by Ivy Carter
I can’t fucking think about that.
I don’t want Penelope waking up after I so effectively put her to sleep, especially since she’s with the baby all day long. The woman needs a break, and I’m not a total asshole. I slip into the nursery I’ve kept sparse on purpose, because what the hell—she’s not going to stay here very long—and peer over the edge of the crib. The baby pumps her little arms and legs with eyes closed. Bad dream. I turn her onto her side and pat her tiny body. “Shh, shh,” I tell her, like Penelope did on the first day.
The new nanny has already taught me something.
The baby immediately settles into peaceful sleep again, sucking on an invisible bottle, tiny pouty lips moving up and down.
My chest tightens and I swallow hard.
Fuck. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
Too bad I’m not the right dad for her. I’m not even the right uncle.
But perhaps it’s better this way. Better to lose your parents early, because this is what real life is like—surviving on your own—and the sooner she learns that, the better.
I cover her up and leave the room, making my way back to my wing of the house through empty, cold hallways.
Penelope
Sunlight filters in through the light curtain, and the sounds of happy gurgling through the baby monitor gently awaken me. I sit up, ready to go check on Lilly Belle, warm her bottle and sit with her when all of a sudden, the memory of last night hits me hard.
Ethan was here last night.
It wasn’t some dream spawned by the full moon. He was really here. And oh, my God…the things we did. I was bad. So bad! Did he really… My cheeks flush with prickly heat. Did he really do all the things I let him do? I’m mortified at the acts I let him perform, but also surprisingly impressed with myself. I am not a sex goddess by any means, but I’ve been needing it.
I slept with my boss.
And holy crap was it good. Holy god was he good. Just the thought of his perfect cock sliding into my mouth, into my pussy, makes me wet all over again.
Shit, I need to get it together…
The baby’s gurgling turns to desperation, like Lilly Belle is saying, Hellooo? Anybody home? I heat up her bottle and enter her room with a rush. “Good morning, sweet pea. How did you sleep? Like a rock, apparently. I didn’t even hear a peep from you!” She’s a good sleeper, this one. She already makes my job that much easier.
Assuming I still have a job.
I’m terrified of what I’ll find when I come downstairs.
When all eight ounces of milk are gone, and she’s had her changing, I set her to play in her crib with music, while I change into day clothes. Coming back to pick her up, I carry her through the house, pointing out the emotionless, black-and-white photography Ethan (or Ethan’s interior designer) has placed throughout the house. Old saw mills, the Eiffel Tower, modern skyscrapers…things to do with steel.
Cold, hard, and strong. Like Ethan.
More memories from last night… He wanted me to fear him, to keep my door locked.
But in another way, he wanted me to want him even more.
It was evident from every move he made.
I am feel nervous about seeing him again, but I have to face him. I have to. We have to talk about what happened, and it’s better that I do it with Lilly Belle in my arms, so he doesn’t yell at me. Who would yell at a baby?
Of course, Ethan Townsend might…
“Shall we go see your uncle?” I ask O Little One.
Lilly Belle coos and gleefully grips a fistful of my hair.
“Ouch. Leave Penelope’s hair alone, honey bunny.”
I follow the smell of coffee downstairs into the kitchen and see him standing there, dressed and ready for work and ho-ly shit, does he look hot as hell. Black pants, dark blue button shirt, silver watch, silver cuffs, cup of coffee in his hand, other on his hip. Perfectly “all man” from head to toe. The sight of him almost makes me regret coming down. Every kiss, every touch from last night comes barreling into my mind, and now I’m just going to look flushed.
“Good morning, Miss Wallach. I trust you slept well?” There’s a glint in his eyes.
“I…” What am I supposed to say? He’s implying that he made me come so hard—twice, now that I remember—that I zonked out. He would be correct, which absolutely burns me. “Not bad. Woke up once or twice,” I force myself to casually say.
