by Ivy Carter
“Wilson is an old fool,” I say, thinking how I’m going to break his kneecaps for talking nicely about me. “You can’t trust him.”
Then, suddenly remembering where I am, where we are, how these two strangers shouldn’t even be in my life at all right now, I drop the baby’s hand and step away. They shouldn’t be down here. I shouldn’t be here. I should be working, making sure our numbers align and approving new sales campaigns for next month.
Penelope studies me. I know she must think the worst, and part of me wants so badly to show her that I’m not that way all the time. I can be lots of things—funny, clever—all the things nobody associates Townsend Industries with being, all the things my employees and competitors don’t know about me, but it makes no sense to try and impress the nanny. What is so special about this girl that I feel the need for her to like me? It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
Nor does it align with who I am and it needs to stop now.
That’s why I wanted them upstairs, out of my sight.
At that moment, the doorbell rings. It’s late. Who the hell would be calling at this hour?
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