My (Mostly) Temporary Nanny: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

by Penelope Bloom

  He stepped into the room a few minutes later, face grim.

  “Jack, there’s something I want to explain.”

  “You don’t need to. I saw the emails you forwarded. I understand, and I want you to take Griff and go, please. I want you out of our lives.”

  His words hit me like a punch in the stomach. “Jack, I changed my mind. I don’t want to go anymore. I have no idea how those emails got sent, but I was literally in the middle of typing up an email to tell him that I wasn’t going to come.”

  “You don’t need to lie. I told you. I understand. You needed the money, and this was the best way to get it. But I’m not going to let you dangle hope in front of my son any longer than you have to. I’ll handle breaking the news to him tomorrow.”

  “Jack,” I said, pleading. “I’m not making this up. I wasn’t going to go. The only reason I even wanted to go in the first place was—”

  “Please,” he said, voice low. I saw the first hint of emotion in his otherwise calm expression. He looked like he was in pain. “Just take Griff and go. I’ll call you a cab to the airport and make sure the tickets back to New York are taken care of. But I need you to go, and I need time to think.”

  “You’re not listening to me!” I shouted.

  “Because I already let you make a fool of me for long enough. I’m not going to stand here while you try to spin truth out of lies. You got us, okay? You got me. But it’s over, so go.”

  I felt like I was in a daze as I carefully woke Griff and explained to his sleepy, confused self that we were going to need to head home to help Luca and Lindsey with their cat. He ended up falling asleep as I carried him down the stairs to wait for the cab Jack called us.

  Even as pissed as Jack was, he still stood in the lobby of the hotel, looming like an angry shadow, until he saw us get in the cab with our bags and leave the hotel.

  I stared out the window, feeling nothing but determination. I was not the kind of person who was going to let it end here. Not over something like this. Yes, I should’ve told him sooner. But I had reasons for doing things the way I did, and I wasn’t going to give up until he’d looked me in the eye and listened to every last one of them. It was that simple.

  He was too mad to listen to me right now? Fine. But I was just going to make sure he heard me when he had calmed down.

  Griff groaned, then kicked me in the leg as he tried to stretch out in the backseat. “Are we getting pancakes?”

  “It’s midnight. Why would we be getting pancakes?” I asked, letting some of my irritation through to my voice.

  “You want pancakes?” Our cab driver asked. “You should try donuts. Much better.”

  I scrunched up my face. “Obviously donuts are better. But we’re not getting either. And that’s not really a fair competition.”

  “Pancake is a dessert. Donut is a dessert. Donut wins every time.”

  I entered into a debate with the cab driver for the rest of the ride, mostly so I wouldn’t be trapped with my thoughts about Jack. I just hoped he wasn’t having some wild, crazy star athlete sex with the first hot woman he came across while he was pissed at me.

  Temporarily pissed. Because as soon as he’d had a few hours to cool down, I was going to go to his place back in New York and explain everything.

  33

  Nola

  Maybe calling Chris Rose for advice on my relationship with Jack was a mistake.

  This was the thought circling my mind as I watched Chris, the oversized, muscular, bona fide national celebrity stalk around my tiny apartment the morning after my fight with Jack. Griff was at school, which was good, because Chris had already dropped about five “f” bombs since arriving a minute ago.

  “So you came to me,” he said, more to himself than to me. He was decked out in his football team’s gear but was wearing a pair of flipflops that made a steady rhythm as he paced.

  “Do you have any ideas, or are you just going to keep talking like some kind of movie supervillain?”

  Chris looked at me with narrowed eyes, then folded his arms. “I can help. The question is whether you’re ready for my help.”

  “I’m not exactly working with all the time in the world. I asked you because I know Damon brought you in like some kind of expert when he needed to get through to Jack. If Damon thinks you understand Jack in any way, then maybe you could help me figure out how to undo the damage I’ve done. Also, my best friends are super busy with a business thing today. So I was desperate.”

  “Oh, I can help. What you need to do is really simple. Women forgive with their hearts. Men forgive with their penises.”

  I stared.

  “But,” he added quickly. “If the penis isn’t an option, you could always win him with his stomach. The stomach can sometimes forgive just as readily as the penis.”

  “I do think I’ve heard that before. About the stomach, I mean.”

  Chris nodded wisely. “So you make him an amazing dinner. Invite him over. Candles, sexy music. Oh, and wear something that shows plenty of cleavage. You’ve got to demonstrate that you’re so sorry you’ll do anything, including lower your moral standards to make it up to him.”

  I blinked. “Does Belle know this is the way your mind works?”

  “Belle learned that she had to accept me, whether she liked it or not.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s romantic or tragic.”

  “It’s neither. And the sex is great, if you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t, but thanks.”

  “So,” Chris hopped on the couch across from me and picked up the plate I’d picked at for my lunch. There were a few bites taken from a peanut butter and jam sandwich. Without hesitating, Chris picked it up and polished it off in a few rapid bites. He licked his thumb and forefinger clean and frowned. “Do you use jam instead of jelly?”

