Andrea Peterchef is the reluctant new nanny to troublemaking nine-year-old Piper, and even though her first day ends with tomato-soup puke, her outlook improves over a sexy conversation with Piper’s guardian, Max. His voice evokes an image of her perfect man, but he’s a workaholic. Andrea can see Piper craves the love and stability of a family, and she’s determined to do what it takes to make that happen.

Maxwell Gildenthall is a stockbroker haunted by the 9/11 deaths of his girlfriend and his cousin-- Piper’s dad. Deadlines and data define his life -- not baby dolls and Disney videos. When his plus-sized au pair badgers him into spending more time with Piper, he realizes he’s been neglecting the child, and the chance to be near his pretty nanny is a bonus. Away from emotion-numbing work, he’s racked by guilt and pain, which threatens the fragile relationship he has with Andrea. It will take more than a spoonful of sugar to make these problems go down smoothly.

EXCERPT

I narrowed my eyes. Show time. I took a deep breath, ignored the scuffmarks on the wonderful floor, and made a mental note to have maintenance down here to de-scuff the area as I headed for the mini devil-incarnate. "Miss Hamilton." I stopped in front of the scooter to prevent any further forward progress on her part. "Piper?"

"Yes." Green eyes squinted up at me, sparkling with frank curiosity and mischief. "Hi, are you Miss…" She fumbled around the last name on my nametag for a few seconds, confusion making tracks about her face as she tried to sound out the word.

"Petercheff. Think of the name Peter followed by the word chef," I offered helpfully.

The morning sunlight reflected off her round, gold rimmed Harry Potter-like glasses and turned her hair into molten fire. If she were smart, she would learn how to harness that exact image for later in life. It would drive men wild. Maybe she would become a movie star. Wouldn't that be something? I could say I knew her before she was famous.

"How about if I call you Miss Pet? The other name is too hard to say."

She grinned, showing off a gaping hole in a rather unfortunate line of teeth that would be begging for braces later in life. Been there, done that.

"I'm Piper, and I turn nine in a month. My uncle's out of town so I guess you'll be watching me." It was a statement. She didn't wait around for a reply. Instead, she sidestepped my blockage of her scooter and started again. "I've had a lot of nannies but they weren't very cool. I don't like boring people." Another statement. "And I don't like nannies."

I rolled my eyes. Great, I'm stuck taking care of the Donald Trump of the nursery set. "I'm not a nanny. I'm the assistant manager of this hotel and only temporarily watching you," I asserted. I halted her scooter activity with my hand on her shoulder. "Personally, I think anyone who voluntarily wants to be a nanny is out of their minds. Children have a tendency to be very bothersome and very sticky."

Case in point, Piper's jacket sported some sort of greenish brown stain near one of the pockets. I could already feel the skin on my hand crawl with potential germs.

My kingdom for hand sanitizer!

Piper looked me up and down, sticking the tip of her pink tongue in and out of the hole where her front teeth used to be.

"Guess what? That's an ugly suit. My uncle says I'm a pistol, but I don't know what that means." With a wicked grin, she rooted around in her backpack then with a push of her foot set the scooter in motion. "Catch this, Miss Pet!" She flung a volleyball-sized package at me. Her high-pitched girlish laughter rang over the marble floor.

In order to catch the package, I stumbled into the fountain. Only then did I realize what I was holding.

A cluster of fireworks and somehow the little minx had lit its fuse.