by J. L. Beck
Or traveling the world with some French guy, I supposed.
I opened the slip of paper Isabella gave me. A live-in nanny, huh? It seemed to be the most obvious solution. Julian and I were busy with our college careers. Sure, we'd made our money, but the quickest way to lose money is to not know how to manage it. For example, most lottery winners.
We were driven to this whole “be smart” thing, so college was happening, millions and billions of dollars or not.
That meant we couldn't become Tiff’s sudden brother-dad hybrid. Sure, she was laughing and playing with Julian right now, but we couldn't do it alone, and since we had the money, we had options we could explore.
A live-in nanny, though? Au pair? Trumped-up babysitter? I mused on whom we could possibly get. I'd heard those fantasies about seducing the housekeeper and all that.
Isabella made me realize how silly that thought really was. She was middle-aged and happily married. Fantasies were just fantasies in my mind.
Pulling out my cell, I dialed the number, realizing I needed to focus on someone good for Tiffany instead of worrying about my dick so much. Finding girls who wanted a good time wasn't exactly hard for me anyway.
Even then? It was getting more than a bit old having a rotating cast of girls I would be sharing my bed with. I yearned for something steady, something real. Something to really make my blood boil with desire and keep me interested.
None of the girls I went to college with did that for me. Fuck, if I ever found a girl like that, I'd be all over her like a rabid dog. I listened to the automated system and options before pressing the “1” key so I could speak to a live person. It was mine and Julian’s duty to care for Tiff, and we were going to do whatever we could to make things right.
There's a thing about working with kids. The kids, for the most part, are fine.
Sure, once in a while, they throw a fit, they act irrationally, but you know at the end of the day they'll give in. A kid who doesn't want to take a nap doesn't have an iron will to stay up forever.
No, the kids have never been the problem with me and my job.
The problem you ask?
The parents.
"I'm going to report you to your manager!" she screamed at me as I walk away.
My eyes were wide with shock, as I could never believe what I'd been fired for this time.
The time before? It was sort of my fault. I'd been kinda late a few times, and they were a hard-ass about it. Fair enough.
This time though?
Mrs. Feasel was a total itch, as I would sometimes say when there were kids around.
I was riding the elevator down to the bottom floor after this arduous nonsense, ready to go home, kind of afraid I was already on strike two.
Anticipation lingered as I held my phone and waited for the inevitable call from Bruce.
There it was. I clicked the answer button. "Hi, Bruce. Yes, it's Cassie."
"What'd you do this time, Cassie?"
I grumbled. As a boss, Bruce had been good to me. He was understanding that I was young and would make mistakes, and hence forgave the first termination I got for the tardiness.
The company, the Child's Organization for Kindness—or...I wouldn’t say the acronym—had a harsh three-strike policy. Three terminations from clients, and you were permanently done with the company.
So one hard-ass, one crazy, and suddenly I was on thin ice. For a young, aspiring child psychologist like myself, that was not a great place to be.
"What did they say I did? Just curious." I legit was wondering if Mrs. Feasel was going to try to play that card.
"That you tried to poison their son, Skylar."
He should have been able to hear the impact that was my palm smacking my forehead.
"You didn't do that, did you? That's like, automatic firing level, Cassie."
"What do you think, Bruce?" I paused before realizing I really shouldn't be firing sarcasm at my boss. "No, of course not."
"Then why are they saying that?"
I let out a breath. "I bought a bag of potato chips."
"Huh?"
"I bought a bag of potato chips. For my own consumption. My own snack. I had no intention of breaking their rules or sharing them with Skylar."
"Then why on earth is Mrs. Feasel saying you're trying to poison him?"
"Gluten. The chips could potentially have gluten, and Mrs. Feasel apparently thinks it acts as an airborne agent or something and will murder her son when I open the bag."
"Well, uh, she's just paranoid of his celiac I guess. Could sneak a chip when he isn't looking."
"I don't even think most potato chips even have gluten? And I don't think Skylar even has celiac?" If he did, I would have taken it a whole lot more seriously. "No, it didn't have gluten-free emblazoned on it, so it's poison. Hence, she fired me."
"Seriously? Whatever. It's strike two. You know how it is. I can't control it."
"I know, I know."
"Luckily for you, though, I have another opportunity for you. They're requesting an urgent interview, which means they're hiring ASAP."
"Sounds good to me. The day's still young."
"I'll text you the address. They'll be expecting you. Cassie, though, if they seem crazy, you might just want to decline the job. That way I don't have to fire you when it all becomes too much."
"I'll take it under advisement, but I think I'm due for something boring and typical at this point. Hopefully."
"Well, we don't get many rush requests, so there's that. Good luck with this one, Cassie."
"Thanks, Bruce."
The call ended, and less than a minute later, I got the text with the address and who I was seeing.
Julian Barnes.
Never heard of him.
The address, though?
That was on the city's west side, the richest part of town, and that meant they were really, really fucking rich.
Most of the people who hired me were the type who pulled six digits a year. Upper-class types. Doctors, lawyers, people who had super long hours and sold all their times so they got nothing for the kids.
