Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 3

I’m at Uncle Cole’s with Aunt Janey and baby Emmett.

The after-school text from Grace is a welcome distraction from my long workday, and the accompanying picture, even more so. The image shows Grace curled up in the corner of a couch, holding her baby cousin and smiling softly at him. She’s a wonderful cousin and does an amazing job every time she’s with him.

I have hours left before I’m done at the office, so I’m glad Grace is in good hands with my brother and sister-in-law. I wasn’t sure they’d be up for it, given their three-month-old little one, but Cole didn’t hesitate to say yes when I asked. I’m immensely grateful that my family is always ready to help with whatever Grace or I need, like today’s school pickup and hangout.

I respond with a heart-eyed emoji, something she taught me to do, then stare at my phone, mentally composing a text that says everything I want to say.

Make sure you do your homework too.

I send the text back hoping she remembers Emmett’s not the only person who needs taken care of and that she should prioritize herself too, not spend the whole afternoon snuggling with her cousin.

Mostly, I want her to not get in the way and hinder things for Cole and Janey, who are still adjusting to their new roles as parents.

Janey will do great. My brother, Cole? Jury’s still out. He’s a bit rigid in his thinking and probably has a checklist on how to stop the baby from crying. The only problem with that is babies don’t go by a checklist. I remember holding Grace in my arms as a newborn. She was the cutest, sweetest thing, but man, the lungs on that girl could rival a heavy metal concert screech.

A smile ghosts across my face at the happy memory before the rest of that picture pops up in my head—Grace’s mother, my wife, Michelle…

My smile instantly melts away, blackness threatening to overwhelm my thoughts. Nope, I am not doing that right now. Or ever. Those images are tucked away in a box, secured with a lock I’ve forgotten the combination to, wrapped in duct tape, and shoved in a dark corner in the recesses of my mind.

I force down the memory—and more importantly, the unwelcome emotions that try to bubble up with it—and turn my attention back to my computer. A scan of the latest figures tells me that it’s time to divest from some of our current holdings. I type out a quick memo to that effect and send it to one of my investment managers and let myself get carried away with work the way I always do.

Work is… well, I’d say my happy place, but I don’t really do happy, so it’s more like my safe space. The place that keeps my mind so busy that I don’t have time to think about the black void in my chest where my heart used to reside.

By seven, I’m pulling up to Cole and Janey’s. I’m ready to eat dinner, hang out with my Gracie girl, and make sure she gets to bed at a reasonable time.

It should be a pretty easy evening, I think to myself.

Which of course the universe laughs at. Because if there’s one thing I should know by now, it’s that expectations invite chaos, and me and chaos are not friends. Never have been, never will be. It’s the antithesis of who I am.

Cole opens the door with Emmett in his arms and a look of exhaustion on his face. But he’s smiling, which is a good sign. Behind him, my daughter is standing on the coffee table, getting ready to launch herself over the couch. “Peanut Butter! Give me that back!”

“What the⁠—”

“Fudge,” Cole snaps, harshly correcting me before I even curse, and I give him an odd look. Is he seriously worried about foul language when my child is…

“Grace Marie!” I shout, “Get down!”

She freezes for a split second and then simply jumps the other way, not over the couch, but beside it, and immediately begins chasing my other brother, Kyle’s, wayward mutt of a dog. The brown, fluffy beast has a solid case of the zoomies, making fast laps around the living room with a piece of white paper in his mouth. I thought dogs were supposed to age out of this, but in PB’s case, apparently not.

“Give it back!” Grace yells at Peanut Butter. To me, she adds, “It’s my math homework, and if he eats it, I’m not doing it again.”

Fair enough, I think. Honestly, Grace is great at math, thanks to yours truly, so one zero on one homework assignment isn’t the end of the world. As long as she understands the material, it’s good enough for me as long as it’s a one-off, not a usual thing. But given her recent bombing of a test, I’m not sure her grade can withstand a zero, so I make a fast grab for the dog and manage to carefully untangle the paper from his mouth. “Here,” I tell Grace brusquely, pushing the wrinkled—and slobbery—homework her way.

She gives the smiling dog a dirty look. Yeah, Kyle’s dog actually knows how to smile. He can roll his eyes too. He’s weird like that, but it’s not surprising given my brother is a piece of work too.

“Chill evening at home?” I taunt Cole wryly, and he shrugs, his attention never leaving the adorable bundle of his baby.