“Did you now?” He smirks and resumes sipping his coffee while standing at the counter checking his iPad for work-related things, I presume. What a handsome man, like a runway model for sexy businessmen. “Then you would’ve heard the baby crying shortly after our…meeting. No worries, I took care of it.”
Wait, what? He tended to the baby last night?
Ugh, the nanny mark of shame. Anytime the family has to step in to do something I was hired to do, I always feel so guilty. I should’ve heard her, I should’ve comforted her, not him. It’s even more embarrassing because of why I didn’t hear her. “Thank you,” I mutter, holding Lilly Belle’s hand, shaking her little fist until she smiles. You little thing, you didn’t tell me. “It’s good that she got to see you then.”
There. That’ll bite him.
A quick jaunt down the old guilt trip road never hurt anybody.
I look up cautiously.
Ethan stares at me through steely eyes. “From now on, keep your door closed. I’ll be very busy at work the next couple of days, and I don’t want to come home to find things out of order. Doors remain locked, and the baby…” He casts a glance at Lilly Belle. “Stays upstairs. If you need something from the kitchen, come down alone to get it or have Wilson fetch it for you.”
Is he serious? I can’t walk around with the baby? This little girl who is his sweet, little niece must be kept in isolation? “I see. So you don’t want to see Lilly Belle,” I stress her name. She’s not just the baby, “anywhere downstairs. Just so I’m clear.” And to reiterate what a jerk you are.
“Correct. The house is big enough. You both have your domain. I have mine.” He glances again at his iPad which emits a cold blue glow onto his face, electrifying his eyes with chilly intensity.
Let me see if I got this: stay out of the way where I can’t see you, and get that baby out of my face. Got it.
His aloof demeanor hurts so much more because of what happened between us last night. I’m used to heads of family being somewhat brusque, but this guy takes the cake. What did I expect this morning, for him to present me with roses and tell me what a wonderful time he had? Of course not. Last night meant nothing to him. That much is clear. But…did it mean something to me?
Maybe not in the way of love and romance, because I certainly don’t feel that Mr. Townsend is my knight in shining armor, but still—I can’t simply forget an intimate encounter the next morning the way he apparently can. Especially one so intense.
Anger boils inside of me. How can he be so disconnected? Is that all that sex means to him, just hard fucking, then you go about your day? I feel sorry for any woman who’s ever tried to make an emotional connection with him, but it’s not my place to even care. “Yes, sir,” I say, trying hard to keep the scorn out of my tone.
“Miss Wallach,” he says, while I grab a snack of grapes from the fridge.
He’s going to say something about last night. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe it did mean something to him—he just prefers not to dwell on it. I could understand that, I suppose. But he only says, “No need to take it personally.”
“Right. Of course not.” I take a deep breath, chin up. “Don’t worry, we’ll stay out of your way, Mr. Townsend. Come on, Lilly.”
Damn it, I am hurt, and I am taking it personally.
I may not have much experience when it comes to love and sex, but I’ve never felt so used. I’m sorry but he needed it just as much as I did, or he wouldn’t have come sniffing at my door. Technically his door. Whatever. For some reason, though, things don’t feel reciprocated. Things
feel like I’m the one who fell for his charms. I’m the weak one, the one who didn’t pass some test of strength. And I know it’s because I’m not an all-business steel magnate man who’s used to taking what he wants from whomever he wants, like some Category 5 tornado leaving a mess in its wake.
It’s because I’m a woman, emotional and affected.
A woman who should’ve known better.
Ethan
Home might be where I unload, but work is where I come to think.
Usually, that means modeling and setting the company’s strategy and direction, leading the executive team, allocating capital to the company’s priorities, but today it’s something else entirely. Today, I have a twenty-one-year-old girl on my mind.
A nanny, to be exact.
My nanny.
No. Lilly Belle’s nanny.
