Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I swallow. Something is happening here I’m not prepared to deal with. “I like to hedge my bets.”
“West! How’s it goin’, dude,” a big blond guy shouts. His voice is loud and booming in the way voices get when someone is this close to being completely trashed. The blond has the ruddy complexion of someone that spends all day on the golf links, and in contrast, the bright blond hair makes it all the worse.
Looking at me now. “Hey what’s up, girl.” Loud and obnoxious. He reminds me of a few customers I’ve served at the restaurant.
Without asking permission, he pulls out a chair at our table and takes a seat. Jordan’s a brick right now, his body language alone should’ve been enough to shoo the guy off. No such luck. Instead his eyes drift over my breasts without an ounce of shame.
“We’re having lunch, Woodson. What do you want?” Jordan sounds on edge already, all that easy, relaxed atmosphere, we were sharing a minute ago is gone. Not a trace of it anywhere. He was finally talking. We were finally getting somewhere and then Woodson happened. I could kill the guy.
“I wanna know what’s going on with the Winstar deal and I’d also like to know who your lunch companion is?”
The douche winks at me.
“It’s called insider trading. Buy a dictionary. And who I have lunch with is none of your business.”
Ignoring all the signs that are telling him Jordan is not playing around, Woodson returns to staring at me. “Hello, delightful creature. And who might you be?”
What a lech.
“I’m this child’s nanny,” I say, pointing to the little girl sleeping in the stroller. “So please keep your voice down.”
“Nanny?” he says in the filthiest way possible. “Are you for hire?”
“All right Woodson. Get up and walk away.”
He’s drunk, but he’s lucid enough to know there will be consequences. I just hope it doesn’t include me stepping in. The stick and bear spray are in my messenger bag. I never leave home without them.
Jordan leans into Woodson, whispers, “Get up and walk away. I have a baby with me. I won’t tell you again.”
“West, you’re such a––”
A punch flies, lightening-speed quick. Woodson’s head jerks back and blood explodes across his face. It happens so fast I never saw it coming.
Neither did Woodson.
While he’s hiding his bleeding, possibly broken, nose under his hands, Jordan slowly rises to his feet, wipes his mouth on the cloth napkin, and drops it on the table.
“Let’s go, Riley. Get your stuff.”
Scrambling, I throw my messenger bag across my body while Jordan calmly takes the stroller. With that, we head home. The Club is officially off-limits.
“Oh, good, you’re home!”
We just walked away from a physical altercation. This is the very last thing you want to hear when you step in the door. Neither one of us wants to see company––least of all Joan. How she got inside the apartment is another matter.
“I’m changing all the codes,” her son declares upon walking into the kitchen and finding her at the table, wine glass in hand and scrolling through her phone.
Well, that answers that.
“You’re going to be very happy with me. I brought you someone. Clara!” she shouts. “Can you come in here please?”
A very tall, skinny woman with thin lips and very pale blonde hair enters from the direction of the laundry room. She’s dressed in nurses scrubs and has the expression of someone who operates on a whole new level of emotionally detached.
“I found you a nanny.” Joan smiles like she just won reelection.
Jordan does not smile. Not even a little. In fact he does the opposite.
“Clara’s going to live here,” she starts again. “She’ll take great care of Maisie, and Riley can go back to doing what she does.” Her focus shifts to me. “What do you do, sweetie?”
“Clara,” Jordan says addressing the woman who has not spoken a word yet. “I’m sorry my mother dragged you here under false pretenses, but we are not going to need your services.”
He opens the fridge and pulls out a beer. He almost never drinks, which is how I know he’s in a mood. He gets the bottle opener out of the utensils drawer, pops the top, drinks it right out of the bottle. Yeah, he’s had it today.
The only part that I heard, the only part that’s important to me, is that he’s not taking me off child care because I genuinely love it. And for that, I’m grateful. An enormous sense of relief floods me. Taking care of Maisie has been as much fun and just as fulfilling as renovating my homes. Which is truly unexpected. I may not have the credentials––okay, I don’t have any credentials––but I love taking care of her. Shouldn’t that count for something?
“Jordan, the woman has credentials a mile long. She worked for the Obamas for Christ’s sake!”