Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
I catch him watching me, still waiting for my drink order, I guess.
“I’ll take a water,” I finally tell him, thinking I might as well get something out of this shitty day.
He passes me a glass bottle—of course they have the good stuff—and leans against the wall, still watching me.
“This is ludicrous.” I’m talking about the entire situation more than the unfairness of his view. “You were right. You’d think they’d have verified there was an actual child before hiring me.”
He nods, considers this. “Are you new to nannying then?”
“First day,” I admit.
“Huh.”
I don’t care for his tone. “Why is it so unbelievable?” I question, annoyed. Does something about my appearance scream incompetence?
“I’m sure I’m paying you good money. You’d think they’d have sent me an experienced nanny. Like a British woman with a posh accent and twenty years’ experience. Tell me, do you even know any nursery rhymes?”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Are you seriously suggesting that I’m not good enough for the baby you don’t even have? You wanted Mary Poppins?”
He shrugs. “Money buys me a lot of things I don’t deserve.”
“I can only imagine,” I retort, but I’m saved from elaborating at the arrival of Mrs. Hollis.
If I had to guess, I’d say Mrs. Hollis is a woman in her seventies. She’s well put together and carries with her a confidence I aspire to have. For an older woman, she’s dressed fashionably, with a crisp suit jacket and matching slacks. Pearl earrings dot her ears, and her lipstick is an impeccable red. In my nanny outfit of choice next to her, I feel woefully underdressed.
“Did you need something I couldn’t do from my desk?” she asks by way of an actual greeting. She’s carrying a paper cup with the logo of the coffee shop located in the lobby of this building. The lobby, which is seventy-two floors below us.
“I did,” Mason replies. “Did you stop at the coffee shop on your way to my office?” He waves at the cup in her hand without a hint of annoyance on his face. In fact, if I had to guess I’d say he’s… amused.
“I did. I trust you know where it is if you wanted something.” She stares at him in challenge, and I’m not sure, but I think she’s actively trying to irritate him.
Not all heroes wear capes.
“Right you are, Mrs. Hollis. But no. I’m not interested in coffee at the moment.” He gestures in my direction. “I thought perhaps you could shed some light on why this young woman seems to think she’s been hired to nanny for me?”
Mrs. Hollis glances in my direction. I’m relieved that she doesn’t look at me in surprise, as I was semi-expecting. It’s just a polite acknowledgement of my existence, then back to her boss. “You told me to hire a nanny,” she says slowly, as if Mason is particularly slow.
It’s official. I love her.
“I can’t imagine that I did,” he responds, unperturbed.
“It was only two days ago. You were blathering on about your friend having a baby and you said, ‘I’ll need to hire a nanny.’”
“Hmm.” Mason nods along as if this is a normal conversation. “It seems more likely that I said ‘they’ll need to hire a nanny,’ doesn’t it? Considering I don’t have a baby and they do?”
“That’s not what I heard,” Mrs. Hollis replies. Then she tosses Mason a glare on her way to the door. “You have no idea how hard it was to find a nanny in less than forty-eight hours.”
“Well then. Thank you, Mrs. Hollis.” Mason grins at her retreating figure before turning to me. “That’s one mystery solved, at least.”
I don’t even know what to do with that, and it doesn’t help that Mason’s acting like this is all a big joke. But of course, to someone like him, it is. He, after all, wasn’t depending on this job for rent and tuition.
Fucking New York. I’m not even going to make it through one semester.
Chapter Three
“I totally hear you on getting creative. Really. But—and I’m sorry to ask this again—what exactly does a nanny do if there is not a baby to, um, nanny?”
Usually, when I have to confront someone about a monumental fuckup, I’m pretty direct and to the point. It’s why I was able to succinctly quit my job at the coffeehouse by telling my boss that he could go fuck himself. This is a valuable skill, in my mind. I don’t waste people’s time with excuses or explanations. Like, did Joe of Cups of Joe actually need me to tell him that he runs a shitty business with a shitty product? Did I need to give him an itemized list of how he’s a terrible boss, from allowing blatant favoritism to thinking he’s the only person in the world to know the difference between light and dark roasts? No. Joe doesn’t care.