MY HOT BILLIONAIRE NEIGHBOR

I crouch down and rapidly sweep the feather duster over the living room table's various knickknacks. I'm sure everything is already clean, but I have a routine and prefer to keep the property in tip-top shape.

As I look across the room, a smile creeps across my face.

I'm still amazed that I live in such a pricey property in Alabang's most renowned neighborhood. Never in my wildest thoughts could I imagine myself walking through such a place, let alone living here. Fortunately, Rachel, an old college friend, introduced me to Romina Martinez and suggested that I apply for the nanny post she had open.

I didn't want to be a nanny, but I didn't have any other options at the time. The job market was tight when I graduated from college with an English degree in hand. If only I'd knew that before I took out all those student loans. But when I met Andrew, Romina's kid, I was completely enamored with him. There's no place I'd rather be after three months of full-time caregiving for him. In fact, I spend more time with him than his parents. It's gotten to the point where people frequently inquire if he's my son. I'm fortunate that we have such a tight relationship.

As if living in such a posh location and caring for an adorable little boy weren't enough, I'm now able to devote my full attention to my true passion... cooking. My passion for cuisine is strong, and I aspire to have my own restaurant one day.

In the meantime, Romina is my personal taste tester here at the office. Every night, it seems, I'm trying out new recipes, such as the roasted duck I cooked the other night or the braised lamb with red potatoes I did two nights ago.

Another perk of my job is having an endless supply of fresh foods to work with. When it comes to food shopping, as with everything else around here, no money is spared. Romina enjoys organic, home-cooked meals, which is exactly what I'm looking for. Andrew has never eaten fast food, and I make it a point to keep him away from it.

Romina steps in with her purse on her shoulder, just as I decide the living room is ready. I find myself admiring her incredible form as she stops to give herself a quick once over in the mirror. Romina's body has never looked better, despite the fact that most women require some time to heal following childbirth. As best as I can tell from the images I've seen around the apartment, her rapid metabolism keeps her rail thin, just like she was in her modeling days. I'm not sure what's troubling her as she starts smoothing non-existent wrinkles out of her tight dress.

Her little hands tug at the lovely silk scarf draped around her neck before tossing it onto the freshly dusted sofa. I wish we were the same size because I adore her fashion sense. She has way more clothes than she knows what to do with thanks to her big wardrobe allowance. In fact, she never wears the same outfit twice. Despite my fashion envy, I adore my diminutive frame's contours and wouldn't change a thing.

I'm not one of those gals who can pull off the model appearance.

Romina walks around in solitude, adding more lipstick to her already pouty red lips. Her sandy-colored hair drapes over her shoulders in gorgeous waves, and the color explodes against her perfect olive tone complexion. Andrew, who is currently napping, has inherited his mother's stunning green eyes, albeit they still have a childish innocence to them. Sadly, Romina no longer has that feature.

"Don't forget to wipe off the picture frames, Aliyah," Romina says, a flawlessly manicured finger pointing in my direction.

I'll never forget that. I'm more familiar with the ins and outs of this location than you are.

I take the photo closest to me and grin as I recall the day I took it. It's a photograph of Andrew, taken as he was playing with his father, Jonas, in the middle of a chuckle. To be honest, I despise any and all contacts I have with Jonas Samonte, one of Metro Manila's greatest jerks. He's unreasonable in his demands, and every thing he's ever spoken to me has been condescending. Andrew appears to be the only one who can get that man to grin, and even then, it's a rare occurrence. I'm not sure why Romina puts up with Jonas when he just seems to care for his son.

I don't like how he treats me, but he treats his on-again, off-again girlfriend Romina ten times worse. She is the mother of his child, yet she may just as easily be referred to as a glorified concubine. I've watched her cry more times than I care to remember, and I don't think it's worth it to me. Everything she could want is there at her fingers, except Jonas. When he's in the mood to be bothered, he calls her to meet him at any time. He gets whatever he wants, and it's all on his schedule.

"I'm going out with Mr. Samonte," Romina says. "There's no need to wait for me because I'll be back after dinner." Marie should be here for Andrew's lessons in about an hour, so make sure he's eaten his snack by then."

Andrew's French tutor, Madeleine, is a complete nightmare, and I try to avoid her as much as possible when she's here. Andrew is tutored by her three times a week. So she comes in and gestures to things while Andrew keeps on blowing and spitting bubbles while she says things in French. I've never heard of someone tutoring a nine-month-old child, but everything is possible if the price is right. Romina came across an article about babies learning languages before they can speak, so she asked Jonas to get a tutor for him and the rest is history.

I try not to squirm as I watch Romina put on her shoes, take her handbag, and go out the door. I catch a glimpse of Romina departing the building via the glass just in time. The black Mercedes Benz Jonas usually send to fetch her is parked just in front, with the driver holding open the backseat door. As the tail lights fade into traffic, Romina takes her time going inside, and I shake my head.

