by KL Donn
He shakes his head. “I was running late. I didn’t even go into the kitchen.”
“I found a crock put in the cabinets, so I made a batch of overnight oats. It should have been ready for you this morning.”
“You made me breakfast?” Sylvain asks.
“Well, it was for all of us,” I correct him. “But yeah.”
“Thank you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Paige eating her hot dog happily. Sylvain has calmed down.
Diversion tactics successful.
“Hey, Paiger, do you want an onion ring?” Sylvain asks, offering her his cup.
“No thanks, Daddy. I still have a lot of fries left,” she says calmly, as if she wasn’t at a level ten just a few minutes ago. Kids have two modes: Jekyll or Hyde.
He offers the cup to me.
“Thanks,” I say plucking one out. “I love these. I can never decide between onion rings and fries. But I pick fries every time.”
“Guess we’re a good match,” he says absently. Then he shakes his head as if embarrassed and continues, “Because I always get onion rings. The best of both worlds, ya know?”
“Simmer down, Sylvain,” I say with a laugh soft laugh. “I get what you mean.”
When I’m finished eating, I ball up my napkin and toss it over him onto the tray hanging from his window. “That was disgustingly good.”
“Disgustingly good?” He raises one eyebrow. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”
“Definitely a compliment. It was fantastic, but not something I could eat a lot.”
He slaps the six-pack underneath his shirt. “Yeah, I’d be slow as a snail if I ate crap like that all the time.”
“Snails can be fast, Daddy,” Paige pipes up from the back.
“They can?” he asks, reaching back to retrieve her garbage and setting it on the tray.
“Turbo was so fast!” Her hand sails across the air.
“Ahh! Yes. Good old Turbo,” I say, understanding the reference to the animated movie about a snail who dreams of being as fast as his Indy-racing hero. “But he drank nitrous oxide or something, right?”
“It made him super-fast. Faster than this car!” She nods and pushes her unruly brown hair out of her face. I cannot wait to get that mess into a ponytail again.
As soon as the waitress skates back out to collect the tray, Sylvain revs the engine to life and begins backing out of the parking space.
I pull a tube of lip gloss out of my purse and flip the visor down.
“Daddy!” Paige cries out in desperation. “I really have to pee!”
Sylvain stomps the brake so hard I jerk forward just as I’m swiping a pale, nude gloss over my lips.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.
“Do you want me to run her in?” I ask, using my fingertip to remove the streak of gloss from the patch of skin under my nose.
“I got it.” He swings his door open, then lets Paige out. “Be back in a flash.”
“Fast like Turbo!” Paige beelines to Mo’s door.
When they get back to the car, Sylvain is staring at me as he waits for Paige to buckle.
“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious by his gaze.
He shakes his head, clearing the fog before checking his mirrors and blind spots and backing out again. “You look good.”
“Thanks,” I say, surprised at the comment. “You had this weird look on your face. I thought you were going to say something about my appetite.”
Something about his praise makes my insecurities come out. During chemo, I lost more than twenty pounds. I’ve been able to gain some of it back, but I’m still five or ten pounds underweight. It’s probably not even noticeable to anyone else, but I know what I used to look like and how clothes used to fit me. Seeing bones jut out where there used to be soft curves makes me self-conscious.
“I’m not an idiot,” he says. “Even I know you never—ever—make comments about what a woman eats.”
I laugh.
“But for the record, it was awesome.” He winks.
Compliments and winks were the last thing I ever expected when I begged Sylvain for this job. Challenges and scowls I was prepared for—but kindness and banter never crossed my mind.
When we get back to the condo, Sylvain picks up Paige and flies her around the house as if she’s an airplane while I curl up on the couch with a book. It’s daddy-daughter time, and I don’t want to get in the middle of it. Though, I do love observing their interaction. I peek over the top of the novel. Seeing him in dad-mode makes me smile.
“Incoming!” Sylvain yells, dropping her on the couch next to me. His fingers brush my thigh when he starts tickling her. While Paige wiggles and rolls, laughing so hard she can’t even speak, he turns his attack on me.
“Oh, no!” I pull my knees up and hold my book out, as if that will stop him. Within seconds both he and Paige are on me, their fingers dancing across my stomach and sides.
“Stop!” I cry out through laughs. “Please.”
Sylvain lets up right away, but Paige keeps going—as a ramped up four-year-old will do.
“That’s enough, Paige,” Sylvain says, lifting her off me. But Paige is not ready to stop. She curls her fingers at him, still laughing like a madman. “Enough!” he says in a harsher tone. “It’s time for bed.”
“No!” she wails, flopping backward.
Instinctively reach out, but Sylvain repositions his grasp and keeps her from hitting the floor head first.
Paige kicks and screams as Sylvain carries her to her room. I pick up my book, pretending to read as I listen to her defiant screams, Sylvain’s severe, impatient tone, and the sound of a something hitting the wall.
Should I rush in there and take over? Should I bite my tongue and let him handle it?
He hired me to take care of his daughter, not to critique his parenting. In fact, I know that’s one if his biggest insecurities and he’ll be angry no matter what I say and how I say it.