Emmett Nash Harrington is the latest addition to our large family, coming not too long after Cole and Janey got married, and as the second grandchild, he’s got a lifetime of being spoiled rotten ahead of him. Not only by his parents and grandparents, but by all of us Harrington brothers who’ll battle for ranking as the favorite uncle. My sister, Kayla, who got off easy as the guaranteed favorite aunt when Grace was born, now has competition with my sisters-in-law, so that’ll be entertaining to watch. Though, let’s be real. Kayla’s going to win. She always does.

“Not too bad, actually,” Cole answers. “Janey and I got to take a shower, a nap, and eat today since Riley was here, so we’re ready for tonight’s no-sleep rave. Boots and cats, and boots and cats.” He bounces Emmett like they’re dancing even though the baby is fast asleep.

“Riley?” I echo, though I’m mostly picturing my isolationist brother at a literal rave. It’d be his worst nightmare come to life, which while extremely entertaining to witness, his attempt at beatboxing is pretty amusing too. My lips almost twitch, a rarity.

Cole drags his eyes away from Emmett. “Yeah, I was gonna talk to you about her, actually. She’s a nanny.”

I can’t help but snort at the irony. “You hired a nanny before I did? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Cole isn’t a people person. He’s the opposite of whatever a people person is. He’s gruff, grumpy, and rude, which is enough to put most people off, and then, when you add in that he’s obsessively protective of Janey, and now Emmett, there’s not a lot of room for people to get close to them. Literally or metaphorically speaking. So the idea that he let some stranger into his house, handed over his baby, and then took a little nappy-nap is downright ridiculous.

“I didn’t hire her. Well, not exactly. She asked me for a favor, so in return, she’s doing one for me—helping with Emmett for a few days. But she’s an experienced nanny whose job just ended, and she might be looking for a new one. I thought you might like to meet her.”

Is he being… nice? The very idea makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because it’s such an odd thing for Cole to be. I have exacting standards, ridiculously high ones, I’ve been told by more than a few, but I’m currently not in the position to be a choosy beggar. At some point, my family’s patience with me—not Grace, never her—will reach its limit and I’ll have to, I don’t know, take a leave of absence from work while I get this nanny situation sorted. That’s something I don’t want to do, unless there’s no other option, so I’m inclined to take the gift Cole is offering thankfully. But not without question.

“Do you have her resume I could look at? What agency does she work with? Experience?” I run through my list of usual qualifying demands, and Cole cocks his head, giving me a scathing look from beneath sharply arched brows.

“I handed over my kid and took a nap. What more do you need to know?”

He’s got a point. An extremely valid one, because if Cole felt comfortable doing that, he’s already done a background check on her that’d rival the Pentagon, plus done a gut check of his own impression of the woman. And I trust Cole’s gut. “That’s fair. I’m willing to interview her, at least.”

“About that⁠—”

He’s cut off by the two women coming into the living room from the hallway. One is my sister-in-law, Janey, with a riot of red curls and gray eyes that look surprisingly bright given her new mom status.

The other is young, maybe early twenties, and while I wouldn’t say she’s classically beautiful, she’s interesting-looking. Her hair looks like cotton candy, pale pink and wispy, and is cut in a way that makes shaggy chunks flip out all over her head and shoulders. She has wide-set blue eyes which are rimmed in gray shadow and precisely drawn, black cat-eye liner, and there’s a tiny hoop in one nostril of her pixie nose. She’s wearing baggy jeans with frayed hems that lay messily on thick-soled tennis shoes, an oversized T-shirt that’s folded under and tucked up to show a tiny sliver of her midriff, and two wrists full of chunky bracelets that match what must be at least five necklaces hanging around her neck.

My eyes virtually bounce over her, trying to find a singular thing to focus on, but there’s simply so much, like her presence is shouting at me from across the room. And given the way she’s looking back, I’m probably frowning, which she shouldn’t take personally. It’s my default expression.

“Riley, I finished!” Grace interrupts my scan of the newcomer. My daughter is triumphantly holding up the piece of paper I took from Peanut Butter to the pink-haired woman, who flashes a beaming smile that makes her eyes sparkle.

“Nice,” she answers Grace, holding up her fist for a bump.

I see a look pass between Cole and Janey, and then Janey waves at me before saying, “Hey Grace, can you help me in the nursery for a second?” Before Grace can answer, she ushers my daughter out of the room, leaving me with my brother and the other woman, who is apparently Riley, the nanny I’m interviewing… now?

“Gotta hand it to Janey, she’s smooth like that,” Cole deadpans.

