The Fugitive Mr. Nanny!

a Witness : A Bodyguard Romance x The Nanny Affair crossover fan fiction || Rating: M || Non OC Characters: Andy Schuyler (GS from Anna), Cassian (male), Sam Dalton (female), Robin Flores (female), more to be added

Chapter 1

Andy POV

I sit on my desk in front of my dear Apple MacBook Pro 16", trying to write a decent blueprint for the latest chapter of my ongoing novel, probably for the eleventh times today. I got stuck on what should my main character, a badass female soldier who was going to set a coup to overthrow a corrupt king of a fictional empire Titania (please don't ask how do I got that name, I'm just out of idea already), do after sacking the empire's capital city and capturing the innocent crown prince. Should she seduce him, intimidate him into joining her side, or burn him alive? What should she do with the people in the city? How does she handle the fact that the king escaped through the palace's sophisticated sewage system? What is she going to do next? What comes after? Should I put a plot twist here? But what plot twist? Alas! I guess it's that time of the day again. I got a writer's block. Not that it's a daily thing, but the deadline of this chapter is next week! Yes, let me reiterate it again, the deadline is next week. Seven days from now. And I haven't made any progress since yesterday! This is NOT my usual behavior, guys. I was busy scolding at myself when…

RIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIING!

My phone's ringing. I take it from my desk and look at the caller's ID. Jenny. Well, at least it's not Claire from The Polar Bear –my publisher–, because I surely do not need to be reminded of my goddamn deadline when my usual ambitious personality is nowhere to be found.

"Oi, Jen. What's up?"

"ANDY CHRISTIAN SCHUYLER! I'm desperately in need of your help! This is EMERGENCY! Code red, livor mortis, however you going to call it!" she practically is borderline screaming right now, and my ears reverberate.

"Jen, how many times should I tell you, livor mortis is a medical term to state that someone's dead at the hospital. You can't just use it as a code word for your medical-unrelated emergencies! Now tell me what on the seven heavens is going on with you that made you almost broke my precious ears." I hope she doesn't hear my exaggerated sigh, please, God. She has been my rock since we were children, and I don't want to add 'making your best friend cry uncontrollably in a phone call' into my problems list.

"Okay so … this is going to be ridiculous but, mm, have I told ya that my law firm is going to hold a 50th anniversary party?" Let me tell you that Jenny works in a well-known law firm focused on helping poor families to win legal cases against gigantic industries across the US. They offered a mind-bogglingly affordable payment packages for their services and built their prosperity from a notoriously long list of loaded donors. They always win. And their anniversary party is usually very humble, but I don't know this one.

"Yea, you have. The party's tonight, eh? So, what does it have to do with me?"

"I need to bring a plus one to this party… but my husband has to take care of his sick mum tonight. So… will you come with me? Don't worry, he doesn't mind."

"WHAT? But… but my deadline is next week, Jenny! I am supposed to work off this shit not mingling among your successful lawyer friends when I'm just nobody!"

"I have to disagree, Andy, for two reason. One, for the millionth time, you are NOT nobody, Andy. You've made three national best seller novels in just six years. And two… I know you so well, duh! If you have time to answer my calls in your supposedly working time, it always means you've got that writer's block! A change of scene is definitely what you need!" Oh Jesus, I can actually depict her annoying victory smile based on her sudden tone change. Jenny, you are such an insufferable bastard.

"HOLY SH– OKAY! OKAY! No need to attack me precisely where it hurts! I'll come, I swear! Where's the place?" I sighed in defeat. Well, maybe she's not wrong. Maybe a night to relax would do me good.

"Do you know Le Calaisien?" I accidentally jumped out my chair and thrown my phone to bed because of the astonishment.

"You mean that bloody grandiose nightclub in 45th Walker Street? Hells, Jenny, are you sure this law firm of yours is an actual pro bono!? Getting inside that place one night may cost one and a half of my monthly royalties–" she just laughed it off.

"Yes! I'll pick you at six! And make sure you wear something appropriate, who knows maybe you'll finally meet someone–" God, no! Why should she always jump to this topic, haven't I stated enough times that I have no interest in committed romance?! Just then I happened to glance at the clock… it's 5.30.

"This conversation is officially ended, Jenny. Let me dress up now, you're coming in thirty right?" I ended the call and hastily run to the shower. Five minutes under the shower and like twenty minutes of grooming up, now I looked at myself in a mirror.