Then again, he also hired me because I have experience working with kids and a degree in child psychology. If he doesn’t realize he’s creating the situation that frustrates him, the cycle will continue forever.
He’ll be pissed no matter what I do, so I jump off the couch and rush to Paige’s room.
“Here comes the Acro bedtime helper!” I say, clomping into the room with my elbows pinned to my sides, mimicking the tiny-armed dinosaur. “Time to get Paige in her pjs.”
When I enter, she’s laying on the floor surrounded by multiple books. I wonder if that’s what she was throwing at the wall. She looks up and smiles. Sylvain, on the other hand, is not amused.
“Why don’t you go get your stuff ready for practice tomorrow,” I tell Sylvain. “I’ll finish up in here.”
“Tabarnak!” He curses, chucking Paige’s clothes to the floor as he stomps out, glaring at me the entire time.
Let him throw around his French Canadian swear words and glare. It doesn’t bother me one bit.
After helping Paige get ready for bed, reading her two books, and tucking her in, I return to the kitchen. Sylvain is sitting at the table, tapping on his phone like a madman.
Must be texting someone about his treacherous new nanny. Either that or he’s posting the position on the internet.
“What was that?” he asks when he finally lifts his head.
“What was that?” I repeat, dumbfounded. “That’s the thanks I get for putting out the dumpster fire you created?”
“I had it under control.” He dismisses me, but his body stiffens, so I know I’ve made him uncomfortable.
I’m speechless. Control? That’s what he calls control?
Maybe if I stare at him in silence, he’ll understand how completely ridiculous that sounded. He had no control. No chill. No nothing.
After a few seconds, he leans back and tosses his phone onto the table, giving in to my silent stare. “It’s the same thing almost every time I put her to bed.”
“Do you always rile her up like that beforehand?”
“What do you mean?”
“The airplane? The tickling? Do you do that all the time or do you ever let her chill out and calm down before bed?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I guess we’re usually horsing around before bed.”
“Do you see the problem with that?”
“I didn’t before you pointed it out,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk, and I’m not criticizing your parenting,” I say sliding into the chair across from him. “In my experience, you can’t get a kid riled up like that and then expect them to immediately calm down and listen. It doesn’t work, and it causes frustration for both of you.”
He’s staring at the table, but he nods, so that’s a good sign.
“Having fun is great,” I say quickly. “It’s really cute, actually.” A soft laugh escapes thinking about how sweet it is seeing him and Paige together. Sylvain lifts his eyes to mine. “But you’ve got to bring it down, ya know? You have to set the tone so she understands.”
“I get it,” he snaps.
“Whatever,” I say, standing up and swiping my notebook off the table. “Good night, Sylvain.”
It’s not easy or fun to point out areas where someone can do better with their kids, especially when I don’t have any myself. But there are things I observe as an outsider that he can’t see when he’s in the parenting trenches.
Hopefully, it won’t take him long to figure out I want the best for both him and Paige. Because I’d rather go back to $10.50 an hour at the day care than deal with a guy who’s going to bite my head off every time I try to help.
10
EMMA
It feels like my cheek just hit the pillow when I hear a door creak open, and feet shuffling down the hall. That’s how I can tell it’s Paige.
Sylvain doesn’t shuffle. He stomps like an elephant. I don’t think he means to, it’s just how he is—all muscles and moodiness.
The latter is something I’m getting used to, but the only time I ever really think about his ripped physique is when I’m alone in bed.
Some people can sleep through a train chugging away and blowing its whistle right outside their open window. Not me. I wake up with very car horn or bird chirp. It’s a quality I despised until I realized it might be preparing me to be a mother. I’ve heard that once you have a kid, you never sleep soundly again.
Not that I ever I never witnessed that with my own mother. I could have been crying for three hours, and she wouldn’t hear me. I found that out from experience. Though, in her defense, she was probably passed out rather than sleeping. I imagine they’re two very different states of consciousness.
I’ve just flipped the pillow over and snuggled into the cool side, when I hear Paige yelling.
“I need help!”
I roll to the other side, curl into fetal position, and close my eyes again, ignoring Paige’s plea.
When Sylvain is home I’m second-in-command, right?
“I’m in the baaaaathrooooom!” she sings.
I pull the pillow over my head silently reminding myself it’s not my circus and Paige is not my monkey.
“I need someone to wipe my butt!”
I throw the pillow to the floor and whip the covers off. Before I leave the room, I stop to put on my wig, securing it into place as I stalk down the hall to the bathroom.
It’s not my job to wipe her ass when her father is here.
“What took you so long?” Paige asks as soon as I get to the doorway.
“I was sleeping.” I tell her, leaning over to tear toilet paper off the roll. “Why didn’t you call for your father?”
“I didn’t want to wake him up.” She shrugs.
I press my lips together, taking a second to calm myself and get in the right frame of mind. His career is strenuous and he deserves the rest. He hired me for situations like this.
Once I’ve finished helping, we both wash our hands. I didn’t even have to remind her this time.
“I’m hungry.” Paige turns toward the kitchen.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning. You’re going back to bed,” I say, placing my hands on her back and steering her toward her room.