He has jokes? Since when? Maybe Janey hit him over the head or he tripped and fell? It’s the only explanation.

Riley approaches me easily with her hand extended. “Hi, I’m Riley Stefano. Nice to meet you.”

“Cameron Harrington, and you too,” I reply, shaking her hand. As we move up and down, her bracelets jangle in a discordant tune.

“No worries if you don’t want to do this, now or at all. Cole mentioned you need a nanny, and as it so happens” —she holds her hands out wide as though presenting herself and smiles— “I am one. But no pressure.”

Cole shoots me a look that is definitely filled with pressure.

“No, I do need to hire someone. I’m just not sure if…” I give her pink hair, outfit, and decidedly youthful looks another glance, feeling my frown deepen. “Well, Grace can be a lot sometimes.” I say that at a near whisper so there’s no chance of my daughter hearing me, even if it’s the truth. “We’ve been through a few nannies over the years.”

Cole chokes but tries to cover it with a cough before repeating dryly, “Few?”

Okay, we’ve been through more nannies than I can remember at this point, although that’s cumulative over nine years, and not all of them left because of Grace. Some of them left because of me. Others left because they’d simply moved on to a different phase of their own lives.

But there have indeed been several who left because of my not-always-darling, verbally-unfiltered daughter.

Riley laughs at my attempt to sugarcoat the situation. “Look, I’m gonna take a wild guess that you’ve never raised a teenage girl, yeah?” She pauses, waiting for me to agree, which I do with the slightest tick of my head. “Me? I’ve raised five of them—myself, three when I was a teenager, and then my latest job was with Jordan, who recently turned sixteen, has straight As, is a star volleyball player, got her driver’s license after I taught her to drive, and no longer needs a nanny. You’re welcome to call her mom, Bianca, for what will be a glowing referral if you’d like. I can give you her number.” She lists off Jordan’s accomplishments with pride, like she had a hand in helping the girl achieve the impressive roster of successes.

Cole is grinning at Emmett, but I don’t think his reaction has anything to do with the unmoving, expressionless bundle in his arms and instead has everything to do with Riley’s skillful handling of me and my preconceived judgments because he notices everything and didn’t miss me taking in Riley’s appearance and being critical, even if only in my head. It’s not that I need a nanny who wears uniforms and fits some stereotypical mold, but the woman in front of me isn’t exactly inspiring confidence in her caretaking skills with her attire and hair. I mean, pink? Is she serious?

“Well, be that as it may, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure, I have some for you too. Shall we?”

Riley moves to a chair, gesturing to the couch, inviting me to sit in my own brother’s home like she has any right to do so. When she sits down, it’s not proper and formal like one should be for a job interview. Instead, she crisscrosses her legs in front of her, her knees resting on the inside arms of the chair, with her tennis shoes on the furniture. I eye her position from beneath one arched brow and wait for Cole to correct her since it’s his home. But when I glance his way, he appears completely unfazed by her ill-mannered posturing.

“I think I’ll refill Janey’s cup. She’s replaced her strawberry-apricot Red Bull addiction with strawberry-apricot ice water since she’s still watching her caffeine intake,” Cole says, excusing himself to the kitchen, where he can absolutely eavesdrop on my conversation with Riley.

“Want me to start with the basics?” Riley offers.

I can’t help but relax a little. She’s making this easy, and I fully expect her to say something that will remove her from consideration in the next three sentences. When I don’t argue, she launches into a surprising ‘about me’ speech.

“I’ve been taking care of kids since I was one myself, going into foster care when I was five and being the primary caregiver in several of those situations. I saw lots of parenting techniques—some good, some not-so-much, some downright awful—and learned from them all. Ran away at sixteen—long story—and raised myself, finishing high school while working at a daycare that also had an after-school program, so I worked with newborns on up to age twelve. Since then, I’ve done what I’m best at—nannying for families with busy schedules, high expectations, and complex situations. I don’t have a degree, but I’ve taken loads of child development classes, plus CPR and first-aid certifications. I’m an excellent driver, can help with homework up through basic trig, do a decent job in the kitchen, and can coordinate with whatever other staff you have.” She glances to the side like she’s replaying what she said, thinking it through after it passed her lips, and then nods like she’s only just now approving it.

It’s mildly alarming. However…

“Impressive,” I say, because her ‘tell me about yourself’ speech most definitely is.