  “Uh, yes? It’s easier to spread. Why?”

  “It’s also easier to use the bathroom on the floor than walk ten steps to the toilet, but you don’t see me doing that. Do you?”

  I was beginning to regret asking Chris for help. He picked up the water I’d been drinking and drained the rest of it, shaking his head like he was trying to wash down a bitter pill. “God. Maybe cooking is just going to make him more pissed at you, on second thought.”

  “I can cook.”

  “Yeah? Chelsea thinks she can cook, too. If the goal was to cause depression and kill small children, then she’s a world-class chef. But I’ve learned not to take someone’s word for it on their culinary skills.”

  “You know, thanks so much for the advice, Chris. You’ve… given me a lot to think about.”

  He clapped his hands together, got up, and nodded. On his way to the door, he scooped a handful of candy from the little jar that usually lasted me several weeks. Until now.

  He popped it all in his mouth, chewed a few times, then swallowed. “First time’s free. Second time my rate is a thousand dollars per hour when it comes to relationship consultations. Oh, and if you need someone to watch the kids while you two work it out—and in,” he added with a self-congratulatory smirk. “Just holler. Belle and I are great babysitters.” He clicked his tongue, pointed at nothing in particular, then closed the door.

  Okay.

  If I sorted through the piles and piles of nonsense, I could at least agree with Chris on one point. Inviting Jack over for a peacemaking meal might be exactly what the doctor ordered. I briefly considered doing what I always did, which would be to call Lindsey and Luca for their advice. Except I knew they really did have a big event going on for their budding sports pin business today and didn’t want to bother them with my drama.

  So I went online to find the best possible recipe and started laying my plans as carefully as I could.

  34

  Jack

  I knew exactly what the smart thing to do would be when Nola’s text came through. Ben and I had just arrived back in New York, and now she was inviting me to dinner at her place and promised she had
arranged for Damon to watch the kids for us. I never would’ve expected Damon to offer childcare, but when I’d called and confirmed with him, he revealed he was only doing it because the alternative was leaving them with his brother, Chris.

  But I knew what I should’ve done. I should’ve sent a text back right away apologizing and telling her that I wouldn’t be able to make it. It was that simple.

  The business with Florida had given me a firm reminder that I didn’t know Nola as well as I thought I did. There was a hidden side to her, no matter how well intentioned or not it might have been. And I couldn’t afford to risk my son’s happiness with someone I couldn’t trust.

  Except I’d sent her a message saying I’d come.

  Maybe I just wanted to put a more firm end note on this whole thing. The hasty retreat from the hotel had felt incomplete somehow. Like there were still frayed edges either of us could pull and entangle ourselves in. This dinner could be my way to get out the scissors and clean everything up. A clean break. No strings. No snags. Just separation.

  It didn’t matter if that idea made my stomach feel empty and my chest grow cold. All that mattered was Ben. I just wished I believed I was a good enough father for that to be entirely true.

  I showed up to Nola’s in a dress shirt and tie. She was wearing a low-cut green dress—green was my favorite color on her, and I was fairly sure I had never mentioned as much. I found my eyes already struggling not to drink in the sight and savor it. Red hair catching every damn hint of light as she stood in the doorway. The pert little pixie nose with a splash of freckles across the bridge. The big, doe eyes that were a pale, intoxicating blue. And the lips that held promises of pleasure I couldn’t dare accept again.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said. There was an odd, formal stiffness to her voice.

  I had to stop myself from reaching out to hug her. I could see how hard she was trying to make things right, and I had stupidly not prepared for that. I’d come imagining I could be like stone. Unyielding and firm. This was just a formality where I was confirming that we were over. At least that had been the plan before I saw her and all the stone in me threatened to melt.

  I stepped inside, then hesitated. Music was playing and candles were lit at the little round table beside her kitchen. “Is that Marvin Gaye?”

  Nola cleared her throat, then rushed over to tap something on her phone. The song Let’s Get It On was abruptly cut off and an instrumental jazz song followed. “Stupid internet playlists,” she muttered.

  Her cheeks were flushed a red to match her hair, and I wished with everything in me that we were back to where we’d been just a couple days ago. When I’d let myself believe this could work.

  There wasn’t much of a chance to talk for a few minutes as Nola scurried around the kitchen, checking things with a little thermometer and tasting others with a spoon. I waited at the small sliver of countertop she had, feeling like I should offer to help but knowing we’d end up brushing against each other a hundred times in the cramped kitchen if I did.

  I needed to stay firm. Physical contact with Nola right now would cause an entirely different kind of firmness I did not need.

  “Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll bring you out a plate,” she said a short while later.

  I sat at the table and let her set down a plate of breaded chicken, cheesy biscuits, and creamy mashed potatoes in front of me. She also set down a full-sized candy bar next to my plate. “For after,” she explained, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Oh,” she said, “Do you want water, beer, soda, tea, coffee, or something else? Cause I could run out and—”

  “Water is good,” I said.

  “Great. Yeah. Me too.” I heard her pour something that sounded bubbly down the sink and then the refrigerator dispensing water.