She grabs each side of the doorway, hindering my efforts to get her inside. “I can’t. I’m awake.”
“Come on, Paige,” I say through a yawn. “It’s too early for this.” I try to push her into the room, but she’s got a death grip on the frame.
“Can I watch a show?” she asks. “Please.”
There are two TVs in the condo. One in the living room and one in Sylvain’s room. The perfect plan pops into my head.
“Absolutely!” I tell her. “You can snuggle with Daddy and watch a show.”
She smiles and releases the frame immediately. I grab her hand and lead her to her dad’s room. After knocking softly, I open the door.
Sylvain’s room must have blackout shades because it’s so dark I can barely see. All I can hear is the soft sound of his deep breathing. Yeah, there’s no way he would’ve woken up for a five a.m. butt-wipe.
Paige runs to the bed and jumps in.
“Can you put the TV on?” she asks as she snuggles under the blankets.
“Sure,” I whisper. Ambling, I use the edge of the bed to guide me as my eyes adjust to the darkness.
After a quick scan, I realize the remote isn’t on the nightstand. My eyes flash to Sylvain, who’s still dead to the world. Then I kneel down and check the floor in case it dropped. Nothing.
“Paige,” I whisper. “Is the remote in Daddy’s bed?”
“Let me check.” She wiggles out of the covers and starts flopping around, picking up pillows and pulling at the blankets.
Quickly, I place one knee on the bed and stretch over Sylvain to stop her crazy pursuit. But my knee slips and I fall right on top of Sylvain.
His eyes flash open. “What the hell?”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, scrambling to get off him.
“We’re lookin’ for the remote, Daddy!” Paige explains, yanking the covers off him.
“Paige! No!” Sylvain exclaims.
But it’s too late. She’s already pulled the blanket back, revealing Sylvain’s body.
His buck-naked, muscular body.
“Oh my gosh!” I cover my eyes and spin around out of politeness. “I’m just gonna—” I stammer, pointing to the door with my back still to Sylvain. “I’ll be in my room.”
I run out, closing the door behind me before dashing down the hall. Once I’m in the guest room, I shut the door and lean against it. The knob digs into my lower back every time my heaving breaths shake my body. My heart pounds, excitement and arousal coursing through me.
Once my breathing slows and my heart stops flipping out, I step away from the door, laughing at the absurdity of the situation as I crawl back into bed.
Damn! Sylvain Bergeron naked is a beautiful sight.
That quick glimpse will give me more than enough material to keep me warm on lonely, cold nights. It can’t be healthy to think about my boss this way. But it’s not like I planned to see him naked.
As I drift off, I let myself imagine what it might feel like to be wrapped in his arms. Naked. Molded together with nothing but body heat keeping us warm.
It’s only a fantasy. No one, let alone Sylvain Bergeron, would want me. Not after everything my body has been through.
11
SYLVAIN
“Then Paige throws back the blanket and there I am naked as the day I was born with Emma standing next to me.” I emphasize my embarrassment with a grunt as I lift two hundred pounds over my chest.
“Sounds like the opening to a porn. Minus the kid being there, of course.” Kravtsov laughs.
I place the bar on the rack and sit up wondering why I agreed to let him spot me. “I wasn’t even talking to you.”
“A woman saw me naked!
Eeek!” Kravtsov mocks me in a badly done women’s voice. Then he grabs a towel from a rack near the machine and throws it at me.
“It’s not like that, fucker.” I catch the towel with a smile and a shake of my head.
Nik picks up a twenty-five-pound weight in each hand and begins curling them. “What’s the temperature been since then?”
“I don’t know. I left before she got up this morning.” I grab my water bottle from the floor before rising from the bench. “I’ve been running hot since the first time she made me coffee in her pajamas. But I don’t see any difference on her part.”
“Is she extra flirty? Does she try to touch you?” Nik asks.
I shrug.
“Come on, man! You have Paige, so we know you’ve fucked a woman before.” He eyes me in the mirror as he continues his curls.
“It’s been awhile.” I get up and walk over to another machine, hoping Nik drops the subject. He’s becoming almost as annoying as Kravtsov.
“Am I the only one wondering why you were naked with your kid in your bed?” Blake asks. “Is that a thing parents do? ‘Cuz it sounds creepy as fuck.”
All eyes are on me as if I’m some of kind child predator they saw on an episode of Dateline.
“She was not in my bed when I fell asleep. Emma told her she could jump in with me when she woke up this morning. She didn’t know I was sleeping naked, obviously.”
“Yeah, this is way too much information,” Blake cringes as he walks away.
“You’re the one who suggested I was a fucking pedophile!”
“Do something nice for her,” Nik suggests. “She how she reacts.”
While I’m happy the conversation is back on track, I’m over it. “Just let it go. I’m sorry I brought it up.” I sit down at the rowing machine where I don’t need a spotter, and I hope they take the hint.
My teammates are like my brothers, but sometimes they’re annoying as fuck.
Try telling them life is more than partying and banging a new girl every night and they call you a pussy. Maybe I’d be doing the same thing if I didn’t have a daughter—but I doubt it. I was never like that—even when I was younger. I always had long-term girlfriends.