She’s a hell of a lot better than some of the other agency hires I’ve interviewed in the last two weeks—like the woman who told me that kids need strict discipline or else they’ll go feral (newsflash: Grace is already dangerously close), or the one who loudly popped her gum the entire interview (Mom would’ve clutched her pearls at the sheer rudeness), or the one who flat-out propositioned me for a sugar baby situation then tried to backtrack by saying she was joking but would be happy to revisit it at her three-month review (no, just no). The best option I’ve had in the last two weeks is sitting across from me, looking at me expectantly, her long, dark lashes fluttering as she blinks. And suddenly, I’m not sure I care what color her hair is. Or at least, don’t care as much.

“Your turn,” she prompts, pointing a finger at me. I notice her short nails are the same color as her hair. It’s an unconscious sign of an ordered mind, one that I can appreciate. “I’m interviewing you too.”

That stops me short. She cannot be serious. Anyone would be lucky as hell to work for me and take care of Grace.

You really think so?

Okay, I don’t even believe my own bullshit on that, but I don’t like being made to feel like I’m the one under the microscope. That’s my move.

I hear Cole snort from the other room like he’s trying to suppress a laugh, and then there’s a clang of metal on metal as he stirs Janey’s drink. Oh, yeah, he’s listening and will likely have reported this entire conversation to our sibling group chat before I pull out of the driveway tonight. I can imagine the shit-talking now, and it sets my spine on edge.

I clear my throat. “It’s been Grace and me since she was three—long story,” I say, using her phrasing that obviously means ‘don’t ask for more’. “She’s twelve, going on twenty-five, is in seventh grade, has a couple of extracurriculars but spends most of her time at riding lessons or doing chores at the barn, and she’s probably a bit spoiled by my entire family, including me.”

Riley nods as I recite my own list, then asks, “And you?”

“Me, what?” I say as my brows furrow together. She looks at me like I’m stupid, which I don’t appreciate in the slightest, and I frown hard. It’s then I realize what she’s asking. “Oh, me?” I wave a hand dismissively because I don’t matter here. Grace does. “I’m a C-level executive at Blue Lake Assets, the family business. I work long hours, in the office and at home, but Grace is my priority. Always. I want her to receive the best care because she spends a fair amount of time with her nannies, so having someone she meshes with is important to me.”

She smiles approvingly, making me feel like a toddler who earned a cookie with his obedience. I scowl at her, hoping she shuts that shit down before I have to. It’s only when she purses her lips that I realize her approval might’ve actually been for my commitment to finding a good fit for Grace, not because I dutifully answered her question.

Well, fuck. Guess I’m earning my reputation as an asshole today, same as every other day.

“Long hours,” she repeats. “What does that mean? What does a typical day look like for the two of you, and where would I work into that?”

Who’s interviewing whom here?

I know what the answer should be, but I suddenly realize that I haven’t asked her a single question. She’s volunteered information and asked me questions, but I haven’t countered one of them, which irritates me more than it should.

I’m used to being the most powerful man in the room. I sweep into boardrooms and people quake, wanting to either impress me or remain invisible to me, depending on my mood. My presence commands respect, my bearing is that of authority, and most don’t dare to challenge me, much less cross me. Even at home, I don’t truly relax very often. I’m a man of seriousness and routine, two things I get the feeling Riley Stefano has never been in her life.

Despite her setting me on edge, I answer, “I wake up early, work out, and check the markets. Grace wakes up at six thirty on school days, gets herself ready, and comes downstairs for breakfast, which the nanny usually makes for her, but it doesn’t need to be anything fancy. She’s been on a frozen pancake kick here lately,” I confess. “Around seven thirty, the nanny drives her to school and I leave for work. During the day, you could do your own thing, although there are household things I’ll need done—grocery shopping, laundry, getting school supplies, things like that. Grace gets out at four and will definitely try to talk you into taking her to Starbucks, which you can do twice a week. She does homework, or goes to the barn and then does homework, and after that, she has free time for TV, friends, or whatever. Sometime in there, you’ll make dinner, and when I get home, which is usually around seven, I’ll relieve you of your duties so that Grace and I can eat, spend time together, and do her bedtime routine.”

It doesn’t escape my attention that in listing everything out, I began using a generic ‘the nanny’ but by the end, I was flat out saying ‘you’, meaning Riley. I guess I’m more desperate than I thought. But I don’t think I’ve ever listed out our days quite so literally, and by the end of my recitation, I’m exhausted. And in truth, I’ve been living it, day after day. Great days, but long ones, nonetheless.

