Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Perfect,” she agrees. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” She winks dramatically, and thankfully, it seems to be comedic rather than flirtatious or we’d have an entirely different issue to address.
I peer at the woman across from me, completely blown away by how this whole thing has played out. I’m not one to fuck with at the negotiation table and typically walk away with the upper hand in any deal. But I definitely feel like I just got played.
By a young, pink-haired, frayed-clothes-wearing nanny.
“I don’t know what magic spell you put on Grace, but you can probably expect quite the fanfare from her tomorrow.” It’s safer to praise her handling of my daughter than her clever management of me. Even thinking that pisses me off. I don’t get managed. I manage others, especially my employees.
“No magic spells. Just me, myself, and I. Besides, I like her too, so this’ll be fun.” She cuts her eyes off to the side and lifts a shoulder before quietly asking, as though we’re sharing secrets, “And who doesn’t love a bit of fanfare? Do you think there’ll be confetti? I love confetti.” She claps her hands quietly, but her bracelets sing out noisily anyway.
Who loves confetti? It’s messy, annoying, gets everywhere, and did I mention, messy?
“I think there’s an actual rule against that at the school, along with balloons and flowers, so you might have to settle for a cheerful hello and a handshake,” I quip dryly.
“I can’t wait. I have a good feeling about this.”
“A feeling?”
The idea is laughable. Decisions should not be made based on feelings. They require a thorough analysis of the pros and cons, risks versus rewards, and progress toward defined goals.
“Yeah, you know, the sensation you get in the pit of your stomach that leads you one way or another. I always listen to those instincts. They’ve never steered me wrong.”
I stare at her, almost waiting for her to laugh and say she’s kidding because, though she’s speaking English, the arrangement of words don’t make any sense to my rational mind. “You use your instincts?” I sound like an echo chamber, simply repeating what she says, albeit with a decidedly snotty tone, but I’m truly trying to understand a concept so utterly foreign.
“They got me here, didn’t they? And so far, so good.” She grins brightly, but I’m not sure if she means things are good at Cole’s or with this potential new position working for me. Or maybe, both? “You want to tell Grace? Or can I?”
Dumbstruck, I stay silent, which she seems to take as permission to do whatever the hell she wants. Which is apparently bursting through the back door, planting her feet on the patio, and raising her arms wide in victory. “Grace, I’m in! It’s you and me, girl!”
My daughter lets out a whooping noise of happiness that brings an automatic smile to my face. I really would do damn near anything to make her happy, and if that means I’m wrapped around her finger, so be it. Sure, I probably overdo it sometimes and give in too often, but she’s not spoiled in a bratty way and doesn’t feel entitled to anything. She’s just the child of a man who loves her unconditionally and wants to see her thrive.
Cole looks back over his shoulder and meets my gaze. He dips his chin once. I’m not sure if it’s in approval that I’m going along with his ‘suggestion’ or a vow that he’ll make sure it’s all good. Either way, I appreciate him. I spent a lot of years worried as hell about him when we didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, and now that he’s set up his family’s homebase here, I think the tables have turned and he’s settled into worrying about the rest of us siblings. Especially me. Not because I need anyone’s concern—I’m fine—but my life revolves around two things. Work and Grace. What he doesn’t yet understand is that it’s by design, and I’m quite satisfied with that.
A raucous chorus of laughter grabs my attention, and when I follow the sound, I see Grace and Riley rolling around in the grass. The smiles on their faces are wide and joyous, and their legs and arms are flailing through the air as Peanut Butter hops around them like they’re rowdy playmates.
“Not me, Pee-Bee. Get Riley!” Grace shouts as if the dog will actually follow instructions.
“Here, boy,” Riley sing-songs, holding up the ball she was apparently hiding. Then, with a decent arm, she throws it deep into the yard, telling Peanut Butter, “Get it.”
To my complete shock, the dog tears ass after the ball. Apparently, he’s a fan of the new nanny too and I’m the only man on hold-out island.
What have I gotten myself into?