The place I was going, though, was a step above that. Maybe a few flights of stairs above that, if I wanted to be perfectly fair.
I caught the cab over, psyching myself up. I needed this. I had the whole massive student debt thing going, barely getting by, and I still needed to build up experience. The live-in nanny thing seemed to good way to get experience with kids, have someplace without a massive rent hanging over my head, and still pull in a paycheck to be able to handle the loan payment, keep my phone on, and not starve.
I'd just been looking at it as a twist on roommate situations. Like, sure, my roommates were in a whole different place in their life than I was, but all the same, I was sharing a house with people, so I couldn't get too comfortable with myself. I could live with it.
That was the theory anyway. I was getting sort of tired of running the crazy gauntlet, and it seemed moms could be far crazier than a single twenty-something.
When I got to the address, I looked up at the building. This was a tower, pretty much a skyscraper, and I was going to the penthouse up on top of the damn place? What the hell was I about to deal with? I hadn't even met them yet, and it felt as if I was already walking into something crazy.
I approached the elevator, but there was a guy there who quickly threw out his hand to stop me. "Do you have business here, miss?"
"Um, I'm here to see Julian Barnes?"
He laughed. "Really?"
"Yeah."
The guard—doorman, or whatever he was—shook his head. He brought a hand to an earpiece. High tech as hell. "Mr. Barnes, you there? I have a..."
"Cassie Moore. I'm with C.O.K. childcare?" I made sure to use the letters and not the word itself. What sort of idiot named that company?
"A Cassie Moore here. Says she's with…"
"Just the babysitter, er…nanny they requested."
"Riiight. Okay then." He low
ered his hand from his ear. "He's expecting you."
The door opened, and I stepped onto the elevator, somewhat confused that I was about to essentially go to work with someone who lived in a place where I was the riffraff the door people tried to keep away.
Even the elevator was nicer than a lot of the places I've lived. The carpet felt super soft, even through my sneakers.
The ride was long, giving me more time to agonize over who I was about to meet. Who will they be? What will they look like? Is it some decrepit old skeleton-looking guy? Why does he need a nanny?
I shuddered. Probably for his son who he had with a woman a quarter his age. The idea revolted me enough that it may have been enough to send me running.
Finally, the elevator reached the top floor. I stepped out. There was a hallway with a single door. Honestly? It felt sort of ominous. The door was large and wide, enough for three of me to walk in side by side. Must have made moving in and out easier, at the very least.
A shiver went down my spine. Part of me wanted to just abandon this. I had a bad feeling about this, as if that whatever happened when that door opened was going to be something I was never going to forget.
It was an absolutely silly thing to freak out about. I just needed to be a professional.
So I knocked, and suddenly wondered if I was going to regret it.
Shut up, brain.
The door opened, and some of my suspicions suddenly came true.
I wasn't going to forget what I saw easily. No, it wasn’t the decrepit old man and his barely legal squeeze.
Really, it was the furthest thing from it.
A square jaw, clear, azure eyes staring my way on the most handsome face I could ever imagine, mounted on what was pretty much an old Greek statue made flesh.
I think I was so overwhelmed that my vision was going blurry and I was suddenly seeing two of them.
Well, well, well. This was not what I expected. Not at all.
What I did expect? Someone like Isabella. Maybe someone who looked like my grandmother.
Not a fucking porn star. Or super model. Or whatever. She was incredibly hot and was hitting all the right buttons for me.
Suddenly, I was a whole lot more on board with Jack's insistence we get a nanny to care for Tiff.
When he originally told me, I said we should go get Aunt Sue or something to do it, and it may have seemed selfish, but I quickly decided Tiff deserved a true professional. Aunt Sue would be fine without the extra money we would have thrown her way. She'd married well.
"Hello there," Jack managed to say, a gigantic smile on his face. I'd call it smiling like an idiot, but I was pretty sure I had the same stupid look on my face.
"Hi," she managed. A girl like her wasn’t something I thought of when I thought of childcare workers.
Outside of maybe teenage babysitters, but she wasn’t that either. She was a quite bit more grown up—the girl next door made super hot. That innocent body filled out with curves in all the right places.
Fuck, did I just get a chub from looking at a fully clothed woman?
I pushed the thoughts out of my head.
At least for now.
"I presume you're Cassie Moore from the agency?"
She nodded. "Um, yeah. Uh, Julian Barnes?" She didn't know who was who.
"I placed the request, yes." I nodded. Apparently, Jack liked the idea of playing games with Tiff and delegated the bureaucracy of getting a nanny to me, since I was the “responsible one.” Yeah, right.
If Tiff didn't want to play games so bad, I wouldn't have allowed it to happen, but sometimes you had to let other people win, and all things considered, it was a pretty easy process when I told them I had Isabella's agencies' recommendation.
There was a definite awkwardness to her, and I could catch her eyes roaming up and down my body—and up and down Jack's, too. I knew that motion. She was checking us out. I got blessed with good genes, and I had always been able to attract no shortage of girls, and when a girl looked at me like that, where I knew she was most definitely interested, let's just say there was blood in the water, and I was an incredibly hungry shark.