Wow. I do look nice, with a perfectly school-nerd styled black hair, all of my moustache and beard cut out tidily, yeah, my face says I'm ready to rock. Then I looked at my body. Standing 5.64 feet tall with a relatively desirable body for a man –I know I shouldn't brag about this because all bodies are beautiful, but sorry– covered in a literal king's attire I bought from my college theater six years ago –Jenny hasn't forgiven me for this– and yep, show's on!

DING DONG! DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONG!

Jenny has arrived on my apartment's door and now she attempts to destroy the bell button by pushing it repeatedly with intense. This is undisputedly a very normal day in my friendship with her.

"ANDY, PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR FOR GOD'S SAKE!"

"YEA I'M COMING" I opened the door. My jaws drop. Jenny looks amazing. I mean, yes, she's pretty and she's taller than me, but her knee-long crimson sack dress really suits her physical figures. It looks like this dress is hugging her. And those high heels made her look even taller. Let alone she hides all of that beneath an unbuttoned beige Burberry blazer long enough to touch her ankle. Damn, her husband is so lucky. I try not to wolf-whistle at her.

"Are you really going to this party in that? People won't be able to take their eyes off you!"

"Gee thanks! You slayed with that theatre property yourself, even if Victorian style is definitely not something someone would want to wear in a freaking nightclub. But this is appropriate enough for me! Come on, let's go! We don't want to be late!" She dragged me into her car.

Thirty minutes later we're arrived in the parking lot of Le Calaisien. We took another five minutes to park and she opened the door for me, gentleman style. When we finally enter the club, she spontaneously drags me to the lift.

"The party's at the rooftop" WHAT THE FUCK. I looked at the lift door with ever-increasing insecurity when we're getting up floor by floor, until finally the lift opens. My jaws drop, again.

This rooftop is probably the most photogenic space in the city. And the EO team seems like they do their job seriously. The décor looks astute with elegant combinations of white, black, silver, and gold in every corner. The lighting… whoa, I'm speechless. I take a glance at the refreshment table. Wow, the foods are placed and organized neatly, and the liquors look old, I can read 1599 written in one bottle. They even hired some well-known professional baristas, too. Let's not talk about that spectacular mini-stage and gorgeous attires those lawyers wear. I'm pretty sure they only use those once in a year or less.

"Hey Jenny, how much do you think this party costs?" I casually ask.

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe I'll go ask the committee, this is indeed a once in fifty year's occasion, however." Even she's stuttering. Maybe something's in the water. But I don't think it's my business, I'm not making a detective themed novel right now.

Some hours later, I caught myself neatly mingling with Jenny's colleague. I was talking about classic English literature with a 50-ish year old black male in an Armani suit and wearing a US$5m dragon brooch, who introduced himself as Marcus Balewa, when someone casually creeped her hands on my shoulder. Afraid, I look at my back and found Jenny grinning dreamily like a love-struck teenager. I playfully punch her shoulder.

"Excuse me, Marcus; can I have this one for a while?" Without waiting Marcus' answers, she dragged me into the refreshment table.

"What the hell was that, Jen? You disturbed my interesting conversation about all the things I consider finer things in life!"

"Speaking about finer things in life, you may want to look at that," she says with a wink and turns my head to a tall, Adonis-bodied, dark-skinned Caucasian guy in tight-fit silver suit and gray pantaloons, with messy reddish brown hair and a glimpse of unnaturally bright green eyes, holding onto his glass while looking away from the party, as if he's imagining about flying away from this club. I swallow my saliva hard. Jesus fuckin Christ, I suddenly feel so turned on.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Jenny whispers coyly into my left ear and blows a small wind into it –such a mood breaker she is!– "Well, he definitely got that seductive gaze down, and I can sense that he's the type that would make you breakfast in bed, such a romantic– " and suddenly this guy turns around and his eyes catches mine. I feel trapped, God, help me, those pair of green eyes are delicate and infatuating. My heart's now beating like three times faster. Damn you stupid blood pumper, why can't you just act normal?!

"OHMYGOD– he's looking at us, no, Jenny what are you thinking, ANDY HE'S LOOKING AT YOU– and he's coming here!" Jenny frantically shakes my body as Mr. Gorgeousness walks toward us. A rich, smoky voice enters my ear as he begins to speak.

"Good evening, ma'am, mister. I hope I don't disturb your lovely night together?"