You rush to meet him when he calls.

The worst part is that he never bothers to call her. His secretary makes the calls on his behalf, sometimes even passing it to me to tell her that she is needed. He makes appointments with her as if she were a manicurist or any other kind of hired staff.

When I hear the Tiffany frame clink against my ring, I realize I'm clutching my hand firmly.

My thoughts turn to the man looking back at me as I scowl at the image still in my palm. Jonas is still as fit as a fiddle at forty-two, and he's annoyingly attractive for someone so cruel. His blond hair has a few gray flecks running through it, and I'll admit that if I didn't know him, I'd give him a second look.

When I got my first payment, I looked up Jonas because his company's name was on the check instead of Romina's. Despite coming from an affluent background, Jonas made a significant portion of his fortune through hedge funds. I remember I nearly choked on my cappuccino when I first learned about his millionaire status. A millionaire is to be expected in these areas, but a billionaire, especially one with his numbers, is surprising.

Since I've moved in, I've never seen Romina go to any job that I'm aware of, so I believe he's the one who pays for her expensive lifestyle.

Romina's days as a working model are over now that she's thirty-six, and she continually recalls stories from her modeling career. She's on the wrong side of twenty-five, and the modeling profession is brutal.

I'm hoping she recognizes Jonas has a type, and it's not her anymore. His not-so-secret love life is all over the internet, and a fast search turns up story after story about his wealth and multiple sightings with various female members of the city's elite. He'll be on the beach with a blonde bombshell one minute and cuddling with a brunette in Paris the next. His position affords him access to all of the other elite in his international social circle.

Romina is either oblivious to the situation or simply unconcerned. I can't image being so enamored with my partner that I would overlook his philandering. I don't have a mate, to be honest. Right now, dating isn't high on my priority list.

I keep my ideas to myself for obvious reasons, and I will never say anything to Romina about their little arrangement. If the boss lady is content with her status as a hidden mistress, I have no complaints. I keep my mouth shut so I can concentrate on Andrew.

I check the time before peeking over at the baby monitor after finally replacing the silver frame on the table. Andrew has awoken from his nap and is calmly rolling about in his bed. I ascend the stairs and proceed down the corridor to his room, which is directly across from mine. To pick him up, I push open the door and reach down into his crib. As we return to the living room, he smiles and spits at me.

I rush over to the closet to collect a handful of Andrew's toys after putting him down on his elephant-print blanket. Before I can take two steps, he's on my tail. He's only lately discovered how to move his legs sufficiently to be called crawling, and since then he's been a wiggle worm. I'm going to have to be extra cautious now to keep stuff out of his way.

"Let's go, mister," I say, bending down with one hand to grasp him and the other to balance his toy box.

I sit down on the sofa, gently placing him and the toys on the blanket, and watch as he joyously bangs on his small piano.

"Now you remain seated while I prepare your snack."

I return to the blanket with a smile after walking over to the counter to get his organic cheese puffs and milk. Just as I'm ready to sit down, my phone rings. When I take it out of my pocket, I notice an alert for a message that invites me out.

Rachel is aware that I am unable to go out throughout the week.

When I pause to consider the last time I actually went somewhere and had a wonderful time, my fingers are poised to type out my response. When it comes to going out, Romina is very rigorous, especially if it involves drinking. While I appreciate her logic, I'm responsible for an infant, and I'm no good to him if I'm inebriated. The fact that the same rule does not apply to Romina is never lost on me.

My attention is drawn back to the floor by a loud bang on the piano. He proudly waves his small arms as I settle down and place his snack in front of him, clapping my hands like if he's accomplished a masterpiece.

I say, "You're all the fun I need." Andrew smiles, as if he truly understands what I just said, and reaches for a puff to inhale.

A knock comes at the door, and I leap up to answer it. When I answer the door, Maria is waiting there, clutching bags full of the many things she'll need for the session.

"Hello," I greet her.

She frowns and shakes her head at me, her thin brows drawn together in a frown.

I let out a deep sigh, knowing just what she wants. Maria has a habit of speaking English when she's around, so I guess I'm being forced to learn French as well... against my will.

"Bonjour," I say as I move to the side to let her through.

Her frown fades as she gives me a nod of approval. She walks over to Andrew and starts chatting at a breakneck speed.

I utilize the time while she's teaching Andrew his lesson to make a snack for myself and plan out what to make for dinner. I rummage through the fridge for cheese and decide to make a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich.

While I'm at it, I grab a few dinner items.

Andrew is fortunate not to be a picky eater. He happily consumes all of my homemade baby food blends the majority of the time. Romina does not trust store-bought baby food, and we both agree on that. Most of the brands I've come across contain more preservatives than actual food, which will simply not do for Andrew.

Yes, I'd like to have a more active social life, but I enjoy brainstorming different baby food options and spending time alone with Andrew. I can't imagine being away from him, even though his parents appear to prefer going out with their high-society friends. I enjoy seeing him grow and learn new things, even if it means blowing spit bubbles at Maria.