Never mind that everyone is waiting for me in the next room or that the meeting will be starting any moment now. I can’t rip my gaze away from my 68th floor Central Park view. Fall is here. Burnt oranges, bright crimsons, and vibrant yellows. Part of me imagines myself out in the park, walking amongst those trees with Penelope and Lilly Belle.
I shut my eyes hard to try and force these unwanted visions from my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about—her. Why?
Why can’t I get Penelope Wallach off my mind? The memory of her standing in her room, bathed in moonlight, when I walked in after finding her door unlocked, is burned in my brain. Emblazoned. Imprinted. Even though she was in a shirt and undies, I could see right through her. If I narrowed my eyes, I could practically see the center of heat coming off her body between her legs. Her nipples betrayed her frightened exterior. Her aura radiated desire.
She was gorgeous, mortified, and full of need all rolled into one. I should’ve fought the urge and left, but I couldn’t resist the look in her eyes, like she was begging me to stay and fuck her, put her out of her misery. And I did twice. No matter how much I wanted to pull away, I couldn’t. Our bodies melded together, a recipe for beautiful wreckage.
Even terrified of seeing me there, she pushed through the awkwardness and confusion and let me in. Let her carnal desires take over. Let her body and heart win. Then, this morning, she came downstairs to speak to me, even though she could’ve stayed upstairs all day avoiding me, and I wouldn’t have seen her. Coming down to face me took courage, but that’s what I like about her. No embarrassment. No regrets, none that I know of. Just readiness to call truce and move on.
Still, I saw that tiny spark of warmth some women have the next morning, the one that gives away what they’re feeling, the hint of overinvestment in sentiment. She was wondering if there’d be more to this quick affair.
There isn’t. There can’t ever be.
I was cold to her. I had to be.
This is who I am and what I’ve learned in my life. Warmth and emotion were banished from my existence early on, weaknesses that I extinguished long ago.
When it came to my mother, the less I felt the better. My sister was never as cold and indifferent to it all as I was, and she suffered for it.
Despite everything that she put us through, I wanted to love my own mother…
This is why feelings are irrational. Feelings hamper productivity, which is the last thing I need. Feelings cloud clear thinking.
The speaker on my desk clicks on. “Sir, they’re waiting for you in the conference room.”
“Be right there.”
I won’t. I’ll be there when I damned feel like it, and since those assholes nearly fucked up last quarter, they can wait for me. I don’t care what else is on their schedules. I’ll get up when I feel like it.
“Sir?” The gentle voice buzzes into my office again.
“I got caught up with something, Bianca. I’ll be right there. Tell Bryn to start without me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Suddenly, I’m wondering all sorts of things about the nanny, the things I didn’t learn from fucking her succulent body last night. Where did she grow up? Is she outgoing and sociable? Did she ever have a serious boyfriend?
I hate myself for giving a shit.
Swiveling toward my laptop and opening up social media, I search her name. My eye catches her right away, out of all the others that pop up. She’s the one with the radiant smile and reddish hair in the profile pic. I would know it anywhere. There are those dimples that come out whenever she smiles at Lilly Belle.
Her hometown is Sleepy Hollow, New York, and apparently, she has a small PR startup—barely even a company. Everyone can have a business and a webpage these days—the notion has lost all meaning.
Still, I’ll have to check into that later. Scrolling through her profile pics, I see she has three—the smiling one, one of her looking out across a mountain view, and another of her standing on top of a hill in workout gear like she just conquered Mount Vesuvius. Strength, determination.
Sass.
Those are the only three photos I’m allowed to see because her account is private and I’m not a friend of hers. I switch to Photo Album to see if more pics of her are there. What does she do in her spare time? Does she paint, does she cook, play tennis? I scan the few available photos for clues with such intense focus that I almost completely forget about the meeting. The last photo is a field of sunflowers.
I’ll have to look through this later, and I find myself wishing the meeting would be over quick just so I can continue checking her profile out.
