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)
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.”