Nanny to the Billionaire's Son. Barbara McMahon

repair work done, I’ll start dating again. Right now, I’m too tired.”

      And dating wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sam had fallen in love in college, only to have her boyfriend let her down when the accident claimed her parents’ lives and injured her sister so much. He couldn’t face having to deal with a paraplegic as part of his family. For a moment she remembered the crushing scene right after he visited Charlene in the hospital with Sam.

      Don’t go there, she warned herself. Chad was in the past. She had the future to think about. It was only once in a while that she thought about how her life would have been had that drunk not crashed into her family’s car and altered all their futures.

      She dated occasionally, but usually once the man found out she had a disabled sister, one who could not live on her own and would always need some assistance, he faded away. Or vanished instantly as in the case of her most recent foray into dating last August. She still had hopes of one day finding the perfect man, someone who would love her to distraction, and be able to handle having Charlene as a part of their lives.

      In the meantime, Sam had other priorities. Like getting enough money to repair the kitchen and quit the nighttime job.

      “I bet Margaret would let you borrow one of her gowns,” Charlene said.

      Sam looked at her sister. “You’re not serious.”

      “What have I been saying? Of course I am. Think about it. The Black and White Ball is the most exclusive charity event in Atlanta. They sold out last Thanksgiving for the New Year’s Eve event. It’s in three days’ time. You found the ticket. Think of it as serendipity. I think you should go.”

      “The ticket isn’t mine,” Sam protested. She couldn’t help remembering her daydream of the previous night. She’d love to go to something so elegant. To be carefree and pretend all was right with her world.

      “It’ll just go to waste if you don’t use it,” Charlene argued. “No will know how you got it. No one would care. The charity obviously already has the money. I’ll call Margaret right after breakfast.”

      Sam toyed with the idea. It would be wonderful to have a special memory to look back on. And when would she ever be able to spend five hundred dollars on a ticket to a dance?

      Not a dance—to an elegant ball.

      “Maybe—if Margaret has a dress. It has to be black or white, remember. That’s the whole premise of the ball.” The more Sam thought about it, the more she wondered that even if she did go, she’d be spotted for an imposter in an instant. Still—it did seem a shame to waste the ticket. Should she throw the decision to fate and leave it up to seeing if Margaret had a suitable gown?

      CHAPTER ONE

      SAMANTHA entered the luxurious lobby of the Atlantian Hotel with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Her pace slowed as she looked around, taking in every detail. The spacious lobby was amazing, ceilings that soared at least twenty-five feet supporting crystal chandeliers that sparkled and gleamed with light. The floor alternated glowing hardwoods with lush Persian carpets centering seating arrangements of plush sofas and deep easy chairs. Sidestepping from a direct line to the ballroom, she deliberately walked on one of the crimson carpets, her heels sinking in dangerously. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she savored the luxury, smiling in sheer delight.

      She felt like a schoolgirl let out into the real world for the first time. Only this was not her world. Elegant hotels, fabulous balls, expensive gowns and jewels were only things she normally read about. This was a first—to actually be participating. She couldn’t believe she’d actually let Charlene talk her into attending.

      Samantha assumed an air of casual sophistication and crossed to the cloakroom hoping she appeared as if she attended events like this routinely. She checked in her coat, her practical wool a poor showing beside the cashmere and silk.

      Clutching her small purse and purloined ticket, Samantha raised her chin and walked to the huge double doors opening into the ballroom. Atlanta’s Black and White New Year’s Eve Ball was one of the most prestigious charity events of the winter season. A recent tradition, its goal was raising funds for the Children’s League while celebrating the beginning of each new year. With such sponsors as Gideon Fairchild and Vanessa Winters, it attracted the crème de la crème of Atlanta society. And tonight Sam was mingling with them all!

      Samantha smiled at the white-gloved man at the door checking the coveted tickets. She showed hers wondering if he’d immediately recognize she should not be here and block her entry.

      He merely glanced at the embossed ticket and said, “Table twenty-one is near the dais.”

      She nodded and entered the enchanted ballroom. Her gaze moved around the room taking in every lavish decoration. White lights sparkled from a dozen chandeliers reflected in the antique mirrors that lined one wall. Even more gorgeous than the ones in the lobby, the crystal illumination offered a rainbow of colors matched only by the glittering jewels displayed by guests.

      Round tables were set with fine linens, bone china and real silverware. Small, discreet signs with table numbers sat in each center. Waiters circulated with champagne, filling flutes expertly. Uniformed waitresses offered hors d’oeuvres. People were already sitting at some of the tables, even more were roaming around greeting friends. Sam took her time sauntering through the lavishly appointed room. She felt like Cinderella at the ball. She didn’t know anyone here, but that wouldn’t dim her excitement.

      People smiled at her and she returned the silent greeting with an answering smile and slight nod. Her gaze moved to the dais where a table for those sponsoring the event was already filling up. There she recognized one or two famous residents of the city from photographs in the newspaper.

      True to the nature of the event, everyone wore either white or black or a combination. The men looked superb in their dark tuxedos. Occasionally she’d spot one wearing a white dinner jacket. Young and old alike looked more polished and debonair in a tux. She wished there were more events that required formal attire. Not that she’d likely attend any of those, either.

      The gowns the women wore were fantastic. The only colors were the jewels that sparkled at throats, ears and wrists. Her own string of pearls seemed subdued in comparison to the emeralds and rubies and diamonds that predominated. But they had belonged to her mother and she loved them. She could only pretend so much.

      Normally when Samantha thought about white gowns, she envisioned wedding dresses. Not tonight. The creations ranged from sleek and sophisticated to almost indecent. More black gowns were present than white, but all were obviously designer creations.

      Her own gown blended in perfectly. On loan from her friend Margaret who owned a vintage clothing shop, the white satin strapless bodice gradually faded into gray then black at a wide band at the bottom of the floor-length skirt. It was more than fifty years old, but had been lovingly cared for and Sam felt as comfortable in it as she would have in one of today’s couture gowns. Because of its age, there was not a high likelihood of seeing another like it tonight.

      She felt like a princess and held her head even higher to show off her gown. She had never worn anything so elegant before. Her hair, normally worn down or tied back in a ponytail, had been done by her sister into an upswept loop with a few curls cascading down her back. She repressed the urge to twirl around in giddy delight, feeling excited like nothing before. There would be dancing after the dinner. Would she get a chance? An assessing look around her showed most people seemed paired. Sighing softly, she made up her mind to enjoy every moment—whether she danced or not. It was unlikely she’d ever have another opportunity to attend a Black and White Ball.

      “Champagne?” A waiter stepped close, a tray of filled flutes in his hand.

      “Thank you,” she said, taking a glass. When he’d passed on, she took a tentative sip. Mmm. Another sip. Champagne was not normally in her budget. This was delicious.

      Before she could move, a man stepped in front of her.

      “I’m sure we have met,” he said with