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 did try, actually, to tell Joe that I needed a job with a better schedule due to school. That was the only information I gave him, and frankly, it’s the only information he was entitled to. But that wasn’t good enough for Joe. He had to snidely slip in that he hoped my next job wasn’t with customers since customer service clearly “wasn’t a good fit.” Which, excuse me? I am great with customers. In fact, one of the reasons I’m so excited about being a librarian is because I’ll get to work with people. You know, in which I quietly recommend a book and they quietly slip off to read it. There’s nothing better than matching the right book to the right reader and then hearing how they loved it. And I’m great at it. So yeah. It’s not me, Joe. It’s you. Hence, go fuck yourself.
However, the nanny agency is not Joe. I cannot tell them to go fuck themselves, and I don’t want to. They are currently my only lifeline in this city so I am going through the Confrontation Olympics trying to keep this job by getting another assignment. A real assignment that has an actual living, breathing child to nanny.
“Oh, Lydia,” says the woman on the other end of the phone. “I can see this is a bit of a pickle for you.”
I wince at her getting my name wrong. Normally I’d correct her, but I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Because I am dependent on this person to get me out of said “pickle” at the moment.
“Is there another client, maybe, that I could work for?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice from going all squeaky and weird. “You know, maybe someone who has kids?”
“I’m sorry,” the woman says with a sigh. “We don’t have any other clients needing nannies right now. And even if we did, we couldn’t use you because you’re under contract with Mr. Cooper.”
“But Mr. Cooper doesn’t have a child,” I remind her. And honestly? I deserve a Tony Award for keeping all traces of sarcasm out of my reply.
“Yes, dear, but there’s nothing I can do until the client deems you ‘unacceptable.’ Until then, the contract is ironclad for the duration of the assignment. We’d be in breach of contract if we assigned you to another client while already under contract.”
“But he had to deem me unacceptable,” I say, and now I definitely sound hysterical. “Because he doesn’t have a kid.”
“I’m afraid not,” she says. “In fact, I’m looking at his report now. Filled it out promptly, didn’t he? And he gave you excellent marks across the board… well, except one area. It appears he gave you one ‘Satisfactory’ for ‘Keeps child entertained’ and left a comment that he found your knowledge of nursery rhymes lacking.”
That asshole. That absolute, utter asshole.
“Well, nevertheless, he approved you,” continues the woman. “Which means that the contract stands until the timeline is up or he decides to terminate it. And in the meantime, as long as he’s paying, you will need to show up for work. And possibly work on this nursery rhyme business. Do you want me to send over a few children’s books for you to study?”
Now my teeth might snap from how hard I’m grinding.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say. “Thank you again for your time.”
After clicking off the phone, I bury my head in my hands and let out a groan. A few birds nearby flutter, but no one else seems to care. I guess that’s one nice thing about Central Park. Everyone does their own thing, and a woman audibly exasperated after a phone call is probably a common occurrence.
Clearly, Mason is one of those upper-class dickheads who enjoys stringing along broke girls for fun. This is an amusement for him. He can leave his little comments on my report and force me to show up to “work” again the next day. Or maybe he’s going to fire me later tonight, after I’ve already gone to bed, so that I have to wake up at the crack of dawn before I see that he’s ruined my life.
Whatever his plan, it’s obvious that I’m back to square one of making it in New York: broke and jobless. Which means I need a shoulder to cry on, and a snack with zero nutritional value.
I’ve barely sent out the “SOS” text when Lauren replies with a location to meet at. I almost burst into tears right there. Yeah, New York might have some serious issues to address, but one thing it does have is my best friend. And right now, that’s the only thing that matters.
“No, this is not a joke. He has zero children. Zero. As in, none at all.”
Lauren hasn’t stopped laughing since I told her my horrible, traumatic, job-destroying story. I’d say this was fucked up, but even I have to smile a little because of how beyond ridiculous it is.