Triplet Trouble For My Billionaire Boss (The Triplet Trouble Collection)
1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Cole
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I reach for the door handle, ready to leave the office. The tailored black tuxedo fits perfectly. Tonight’s gala is a critical event—a gathering of Hollywood elites and investors that Silver Screen Studios cannot afford to miss.
I fish out the phone and glance at the screen. Evelyn. My private chef doesn’t call unless it’s important.
“Evelyn,” I answer, already halfway out the door.
“Mr. Wagner, I hate to bother you, but I thought you should know the nanny quit.”
I freeze mid-step. “What?”
“She left a note on the counter this afternoon,” Evelyn continues, her tone calm but irritated. “Something about the stress of the job being too much for her.”
I grit my teeth. The third nanny in six months. “Did she say anything else?”
“No, just the note.”
“Fine, I’ll call the agency in the morning.” I close my office door behind me and lock it before heading to the elevators.
“Well, with the gala tonight, I thought you’d want to make other arrangements for Robbie,” she says, her voice softening.
“Arrangements? What arrangements?”
“Well, Shawn and I are going to the cirque show tonight,” she says, referring to her husband. “We’ve had tickets for months, remember?”
I glance at my watch. I have to be at the event in less than an hour. Fantastic. “What about Ellis?”
Ellis is my head-of-household and has been with me for over ten years.
“Also unavailable,” she says. “He’s attending a family dinner.”
The elevator doors open, but I don’t step in. I just press my fingers to my temple, trying to suppress the irritation bubbling under the surface. “Fine. I’ll figure something out.”
“Good luck, sir,” Evelyn adds, though her tone suggests she doubts I’ll find it.
I end the call, slip the phone back into my pocket, and turn back to head to my private office suite where my executive assistant works.
Virginia would know what to do. She always knew what to do.
She wasn’t there a moment ago when I walked past her desk, but maybe she was back.
I step into the private waiting room adjacent to my office, scanning for Virginia. The room is sleek and efficient, just like she is—glass desk, polished surfaces, and not a single thing out of place.
Empty.
I glance at the wall clock. Though she usually doesn’t leave until I do unless I’m working really late, I remember that I gave her the evening off since I was just heading to the gala. She’s gone already. Of course.
I curse under my breath. Efficient, professional, unflappable Virginia—thorough to a fault; her organization keeps everything in my life running smoothly. If anyone could’ve handled this situation, it would’ve been her.
Running a hand through my hair, I take a deep breath. Options. I need options.
The heels of my polished shoes click against the marble floor as I head for the elevator.
My gut instinct is to call the agency tonight, and they would answer. No one turns down a call from me. But I don’t trust anyone they’d send last minute. Robbie is five, and I’m not leaving him with someone I haven’t vetted personally.
So that leaves one of my own people. Silver Screen Studios’ background checks are legendary. I don’t hire anyone in my company whose life hasn’t been combed through.
Unfortunately, it’s after 6:00 on a Friday night and nearly everyone has left for the day .
The elevator dings as I reach the ground floor, and I stride out into the grand lobby.
The lobby of Silver Screen Studios is as striking as the name implies—sleek, modern, and designed to impress.
Polished marble floors stretch across the expansive space, their glossy surface reflecting the soft glow of recessed lighting overhead. Towering glass walls offer a view of the city skyline, the twinkling lights of Los Angeles serving as a backdrop.
To the left, a cluster of contemporary armchairs and low glass tables form a seating area, arranged around a centerpiece of fresh white orchids displayed in a tall, minimalist vase. The right side of the lobby houses a coffee bar, its sleek black counter manned by a single barista who’s tidying up for the evening.
A massive reception desk sits at the center, curved and made of frosted glass with accents of brushed steel. Behind it, a wall-mounted digital screen cycles through clips of the studio’s latest films during the day, each transition smooth and seamless.
But now, the screens are off, and the usual hustle and bustle of the lobby is gone.
Behind the reception desk, which is usually manned by three receptionists, stands one lone person packing an oversized bag and preparing to leave.
I change directions and head toward reception, where she’s slinging the bag over her shoulder .
Her blonde hair catches the dim evening light, falling over her shoulder in soft waves. She turns slightly, giving me a glimpse of her features—round cheeks, big blue eyes, and a slight furrow in her brow as if she’s already preoccupied with the weekend ahead.
I narrow my eyes and flip through my mental files.
Annie Fox.
Twenty-two years old. Started a few months ago. She’s polite, professional, and unobtrusive.
Well, I don’t know that personally, but if she was anything other than that, she would be on my radar, and she hasn’t been.
Until now.
Just as she turns to leave, I call out, “Annie Fox.”
She startles, her head snapping toward me. For a moment, she just blinks, like she can’t believe I’m talking to her.
“Mr. Wagner,” she says hesitantly, a bit of a question in her voice.
I don’t blame her. Most employees in this building would rather avoid a late-night conversation with their boss.
Her blonde hair falls in loose waves around her face, and she’s wearing a fitted white blouse that she nervously tucks into a gray pencil skirt that hugs her petite, curvy frame.
“Do you have a moment?” I ask, striding toward her.
She hesitates, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “Uhm, sure. Is something wrong? I was just—”
“Yes,” I say bluntly. “My nanny quit.”
She looks at me in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir. Your nanny?”
“Yes. My nanny.”
Her lips part slightly, and her grip on the bag tightens.
“I need someone to watch my son tonight,” I explain. “Just for a few hours.”
She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “You want me to babysit?”
“Yes.”
Her lips part further as if to respond, but she closes them again, her brow furrowing. “I... I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Wagner. I mean, I’ve never—”
“I’m not asking for a résumé,” I say, cutting her off, my tone brisk. “I already have it.”
She flinches slightly at the sharpness, and I soften my voice.
“It’s an emergency, Miss Fox. Robbie is five. He’s quiet, well-behaved. You’d just need to keep an eye on him for a few hours until I get back.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tightly. “I don’t know... I’m not sure I’m the right person for this. ”
I exhale, frustration tightening my chest. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if I had another option. I’ll pay you double what you make in a week.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“What? Double?”
“Yes. Cash.”
She hesitates, glancing toward the door like she’s debating making a run for it.
“Triple,” I say, crossing my arms.
Her gaze snaps back to mine, and I know I’ve got her attention now. “Triple?”
“Take it or leave it. But if you leave it, I’m out of options.”
She bites her bottom lip, the gesture doing something to me that I don’t have time to analyze, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Finally, she says, “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Relief washes over me, though I keep my expression neutral. “Good. You’ll have the address by the time you get to the parking lot.”
Annie nods, still looking slightly dazed.
On that note, I turn and head toward the exit.
“Wait,” she calls out. “What time should I be there?”
“Now,” I say over my shoulder, not stopping or sparing her a glance.
I step outside into the crisp evening air and stride over to the waiting limo, my mind already racing with the list of tasks waiting for me at the gala.
One problem solved. For now.