I try to push the positive emotions away by imagining her acting like my mother would. The rages, the accusations, the slaps, kicks and punches. The hysterical shrieks followed by crying and the same old apologies about how it would never happen again.
But for some reason, when I look at Penelope’s pics, I can’t see it. I can’t really imagine her screaming at anyone—certainly not at Lilly Belle. She’s too gentle, of pure heart.
When I click off “Photo Album” and try checking out her “About” page, I accidentally hit “Add Friend.” Augh, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Quickly, I hit “Cancel Request” but it won’t matter. The fact that I was stalking her page will soon be known to her. I slide the cursor off but the damage is done. Fuck—that’s what I get for being curious.
Time to get back to work and put my mind where it needs to be. Where it should’ve been in the first place.
Penelope
Central Park is alive. With children, nannies, mothers, joggers, pigeons, pigeons, and more pigeons still. It’s another blustery September day and Lilly Belle and I love being outside. Her azure eyes are wide, alert, taking it all in. I swear this child is an old soul. Lilly Belle is my spirit animal.
Immediately after talking to Ethan the other morning, she took to patting my face, cooing, as if saying, “Listen, Penelope, it’s all going to be okay. You made a mistaken. Fuck it. Get over it. You can do this.” She agreed her uncle is a dickhead and we should both move on.
We’re thick as thieves, Lilly Belle and me. Sometimes when I look at her, my heart wells up with so much love that I feel scared. I shouldn’t get too attached.
Maybe because she doesn’t have a real mother and father, I’m growing closer than I should. This is just a job, after all. I could be fired any day, especially with a boss like Ethan.
When we reach the playground, I stop the stroller in front of a bench and take a seat on the edge. Four other mothers or nannies sit crowded on it, chatting. I smile at them, hoping one of them might say something encouraging. I could use some non-babbling adult conversation. But they all smile at me with those forged, upper East Side smiles, like they know I’m not Lilly Belle’s mother.
“Are you Ethan’s new nanny?” One of them with big, bright teeth asks me.
I’m taken aback. It’s not like I’m wearing a name tag or T-shirt. Then, I realize I’m being stupid. It’s Lilly Belle they recognize. She’s probably come to the park many times before me, as other nannies vied for the job. “Townsend?” I ask, just to make sure. Stupid,
since I guess everyone knows him around here. Especially these hot yoga mommies who make it their business to know everyone else’s.
“Yes, Townsend,” toothy woman laughs. “You’ve survived a whole week? Amazing.”
How she knows exactly how many days I’ve been in the Townsend house, I don’t know, but it shouldn’t surprise me. These women learn everything about everyone. “Yes, I’m Penelope. Nice to meet you.” I nod quickly then bend to fuss over Lilly Belle’s toys, making sure they’re all secured to the stroller and nothing’s going to fall out.
An eerie quietude falls over the bench. I don’t want to look at them, but I just know they’re exchanging looks. I’m fresh meat, even though I’ve been to this park a million times. Though never with Lilly Belle.
Ethan’s surprise child is surely big news around these parts.
It’s faint, definitely not meant for me to hear it, but I do—a whisper from the end of the bench. “She must be good at what she does.” Cackles titter across the row of women. It’s clear that she means I must be having sex with Ethan Townsend, and for a moment, I’m appalled.
Then, I remember that I am having sex with Ethan Townsend.
Even if it was only one night. One incredible, mind-blowing night that I still think about constantly.
My cheeks redden. I’m mortified, because they’re right. These catty bitches are right. I’m probably still employed because I was good at what I did in the bedroom that night. Suddenly, I’m pissed at myself again, as a myriad of questions flit through my mind. Did he “audition” the other nannies? Did I have sex with a man who’d just “interviewed” several others in the same week? Were any of these women on the park bench part of his auditions? Have any of them seen him naked the way I have, laid eyes upon his chiseled form and massive cock as I have? Suddenly, I feel so small. So stupid. A notch on his wall. Of course there’s nothing special about me.
