Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Huh,” Berks hums between bites. “You don’t exactly seem bothered by that.”
“Cause I’m not?”
“Why did that end in a question mark?”
“Because I feel like maybe I should be?”
“And yet another question mark.”
It’s impossible not to twitch a glare at the only person in my life who has always called me out on everything.
She’s definitely the reason I’ve learned to just say the harder, truthful shit versus Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree with it.
“Do I like where my life is at right now?” Images of me and Bella running from Ig during a tickle fight quickly flash through my mind. “More than usual, actually.” Beaming brightly can’t be controlled. “I’m working with a supportive family network. I’m helping a little girl through some sensory issues – thanks again for sending me those articles-”
“Dr. Walters, total cunt, but total genius in her field.”
“And I’m helping a guy who refuses to have a life outside of work and his kid discover why it’s not only okay to have one but necessary too.”
“Says the Black Mary Poppins.”
Her snark is met by a quick flick of my middle finger.
My best friend finishes the nubbin of eggroll she has left prior to stating, “I’ll admit. It makes me happy to actually hear and see for myself in nonvideo fashion that you’re actually happy and that all those press photos aren’t just doctored bullshit.”
“Girl,” there’s no stopping my head from tilting to the side for emphasis, “it’s so fucking weird constantly having my photo up on the team accounts!”
She lets the corner of her lip kick upward. “Don’t forget about the girlfriends’ accounts-”
“Slayers.”
“And the fans accounts.” Her fingers reach for the nearby napkin. “Pretty sure you have your own hashtag too.”
“So. Fucking. Weird.” Shaking my head gets my thick curls bouncing. “It’s like everyone…chill. Take a snow day. I’m just the nanny.”
“You look like a lot more than that to me…” Berks impishly proclaims. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re doing that thing you’re always yelling at me for doing.”
“Putting apple slices in all your booze?”
“Spend as much time in Applecourt as I have, and you’d understand why that’s an amazing thing not awful.”
Giggling helplessly occurs.
“However, I was talking about mixing business with pleasure.”
“I’m not mixing anything.”
Her eyebrows instantly dart down in a silent argument.
“I’m not! Things are strictly profesh.”
Minus randomly calling me baby sometimes.
And lifting me up onto countertops.
And masturbating to thoughts of each other.
And the um…teensy weensy handholding thing a couple days ago.
Other than that…we’re strictly professional!
When her expression doesn’t waver, I rush to change it. “They are! Sure…we’re a little…closer…than I have been with some of my other clients…and sure…I like spending time with him even when Bella isn’t around…and yeah, sure…if he didn’t wanna pay me, I’d probably stick around because I like being around them…but like he does. So, he is. So, everything is copacetic.”
My enthusiastic rambling is met by a single nod. “You know you only get like this when you’re in a state of denial, right?”
“Correct.”
More laughs leave us, yet it’s her who speaks first. “You must really like this guy.”
I can’t seem to stop myself from stealing a bite of my Rudolph red painted bottom lip.
“Putting plausible deniability aside regarding the employer, employee relationship, from everything I’ve seen in the photos and read in our texts and the extra miles you’ve gone to for him-”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who knows how to make and send digital scrapbooks!”
“You’re really into him. And I believe he’s really into you.”
Excitement flashes through my expression against my own volition.
Even if he is – although I don’t believe he is – it doesn’t matter.
I’d never ask him to risk his career for me.
Which is exactly what it would be.
“Captain of The Dalvegan Dragons Bangs His Nanny” may be a great headline to get clicks on your site but it damn sure isn’t great to avoid embarrassing your team or tarnishing your public image.
Is there something wrong with dating your nanny?
No.
Is it morally questionable to some?
Absolutely.
And the last thing Ig – as much as the team – needs is negative press.
Especially now.
Apparently, it was a rough summer in the spotlight that they’ve spent trying to make everyone forget this fall.
“Unlike Marc,” my best friend emphasizes to ensure she has my attention, “who I struggled to buy being that head over heels for you your entire relationship. He was so not selling leading man material like he should’ve been.”
The twitch of my stare is instant. “Who’s Marc?”
“I figured it was the breakup with him that caused your latest episode,” she pushes her plate to the side, “which is why I didn’t wanna get into it with you sooner since it was so…avalanchesque.”
An uncomfortable coal sized lump of dread hits my stomach during my slow headshake.
“Honestly, all signs were Zero nose flashing – after all the whole thing was so fucked up – but like Jack, I wasn’t entirely sure until now. It’s kind of hard to tell exactly what’s gonna cause your brain to go into protective mode regardless of how long I’ve known you. For instance, I thought saying no to Kenneth’s puppy themed proposal would’ve triggered an episode-”