The Texas Billionaire's Bride / The Texas Bodyguard's Proposal: The Texas Billionaire's Bride

“Evidently, you could, because you aced your classes in school. You graduated with honors, in fact.”

“I knew I’d never get anywhere without a good education.”

She’d supplied her school records for him, and she was sure someone on his staff had already double-checked those, as well as her employment history.

She only hoped that the one job she’d left off her résumé wouldn’t come back to dog her—a gig that had gotten her through college. A paycheck-earner that she preferred to leave behind with the rest of her past.

Her time as a showgirl in what she now considered to be a seedy off-Strip casino in Vegas.

She blew out a breath, continuing, praying she wouldn’t give herself away. “Besides babysitting, I took up waiting tables at a burger joint after classes. But I was known as the go-to babysitter of the neighborhood, and that got me more and more jobs. So I gravitated toward that, since I think I was good at it.” She laughed a little. “Besides, I could charge more than I made in a restaurant that catered to teens, where the tips were…lacking.”

“Industrious,” he said, but she couldn’t tell if it was just a random comment, or if he was truly impressed.

After all, the Foleys were known far and wide for rolling up their shirtsleeves and working for their fortune. They were self-made men, and Melanie was hoping he would want that in the nanny who was raising his child, too.

“I saved every dollar,” she added, “splurging only on my dancing lessons. Lots of them. I couldn’t go without.”

“We all need an outlet,” he said, but he sounded distracted as he looked at the dossier again.

At his next question, she knew they’d entered the most dangerous part of the interview.

“Why did you head toward Vegas right after graduating high school?”

Nerves prickled her skin. “I’d heard the economy was booming at the time, and the opportunity seemed ripe for the taking. The waitress job I got in a local café paid far more in tips than I’d ever made before.”

He didn’t answer, as if expecting more.

She smiled again, giving as good as she was getting. “Didn’t you also gravitate there for the same general reason, Mr. Foley? You’ve developed several projects in the area.”

Maybe it was her chutzpah, but a slight grin tilted his mouth.

That was his only answer, and it disappeared before Melanie could be sure she’d even seen it. Then he was right back in boss-man mode, scribbling some notes on the cover of her dossier.

Was he thinking that she was naïve for dropping everything and heading to Vegas, just as thousands of dreamers without his kind of money had done before her? Get rich quick. Double your income with the right gambles.

And gamble she had, just not with money.

She’d been “discovered” one night when she went out dancing with some fellow students from community college. A talent coordinator from The Grand Illusion casino had given her his business card, inviting her to an audition.

At first, she’d denied him, thinking that her waitress job would hold her. Then her mom had started to write her, asking for loans, and in spite of how Melanie had wanted to escape Oklahoma, she couldn’t say no to helping out the family.

And that’s when she’d decided to audition. The Grand Illusion had a small, fairly cheesy revue that was half bawdy magic and half sexy musical, although nothing distasteful. Heck, no one even took off their sequined tops. She told herself she probably wouldn’t make it anyway. Yet, much to her surprise, she’d breezed through the process, with them offering her a modest wage and, more importantly, the promise of open days during which she could keep going to school and wait a few tables.

It was an ideal setup, and it wasn’t as if she was doing any exotic dancing. Just as soon as she had her degree, she’d be done with it anyway.

When she had the degree under her belt, she quit dancing, just as she’d promised herself, and she’d signed on for her first nanny job, thanks to a glowing recommendation from her advisor to his personal friend.

Her employer had been an affluent single mom, a prominent business developer who was in dire need of a helper; and it’d been the perfect job for years, until Melanie’s boss got married and decided to become a stay-at-home mother.

And that’s how Melanie had come to Dallas at the age of twenty-eight—because her first employer had worked with Zane Foley on the development of a Vegas mega apartment-village complex, and when the businesswoman heard that his latest nanny had quit and he needed to hire another one pronto, she’d given him Melanie’s name.

He nudged the dossier away from him and, for a heavy moment, Melanie wondered if Zane Foley, a man who seemed to cover every base, had dug deep enough into her life to expose her crowded double-wide-trailer beginnings and dancing days.

Was he going to spring it on her now?

“As you’ve heard from Andrea Sandoval,” he finally said, referring to Melanie’s first nanny employer, “I’m eager to get someone in place to care for my daughter. And you almost seem too good to be true, Ms. Grandy, dropping into my lap like this.”

She felt heat creeping over her face, mainly because she could just imagine what it might be like to drop into his lap—Lord have mercy—yet also because she didn’t want to panic at what he might’ve uncovered.

“No one’s perfect, Mr. Foley,” she said, hoping he would agree.

He didn’t, so she kept talking, seeing if she could maybe use a little flattery as backup.

“Although,” she said, “your family seems to come close enough to perfect as it gets.”

He remained distant, over on his side of the table. “We’re hardly perfect.”

“Then you should tell your PR people to stop selling that image,” she said lightly. “The media seems to think that the Foleys are the epitome of what’s good about our country.”

His tone grew taut. “You’ve been looking into my family, have you?”

How could she deny it? News about the business doings of the Foleys, whose holdings had started from a few oil rigs to an empire based on prime real estate and media interests, was legion. Then there were all their charitable causes, behind-the-scenes political power plays and even the social adventures of Zane’s brother, Jason. Hard to ignore, when the media—and the nation—was fascinated with them, even if Zane, himself, tended to avoid the limelight.

“I only did my research,” she said, “because I need to make sure you’re the right family for me, just as you’re making sure I’m right for you.”

Her smile returned full force, but not because she was trying to win him over this time. She was remembering the freckled nose and doe eyes of his daughter. There’d only been a short introduction, yet it’d been enough to convince Melanie that she didn’t belong anywhere else in this world. Something about Olivia had profoundly tugged at Melanie, maybe because the girl reminded her of herself—a little lost and isolated.

Zane Foley didn’t return her smile. In fact, he seemed intent on avoiding it, while the sun from outside shifted enough to slant a patch of red from the stained glass over the strong angles of his face.

Her chest went tight.

“I like your optimism,” he said. “You’d need quite a bit of it with Livie, you know. As I pointed out during our first interview, she’s gone through five nannies in six years.”

“I remember.” Her former employer had already cautioned Melanie. After Olivia’s mom had passed away, the girl had rejected everyone she perceived to be taking her mom’s place.

Melanie had known from the start that this wouldn’t be an easy job; but she wanted to make a difference in the girl’s life, because she sure wished someone had made a difference earlier in her own.

“My daughter’s a handful,” he said. “I’ll make no bones about that.”

“I’ve got more perseverance than you can imagine.”

“Your predecessors thought they had it, too. And on their way out the door, most of them even told me that I ought to think about applying some of that perseverance I show in my own business to my household.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Just to give you fair warning, I don’t employ nannies to get advice from them.”

Melanie kept eye contact, thinking that there was a chink in the steeliness of his gaze—a darkness that showed more than just that notorious arrogance.

“Mr. Foley,” she said softly, “I’d never presume to judge anyone.”

He stared at her a beat longer, then sat back in his chair again, even though he didn’t let up with his gaze. It held her, screwed into her, until a slight thrill traveled her veins.