgotten. Erased. Fear that even her own daughters wouldn’t remember that she was their mother. Frustration at her own helplessness. And all those fears and frustrations translated seamlessly into more anger. Samira understood that better than most. She’d seen what fear could become too many times.

  Chloe Raines couldn’t be more than twenty-four or twenty-five years old and here she was, interviewing the woman who would raise her children when she was gone.

  Chloe obviously didn’t want comfort—she was holding herself together with sheer force of will and any trace of sympathy might ruin Samira’s chances of getting the job, but she couldn’t ignore the pain of the woman seated across from her any more than she could turn her back on a crying child. It simply wasn’t in her. She stood and rounded the coffee table, moving from one tasteful couch to another and sinking down beside Chloe Raines, who frowned at her irritably. “What are you doing?”

  Samira didn’t answer, putting her hand over Chloe’s. “I’m sorry.”

  Chloe met her eyes, her brittle anger a barricade against sympathy, but when Samira didn’t say more, just let her regret and understanding sit in the air between them, Chloe visibly swallowed and tears swam in her eyes.

  “It isn’t fair,” she whispered.

  “No,” Samira agreed.

  Chloe turned her hand beneath Samira’s. Just that. Gripping tightly. Neither spoke and they sat there for several minutes, simply clutching each other. Who knows how long they would have stayed like that if the front door hadn’t slammed.

  “Chlo?” A masculine voice called from the foyer.

  “My husband,” Chloe said, tugging back her hand and standing. She raised her voice, “In the sitting room, Aiden.”

  Her brittle mask was back in place by the time her husband burst into the room. Samira stood as well, suddenly awkward, her hands feeling too large hanging by her sides, but the man who’d entered the room like a force of nature had eyes only for his wife.

  He was tall, with the sculpted good looks and dark brown hair that brought to mind George Clooney or JFK, so handsome and so jarringly charismatic he seemed more like an actor playing a lawyer than an actual advocate of the law. It was the charisma, even more than the looks, that made Samira’s mouth go dry.

  He radiated… something. Confidence? Intellect? Likability? Whatever it was, it filled the room, making the air seem thicker and more electric, like everyone was more alive as soon as he appeared.

  She knew men like him. Men who walked into a room and consumed every bit of oxygen in it with the force of their presence. She’d married a man like him—but that wasn’t a mistake she was likely to repeat. Even if her heart rate accelerated at the first sight of Aiden Raines. He was the definition of off limits. And praise Allah for that.

  “Are you all right?” he asked his wife, rushing toward her. “Dr. Carter said you missed your appointment.”

  Chloe shook him off when he tried to take her hands. “I was interviewing our new nanny.”

  His gaze flicked toward Samira for only a second, seeming to realize she was in the room for the first time, before locking back on his wife. “You can’t just skip treatments, Chlo. Are you feeling—”

  “Can we please have one conversation that isn’t about how I’m feeling?” she snapped. “I’ve just hired us a nanny. Meet Samira.”

  Samira blinked, startled to discover she’d been hired without a single mention of terms, but desperate enough for the job not to argue. She hadn’t walked away with much in the divorce and there was only so long she could sleep on Jackie’s couch.

  “Nice to meet you,” Aiden Raines said absently, scarcely taking his eyes off his wife as he shook Samira’s hand. “Dr. Carter can fit you in this afternoon—”

  “I’m showing Samira around this afternoon and helping her get settled before the kids get back from your mother’s.”

  “I can do that.”

  “You have work.”

  “Nothing that can’t be taken care of later.”

  Samira shuffled back a step, trying to make herself invisible. This was one part of being a nanny she hadn’t considered. She’d never worked in someone’s home before, always in the controlled, neutral environment of daycares and preschools. She hadn’t accounted for the awkwardness of being a witness to their domestic harmony—or lack thereof—without being an actual part of it. Looking after the girls she felt confident she could do, but the rest of it would take some getting used to.

  Chloe slanted a look at Samira and she half expected the young woman to tell her husband not to give her a hard time in front of the help, but instead she spoke directly to Samira. “Would you like to see your room?”

  Samira’s gaze flicked uncertainly between Chloe and her husband, feeling strangely like she was taking sides—but if she was going to declare an allegiance, she’d rather declare it toward the mother. “I’d love to.”

  Aiden Raines opened his mouth as if he would say something more, but he simply squeezed his wife’s shoulder and announced, “I’ll go pick up the girls.”

  “Perfect,” Chloe announced, but her back was to her husband and she was already leading Samira out of the room. When the door closed behind them, she added, “If he picks them up at least I don’t have to listen to my motherin-law going on about how all of her children were talking in full sentences by the time they reached eighteen months. Maybe she’ll give that up now that I have a nanny with a master’s in early childhood development.” Chloe glanced over her shoulder as she started up the stairs. “I think you’re going to come in very handy, Samira.”

  “Glad I can help.” Samira carefully ignored the younger woman’s white-knuckled grip on the banister as she pulled herself up—the earlier intimacy when they’d clutched one another’s hands forgotten.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two and a half years later. February…

  “I hav
e the best news for you,” Jackie announced as she threw herself down next to Samira on the bench at the edge of the Houghton Hills playground. Jackie’s charges made a mad dash for the slides, calling out to Stella and Madelyn who had already reached the pinnacle of the massive jungle gym.

  “Scandal has been renewed for another season?” Samira guessed, closing the book she’d been quasi-reading as she kept one eye on the girls. Beneath the bench, Benjamin Franklin lifted his head at the movement, sniffing the air, then seemed to realize Samira wasn’t going to unclip his leash and let him dash across the playground barking wildly and lowered his furry head with a drawn-out canine sigh.

  “Don’t even joke about the possibility that it won’t get renewed,” Jackie threatened. “I don’t know what I would do without my Fitz fix.”

  Samira wrinkled her nose. “I will never understand your fascination with that petulant excuse for a president. He throws more tantrums than Maddie.”

  “His passion for Olivia can’t be denied. It’s romantic.”

  “It’s dysfunctional. And he’s a cheater. Give me a David Rosen any day.”

  “I have something even better,” Jackie bragged. “A real, live war hero who would be perfect for you. His name is Brian Wilson and he just started working in Amal’s department.”

  “Brian Wilson like the Beach Boys?”

  Jackie frowned at her. “You know the names of the Beach Boys?” She flapped a hand, waving away the question. “Not important. Focus on my Brian. Tall, fit, financially stable, and divorced—apparently his wife didn’t like the military lifestyle, but he’s stateside now for good and a total catch. Say, ‘Thank you, Jackie.’”