Riley has been listening closely and now nibbles her bottom lip as though considering all I’ve said, but before she can say anything, Grace and Janey come running back into the living room. Well, Grace is running. Janey is walking along behind her with a smile on her face, like always. She’s probably the happiest person on Earth at any given time. Cole says she wasn’t always that way, but since he brought her around our family, she’s perpetually smiling.

Janey keeps walking, beelining for Cole and her new son in the kitchen, and leaving the three of us in the living room.

“Did you hire her yet?” Grace asks me, nearly bouncing with excitement and sounding like this is all but a done deal.

“What?” I mutter, definitely not leaning that way. At least not yet, after only five minutes of conversation, despite Riley’s surprisingly remarkable resume. Especially given the way she’s acting a bit too in-charge for my liking.

“Do you two need a minute?” Riley offers, fighting unsuccessfully to hide her growing smile.

“Yes,” I say firmly.

At the same time, both Grace and Cole say, “No.”

“You’d be a fu-freaking idiot not to hire her,” Cole states, his apologetic gaze dropping to Emmett like the baby might be offended by his near curse. Though she stays quiet, Janey’s opinion is written on her face and she agrees with her husband.

If there’s one thing I have never been, it’s stupid. I’m analytical to a fault, and the bottom line is, even if Cole, Janey, and Grace have all decided Riley is the best thing since sliced bread and Betty White, who was actually born before pre-sliced bread became a genius marketing gimmick, that doesn’t make it so.

“I like her, Dad,” Grace says, flashing Riley a thumbs-up like she’s got this handled. This meaning me.

“What?” Have I entered a bizarro world? My brother, who famously hates people—all people—is giving me shit over hiring this woman. And my daughter, who just yesterday was telling me that she doesn’t need a nanny, is now apparently okay with one. As long as it’s Riley. The only reaction I’m not surprised by is Janey’s. She likes everyone, so there’d be no reason for this to be any different. “What is happening here?” I ask no one in particular, though I look from Cole to Grace like they might have an answer for me. I even glance at Riley like she might know, but she’s studiously staring at the ceiling like it’s suddenly become extraordinarily interesting, though she has a smile teasing at the edges of her lips like this is thoroughly amusing to her.

“You’re interviewing a nanny. One who hasn’t tried to figure out my star sign or ground me for not being seen and not heard, so she can’t be all that bad,” Grace grumbles.

The reminder about two of her previous nannies gives me pause. They’d come from the agency I’ve worked with for years, had excellent references, and interviewed well, so I’d been decisive and proactive the way I always am and had hired them on the spot. Unfortunately, they weren’t the best choice in the long run or else I wouldn’t be in this situation now.

I get up, perching on the arm of the couch to get closer to eye level with my daughter, and cross my arms over my chest. “You like her?” I repeat, wanting to be certain.

“’Her’ is right here,” Riley reminds me, holding her hand up. There’s an obvious tinkle of laughter in her voice like she’s fighting off a good case of the giggles at the showdown playing out between my daughter and me.

As if I forgot that we’re doing this in front of her. Yeah, my expectation of an easy evening all but ended with the pink-haired woman. Thanks for that, universe.

Grace nods like a bobblehead and grins, already scenting her win in the air.

“I guess, with her experience, she might have some pretty good insights into the psyche of the animal better known as a ‘teen girl’.” I boop Grace on the nose, and she clacks her teeth, acting like she’s going to bite my finger. Still not sure of this course of action, I say, “Fine. Let’s see if we can work something out.” I give Riley a look of warning because I know that I just put myself at considerable disadvantage in our discussion of her role as nanny for our family, and I’m hoping she’s either not adept enough to take advantage of that or is too principled to do so.

“Thanks, Dad!” Grace shouts, jumping up to wrap her arms around me. “I promise to do my homework every day without arguing and keep my room clean.”

I push Grace back and bend down, getting nearly nose to nose with her. “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” I demand fake-harshly. “I know an alien body snatcher when I see one.” I turn her head sideways, peering into her ear like I can see her brain. “Definitely not my Gracie girl.”

She laughs, then sobers and makes her eyes go vacant. Talking robotically, she intones, “I. Am. Your. Daughter. Ha. Ha. Ha.”

I crack at that, giving her one of my rare smiles. She’s earned it because she can be a really funny kid when she’s not acting like a spoiled twenty-five-year-old.

“Hey, can you show me that thing Peanut Butter’s doing out back?” Cole suddenly asks Janey, who looks utterly baffled at his question—probably because the dog isn’t doing anything other than lying in the yard because fuck knows he’s too stupid to play fetch. But understanding dawns as Cole physically escorts her and Grace outside, leaving Riley and me in the living room.

