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’m up anyway, on account of Bridget accidentally waking me by banging her head on our bunk bed. Jetlag hazards, I suppose.
And even though I don’t care—of course I don’t—I took a little extra time selecting my outfit for today. Since Mr. Cooper found my leggings so lacking—again, not that I care—I’m wearing black jeans and a striped grey and white shirt. I’ve also layered on one of my favorite thrifted pieces, a bright green cardigan with tortoiseshell buttons that match my glasses.
Because no baby, no contacts. I only made the effort with the contacts in an effort to avoid grabby baby hands twisting my glasses off my face. But today, I’m back to my comfort zone.
Mason’s apartment is fairly close to his office, so yet another Central Park location. Lucky bastard. A doorman welcomes me into the lobby, and I do my best not to look like I absolutely do not belong. Because if Mason’s office was fancy, this is next-level. It’s like something out of a movie, all rich woods and sparkling glass.
“Hi!” I say. “I’m headed to Mr. Cooper’s residence.”
The door guy nods, waving me in after confirming my name. “His assistant added you to the list and let me know to expect you.”
I try not to look surprised. So, Mrs. Hollis thought I’d keep showing up? I almost wonder if she’s the one who filled out my report… but then, no. She wouldn’t have written that comment about the nursery rhymes.
The doorman hits the elevator button for me, because as I said, swanky building. Once inside I select the button for Mason’s floor, already annoyed at the view I’m sure he’s got from his floor.
Outside his door I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. What’s the worst that can happen? He’ll laugh at me and send me home? I’ve survived worse. I give the door a sharp knock.
Seconds later the door opens, and there he is. He’s knotting his tie, quirking a brow at finding me here, a grin tugging at his lips. I hate that he wore that same grin in my fantasies last night. The fantasy in which I imagined he know exactly what to do with that mouth.
“Miss Parker, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We have a contract,” I blurt, before my confidence fails me. “I’m here to work.” I tip my chin up in challenge.
“Shit, these are cute.” He taps the frame of my glasses with a single fingertip after a long pause in which he simply stared at me while ignoring my outburst. I drop my chin so that he doesn’t see the blush overtaking my cheeks.
“Don’t sexually harass me,” I huff, walking past him into his apartment before he can kick me out. “That’s also in the contract.”
“Of course,” he replies easily. “Well, I do hate to violate a contract.”
“Good. Because I hate to violate my rent payments.”
“Couldn’t get your old job back, then? Your previous boss didn’t appreciate your departing advice to, what was it”—he pauses while I continue to try to hide my blush, knowing what he’s about to say—“‘go fuck himself?’”
“Some men are resistant to taking advice.” I shrug, not looking at him. I know he’s smiling though. I can hear it in his smug voice. “Besides,” I add, “it’s your own fault that I’m back. All you had to do was tell the agency I was unacceptable. Now we have a contract.”
“I thought that was rather generous of me. I figured you had the potential to be a perfectly adequate nanny and it hardly seemed fair to start your employment with a bad report on your file.”
Adequate.
This guy.
“Uh-huh,” I mutter. “Speaking of that, where the hell do you get off calling me ‘satisfactory’?” I demand, whirling around to him while I plant my hands on my hips.
“Careful,” he says with a twitch in his lip. “You told me that you weren’t offering to fulfill any sexy nanny kinks. But with this bossy attitude of yours, I can’t promise I won’t think about it.”
Now it’s not just my cheeks that burn, but my neck, too. I immediately cross my arms across my chest and glare at him.
“It’s a joke, Liberty,” he says. “Just like the report was.”
“Yeah, well, maybe things like that are funny to you, but this is my actual job,” I say. “So, kid or no kid, you’re getting a nanny, and you better give me a perfect report next time.”
He laughs, shaking his head, but I can tell he’s at least a little impressed by my assertiveness. I think. I still don’t know how to read New Yorkers.
“So you’re here to babysit,” he finally says, waving a hand at his clearly child-free apartment. “What are you going to do all day?”
“I’m planning on studying while the baby naps,” I tell him, without missing a beat.