I take a stroll around the apartment, pausing to admire the vaulted ceilings and exposed rustic beams. It doesn't get much better than a penthouse apartment under normal circumstances, but nothing about this situation is normal, and this place is a dump. To be fair, I'm sure this is considered upscale by someone with average taste and a few million dollars in the bank, but it pales in comparison to my mansion.

Even as a child, I was fascinated by anything related to space, and my consistent cash flow has enabled me to invest handsomely in my little hobby. I wanted to be an astronaut, but once I discovered my talent for mergers and acquisitions, I had more than enough work to keep me grounded right here on Earth.

I run my finger over my newest toy, a replica of a NASA telescope.

I stoop down to adjust the focus of the scope's lens. I enjoy getting acquainted with my tools before putting them to use. I like pushing all the buttons and turning the knobs to figure out what each one does. I attribute it to my desire to be hands-on and in command.

Standing up, I check the time on my Franck Muller. Amelia would keep me on the phone for hours, updating me on every detail of my life if I didn't control her. I rush out of the room, closing the door behind me, and begin looking for my gym bag.

"I have to get going; I don't want too much time to slip away from me," I say.

"I've updated your schedule, and the confirmations should arrive on your end soon," Amelia says.

"Thanks. If I don't talk to you later, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow," I say as I hang up the phone.

I walk to the front door and return my gaze to the half-empty apartment. I added a few more tasks to my never-ending to-do list. I need to have maintenance come in and change the air filters and fix the leak in the guest bathroom at some point.

There's so much to do. Dammit!

This place is nothing compared to my home, which has eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, a tennis court, and a pool. I enjoy open spaces with lots of fresh air and well-kept lawns. This condo is none of those things, but I know it will be well worth the investment in the long run, despite the fact that my master bedroom is undoubtedly larger than this entire apartment.

Fortunately, I'm only here for a month. I don't think I can slum it for much longer. My coworkers think I'm insane, but there's a method to my madness. I like to get my hands dirty and get a firsthand feel for each business and piece of real estate I buy. I didn't get to the Forbes list by making dumb investments, and I'm not going to start now.

Despite my brief stay in a place that fell short of my usual standards, I wanted to make the place as comfortable as possible by bringing a few of my favorite items with me. I just wish it included my fully-equipped gym. I'm not going to use a shared facility like the one provided here. Furthermore, there is barely enough equipment and space for two people to work out in that tiny room they call a 'Fitness Center.' I make a mental note to look into the additional costs of improving the modest gym so that future residents can have a more inclusive living experience.

I'm sure everyone has to pay for a gym membership, but if we could include that amenity, we might be able to raise the asking price. I unfasten my tie and pull out my phone to check my overflowing calendar for the hundredth time today. Amelia, my secretary, has my schedule meticulously planned, with several alarms set to sound at various times throughout the day, but with ever-changing markets comes a schedule that shifts by the hour.

I'm wondering if I have time to run to the gym for a quick cardio session. I've never been overweight or out of shape, and I'd like to keep it that way by maintaining my muscular physique. I always make time for fitness, no matter how many meetings I have on my calendar. I look down at my phone and consider rescheduling a few meetings, scrolling through my contacts to call Amelia.

"Good day, Mr. Delgado." I was about to call to inform you that the movers will be bringing over a few more of your items later today."

Amelia's voice is raspy due to years of smoking, and it used to irritate me when I first hired her. I've grown accustomed to her voice and look forward to hearing it when she answers the phone.

Amelia is usually at her desk when I walk in, her ashy blonde hair slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck, a pencil stuck between her teeth as she balances the ringing phones on her desk. She manages all of this while also responding to the hundreds of emails I receive every day. I'm not sure how she does it all, but she's damn good at it.

"Perfect," I proudly proclaim. "I was hoping that everything else would arrive today." You know how much I despise being without certain items, especially in this place."

"Sir, yes. "You know I've got it under control," she says. "Speaking of staying on top of things, since you're already on the phone, I have a few items to go over with you."

I pay attention as she rattles off a few changes to my schedule that have yet to be entered into my calendar, which reminds me of why I called in the first place.

"Listen, I'm canceling my meeting with the executives of Nova Corporation and rescheduling it for tomorrow," I say.

"That'll make tomorrow a long day, but I'm sure we'll make it." "Are you going to the gym?"

"Am I really that predictable?" I inquired.

She laughs briefly before responding. "You certainly are. The only reason you start rearranging your schedule is to go to the gym."

I smiled and began walking around the apartment, taking inventory of the growing to-do list while Amelia went over the recent documents that had arrived during my absence.

As I walk down the hall, I notice that the floors need to be waxed and that the crown molding needs to be replaced. I enter a spare room in the back that I've designated as my telescope room. The walls are covered in constellation posters, and I have several high-powered telescopes positioned around the room.