Jack stepped forward and offered his hand. "Jack Barnes. This is my brother, Julian."
She accepted the handshake. Jack was squeezing. That bastard was measuring her up, too. "Pleased to meet you, I think. Um...twins?"
I nodded. "Yes, unfortunate sometimes, fortunate others."
"Sorry, I thought I hit my head or something walking in and had double vision for a moment. I don't get guys like you requesting nannies too often."
"Well, things suddenly changed on us. Our mother's gone..."
"I'm so sorry," she said, looking suddenly guilty.
"No, no, nothing like that. She's..."
How did I say what Mom did nicely? Probably not bringing up Jean Pierre Jacques. If there was anything that worried me about who my Mom ran off with it, was that. Could his name get any more aggressively stereotypically French?
"She's in need of a mental health retreat. My brother and I are busy establishing our empire and preparing to keep it going for years to come, and unfortunately, that leaves young eight-year-old Tiffany over there." I gestured over to the TV. She was now just playing games alone, some super colorful game with catchy music. "Without day-to-day supervision."
"I see. Well, that's what I'm potentially here for."
"Potentially?"
"Usually, there's an interview process. You grill me. See if I'm a good fit for your family. You said you want it to be a full-time, live-in thing, correct?"
I nodded. "You've got the job."
Her jaw sort of dropped. "Excuse me?"
"You're perfect." Even I didn’t know what I was saying. I knew it was completely insane to take in some girl I just met and then put her in charge of my little sister.
She was perfect, though. God, is this me just thinking with my dick? I thought myself more clearheaded. Someone who always thought with the head that was on top of my neck. A girl like Cassie, though, inspired my dick to throw a rebellion and fuck, it won, and won fast.
"All you know is my name."
"You heard the man," Jack spoke up. "You got a job."
"I could be a serial killer. A junkie."
"I trust your company's vetting systems. Should I show you around the place? Let you get used to your new home?"
"Um, uh...sure." She shrugged. She clearly wasn't expecting to be hired so easily.
I wasn't expecting to hire her so easily. I really did care about my little sister and wanted her to be properly taken care of. I had no idea what came over me, and I couldn’t seem to make myself try to correct it.
With what was guiding me, though, I knew that I wanted a little bit more privacy.
"Hey, Jack," I said. "Why don't you take Tiff out for some ice cream or something?"
"Hmm? We got plenty in the fridge."
"You know the parlor ice cream is better." I glared his way.
He looked my way then toward Cassie and back again. He was deciphering my words pretty loud and clear.
"Oh sure. She needs it probably. Rough day with Mom taking off and all."
Jack, though, made sure not to leave completely quietly. He stepped toward Cassie, looming over her. "It's an honor to meet you. I'm sure you'll fit in with us just fine."
"Um, uh, thanks." She forced a smile. What was going through that beautiful head of hers, I wondered. It was clear as day she wanted me.
Also that she wanted Jack just as badly. Sensibly, this should have been a mark against her. It seemed like drama waiting to happen, and yet I still couldn't make myself do that.
Fuck, I'm such a horndog.
Jack called our little sister over and easily convinced her to go out for fancy ice cream. They soon left the penthouse, and I was left all alone with my new prey.
"Come along now. Let me show you around."
She took an inventory of what was around here. "This is almost too rich for my blood."
"After you get over the initial shock, everything becomes a whole lot easier to deal with. It just becomes home, just with a wonderful view instead of hot water that may or may not work."
"What, did you actually live in a place like that?"
I glared at her. "What, you think I just inherited this?"
"Don't most rich kids do?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "They do. But no, me and my brother are self-made. Our poor mother worked herself to death for us, which is why I don't hold this bizarre outburst against her."
"Well, I guess that's good."
"Let's just say I want the best for myself and for my family…and any future family I may have."
The oddest thing about that line was that I was playfully furrowing my eyebrows at her, as if I was trying to be suggestive with a fairly innocent statement.
She, to her credit, was mostly unfazed by this. "You're going to be waiting a while for more family, if that's your idea of a pickup line."
"Aren't you a sassy one?"
"You gotta give like you take sometimes. A good offense is the best defense, or however they say it."
We continued to chat as I took her around. Showed her the kitchen. The living room. The balcony.
She didn't fawn over the rich people stuff. I guess the people she’d worked with in the past had inoculated her to the worst of it, and at the end of the day, Jack and I came from middle-class roots, so we didn’t see a lot of point in investing in a golden, diamond-encrusted shark tank or something similarly excessive. Our biggest indulgence seemed to be a nice TV, a nice computer, a good selection of video games—things that most cost thousands of dollars instead of hundreds of thousands.
All that said, her not being all wowzers over the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous only endeared her more to me. I liked a girl who could be real, a girl who wasn't just impressed by my bank account.
Trophy wives were for men without any real game or good qualities outside their stacks of cash. I would be ashamed if I claimed a woman in such a way.
