Nanny

44

Braxton

I wanted to give Kate the world. Trips, cars, jewelry, beautiful dresses. I wanted to shower her with gifts. To let her know just how much I cared for her.

But I had resisted the urge until now. I was still wounded from our relationship with Leslie, and how the feelings we shared soon turned materialistic. It was important for me to not make the same mistake again.

Tonight was a special occasion, though. If Kate was going to be on my arm, she needed to look the part.

We said goodbye to the twins—and thanked Claudette for watching them again—and went downstairs to the car. The drive to The Met wasn't far, but there was a lot of traffic tonight. Our car got in the arrival queue, and when it was our turn it pulled up to the red carpet and an attendant opened the door.

The moment I stepped out of the car, I was greeted with a flash of camera bulbs and cheers from the watching crowd. I helped Kate out of the car, and her eyes immediately went wide.

"I thought this was a small event!"

"What gave you that idea?" I asked.

"I assumed that's the only thing you would take me too. This looks like the Academy Awards!"

I put my arm around her and kissed her cheek while the paparazzi took photos. "You look stunning. Let the dress do all the talking. Give the cameras that cocky, confident smile you always have when you're talking to me. Act like you're better than them."

"I'm not better than them."

Yes you are, I thought. But what I said was, "They don't know it."

Arm-in-arm, we walked up the carpet to the sprawling, ornate entrance to The Met. Reporters and tabloid writers shouted questions at us while the cameras flashed. I was used to it, but of course it was overwhelming for Kate. I took her by the arm and escorted her inside.

She immediately sighed with relief. "That was intense!"

"It's tough being a world-famous billionaire," I said.

She gave me a pout. "Oh, poor you."

"You joke, but some days I'd trade all my money for a few hours of anonymity. Come on, let's get some drinks."

We accepted some drinks from a server and then we were accosted by Andrea, a very short woman who was running the event. It was a charity fundraiser for a youth group in New York City, one of the first charities I had donated to after founding my investment firm. Because of that, and because of the cause itself, it was dear to my heart.

Even though we had arrived fashionably late, we had to mingle with the other guests for an hour. Everyone wanted to say hello to Braxton Nash, the billionaire playboy. Kate had recovered from the paparazzi and was able to hold her own in conversation, especially when asked about her work at the United Nations.

I went to get us more drinks, and when I returned I found her regaling a cluster of women with a story about how the Italian Ambassador sneezed so hard during one session that he split his pants down the back. I hung back and watched her for a few moments. She was holding their attention well, and didn't seem nervous or out of place at all.

I can see her doing this more often, I thought to myself. Perhaps there's even a chance that she...

"Why do you always insist on insulting everyone, Braxton?" asked the man next to me. It was William Harford, the CEO of a competing hedge fund.

"I haven't said a word to you yet, Billy," I replied. "Though the sight of you is giving me a few ideas."

"I brought my wife here. Andrea's date is the new outfielder for the Mets." He gestured across the room. "Yet you insisted on insulting the rest of us by bringing the help."