Yeah, Janey’s the one who’s not smooth, Brother.

Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh heavily. Today was already exhausting, and now I’m stuck with this shitshow—meaning my family, not Riley, who somehow seems completely unbothered by all this. When I return my attention to her, she’s even smiling, though I have no idea why.

“So, this is… us,” I say sardonically, gesturing toward the back door where everyone disappeared, leaving me to close this deal.

“I knew you’d come crawling back,” Riley teases with a sassy smirk, confidence oozing from her despite the casual shrug she adds after the comment.

I am not crawling. I don’t do submissive shit like that. I’m usually the one people are killing themselves to impress, not the other way around. But I do sit back down across from her, which might as well be the same thing, so I rest one ankle on the other knee, aiming for casual yet commanding as I take up as much space as I can on the couch.

Seeming completely at ease as she leans back in the chair, Riley chuckles lightly. “Grace has you wrapped around her finger, huh?”

I blink, surprised by her bullseye accuracy. “Maybe a bit,” I confess, and she laughs harder. I notice she covers her mouth with her hand and wonder why. She has a lovely smile, straight white teeth with a slightly longer canine tooth on the right that looks like a teeny-tiny baby fang. Her smile seems as quirky and interesting as she is.

“Teenagers, right?” she offers, and I relax slightly at having someone understand what it’s like to live with a child who confuses and astounds me at every turn. More seriously, she continues, “Grace and I are getting along great, and I’d love to spend more time with her, but that’s not all there is to this. You and I would have to work together too, because having a nanny spend long hours with your child is a big deal. It needs to be someone you trust.” As she talks, her hands are in constant motion, her bracelets virtually playing a tune as she moves. Putting her hand over her heart for a quick moment, she says, “If I’m not it for you, that’s okay.” She waves that same hand airily, going back to gesturing with virtually every word. “You’ll eventually find the nanny meant for you.”

Her smile is easy as can be, like she could take this job or leave it and either way would be just fine by her. It’s honestly unsettling. I’m used to sitting across conference tables from CEOs and investors and outright powerful, wealthy people who are either trying to woo me or whom I’m trying to pursue for a deal. Never have I felt as off-kilter as I do by this woman who seems to give zero fucks about what I think.

“I’m still not sure, but Grace…” I glance toward the back door, seeing my daughter playing fetch with Peanut Butter, except she’s not only throwing the ball. She’s chasing it too. Meanwhile, the dog is watching her with vacant eyes and a smile on his face, his tongue slowly hanging out longer and longer.

“Cole said you’re kinda in a tough spot, so how about this? I’ll be Grace’s nanny while you search for the perfect Mary Poppins. If you find her, great. If not, we’ll revisit things in… say, three months?”

“A trial run?” I summarize, thinking over her proposition.

“Yes, the full Riley Stefano experience,” she says brightly, splaying her hands wide like her name is in lights on a marquee. “I’ll live in, take care of the morning duties with Grace, run any household errands, and then pick her up after school for activities and homework. I’m happy to make dinner so that the two of you can spend as much time together as possible.” She pauses, and I realize I was nodding agreeably through her entire speech.

“That all sounds perfect,” I confess, knowing she virtually quoted back to me exactly what I said I’m looking for.

She flashes a triumphant smile, showing that cute little fang. “Good. At contract pricing, of course. Cole is paying double my day rate for my time with Emmett. I think that’s fair, considering…” There’s a tiny hint of a tease in her voice as she trails off, then closes her mouth and waits for me to negotiate back.

I do a quick evaluation of the situation. One, Cole gave Riley his stamp of approval, which is a rare recommendation. Two, Grace really wants Riley as a nanny, which could detour a considerable number of arguments. And three, I’m desperate and Riley knows it, so there’s no rock and hard place. This is more like I’m being swallowed by quicksand and might as well quit fighting it.

“Okay, it’s a deal. You drive a hard bargain, Miss Stefano.” The compliment is genuine. She knows what she’s bringing to the table, values herself, and read me clear enough to know that I’ll pay whatever she’s asking. Hell, I would’ve paid more if she’d required it. “When can you start?”

“Tomorrow?”

Relief washes through me. I’m going to have help again, without putting the extra demand on my family the way I’ve had to since the last nanny.

“I’ll handle the morning stuff, and then you could pick Grace up from school at four o’clock?” I confirm, already plotting out my schedule, Grace’s routine, and where the nanny has traditionally stepped in. “I can put you on the pickup list.”

“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?