  She sat back down with about a tenth of the portion she’d given me on her plate and two glasses of water.

  “Nola, I think we should—”

  “Talk about the other night? Yes. I completely understand that you were mad. I would’ve been too. I just didn’t really feel like I got my point across before I… had to leave.”

  Before I practically kicked her out the door, she meant. Guilt raged inside me to see the small, innocent woman across from me. She was trying her damndest to make this right, and I knew it. But I couldn’t let sympathy or guilt change my course.

  Feelings didn’t lead us to the right decisions. They led us to selfish ones.

  Logically, I knew the truth. Nola was a risk. She was an unknown quantity I couldn’t afford to keep injecting into Ben’s life when she could disappear or reveal some even more surprising secret down the line.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I changed my mind. About Florida. I was going to cancel my plans and stay here because I realized I cared more about you and Ben. Griff, too. I was an idiot for waiting as long as I did to see it, but I did see it.”

  “I don’t want you to change your plans.” Saying the words stung, and they seemed to sink into the air between us, gaining weight with each passing moment. “I think you should go to Florida and start the business. Ben and I will be better off if you do.”

  Nola swallowed, making a clicking noise in the brief silence that followed as one song switched to the next. “Okay,” she said in a near whisper.

  I shook my head and set my napkin down. “I’m sorry. Coming here was a mistake. I thought I needed to tie up loose ends, but I feel like I only made things worse. I should go.”

  “You didn’t try your food.”

  “Another time,” I said, knowing full-well there wouldn’t be another time.

  She got up after me, picking up the candy bar with a sad little crinkle of the wrapper. “At least take the candy. For the road. And I could put a biscuit in a plastic baggie. They’re really good, I promise. I ate like four of them. For taste testing,” she added.

  “I hope you have a nice life, Nola. And you’ll meet somebody who is perfect for you soon. I’m sure of it.”

  I rushed out the door before I lost my nerve.

  Even though I didn’t let myself look over my shoulder, I could practically feel the imaginary image burning into my mind. Nola dressed to impress with her shoulders slumped. A candy bar in one hand and a biscuit in the other. Those big blue eyes watching after me full of hurt.

  Hurt. Because that was the only thing giving into my emotions could promise either of us. It might not come today. It might not come tomorrow. But if I gave in to my feelings and forgave Nola like I wanted to, the hurt would come for all of us.

  This was the smart move.

  This was the smart move.

  I repeated it to myself like a mantra as I practically fled down her stairs, terrified I’d hear her coming after me. I was terrified because I knew my resolve was that thin.

  Sure enough, when I heard footsteps, I stopped, turned and waited. I started hearing what I would say in my head. What I’d do when I saw her come rushing around the flight of stairs begging me to wait. I’d pull her in and kiss her. I’d tell her I was an idiot and I thought I’d been doing the right thing.

  “I’m sorry, I—” I started just as an elderly woman who was halfway through putting her dentures in came into view. With a gut-churning slurp, she latched them into place and smiled at me.

  The woman gave me a lecherous up and down with her eyes, then pulled her chin back in a demure move that might’ve worked for her a few centuries ago. “Don’t be sorry, thunder buns. You could commit murder with biceps like those and I’d forgive you.”

  I forced a tight smile, then turned and left the building.

  Nola wasn’t going to come rushing after me. I’d made sure of that. I’d done the smart thing. I’d closed off any loose ends and made sure there was no going back.

  So why did it feel so shitty?

  35

  Nola

  Chris Rose should’ve paid me a thousand dollars for the horrible advice he gave. I wanted to strangle the man. I’d
assumed he knew what he was talking about and ended up taking all his advice, against my better judgment. And what good had that done?

  Well, I was currently dripping ice cream on my massively exposed cleavage while I pity-binged my way through a gallon of Chunky Monkey ice cream and watched How It’s Made videos on YouTube.

  And no, I wasn’t going to apologize that I found it more therapeutic to watch colored pencils get made than sappy romance movies.

  Lindsey left Luca in charge of the meeting they’d been in with a potential investor to come console me before I went to pick up Griff from Damon’s.

  She was still dressed up and looking unusually professional when she arrived.

  “You know,” Lindsey said. “Next time you think you’re better off not bothering me, why don’t you… I don’t know, wait a day like a normal person and then ask? Who in their right mind jumps straight to calling in Chris Rose like some kind of advice guru?”

  “I was emotionally distraught,” I said.

  “Which is exactly why you ask your trusted friends for help. Not some six pack who throws a football for a living.”

  “What would you have told me to do differently?”

  “I would’ve said you need to give him some breathing room. Let him realize how much he misses you and he’ll come crawling back.”

  “Do you think that could still work?”

  Lindsey hesitated. “Maybe? Who knows what goes on in his head.”

  I sighed. “You think I’m screwed.”

  “Only if you were dead set on being with Jack Kerrigan. Maybe there’s a really nice Floridian around. You know?”

  I took a heaping bite of ice cream and snorted, to show what I thought of that idea. “As long as he’s okay with dumb and broke, I’m sure we’ll be a great match.”