The Billionaire's Nanny

“Not very well, usually.”

"Did you wake up some poor old woman, crying like you’d lost your puppy after those kisses?"

I laugh. “No.”

“So what is different this time?”

“I’m not sure. This feels…complicated. I mean, I work for him, for starters.”

“If you didn’t work for him, if he found the replacement nanny right now, would you feel differently?”

“Probably not. I guess it’s…something about him feels strange, hidden. Like he’s got this big secret.”

She makes a tsking noise and I can just see her shaking her head, eyes closed. “Girl, you love that stuff, don’t you? Too many damned books. Men with secrets are trouble. You make him tell you those secrets before this goes any further. What, do you think he’s in illegal activities?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s kind of how he is with Maeve. Weirdly disconnected. I mean, it’s not like I expect him to wear the baby strapped to his back all day or to try to lactate so he can breastfeed her…”

“Oh, good lord child! I should hope not!”

I chuckle at her discomfort. Probably because I said “breast.” "But I do feel like he should be spending more time with her. I mean, I get outsourcing diaper changes and the day-to-day child-minding stuff. He has a job, after all. But why miss out on the fun stuff, too?"

“What does he say when you ask him?”

“Well, I haven’t. I mean, it feels like it’s none of my business as a nanny. But if it’s going to be more…”

“Ask him, girl. Stop hoping he’ll see how you’re mooning around with your head in the clouds and ask you what’s wrong. Don’t think he’s going to change just because you wish for it really hard. Either you get answers or this doesn’t go anywhere.”

See? So no nonsense. “You’re right. I don’t know if I can, but you’re right.”

“Of course you can. You moved out to California for college, all on your own. You moved to that little town to teach kids that barely speak English. You’re holding down jobs left and right. You can ask a rich boy why he doesn’t play with his baby. That’s easy. Now, unless there’s some other thing I can fix for you, I’m going back to sleep. I need beauty rest at my age.”

“Okay Grandma, thanks. Sorry I woke you, but thanks for talking me down. I love you.”

“I love you, baby girl. Now go to sleep yourself.” The phone clicked from her end as she set down the heavy receiver on the old push button phone she insisted on keeping.

Right. Just ask him. Sure. How hard can it be?

It’s well past midnight before I finally fall asleep. Asia never switched her phone over, so I couldn’t even get back-up advice. I think about texting a couple of the other teachers that I’m friends with, but realize that would be weird. We’ve barely spoken all summer, an eleven p.m. plea for advice would be awkward.

I wake with a start to the sound of Maeve babbling to herself in her crib. It takes me a moment to figure out where I am: right, guest room next to the nursery. Monitor beside my bed. Where I put it after fleeing Corbin’s kiss. Shiiiiiit. How am I supposed to walk around out there? Mortifying.

Maeve’s “Da ba da ba” is starting to turn toward a cry, so I go through our adjoining door, through the playroom, and into her bedroom. When she sees me, the early sniffles disappear and she bangs on the crib rail, calling “Ka ka ka!” with a happy smile.

“Good morning, princess,” I say, “I bet you’d like a fresh diaper and some breakfast!” I feel like the camera trained on the crib is boring through me. I pick her up and carry her to the changing table. How much of the room is in the shot?

“What will it be for breakfast today?” I ask. Maeve is grabbing at my braids since I haven’t pulled them back yet. She gets one in each hand and pulls. “Ow!” I say.

“Ow!” she says happily, giggling, pulling again. I gently get my hair out of her fists and pick her up again.

“Let’s go down to the kitchen and see if it’s rice cereal! Maybe it’ll be rice cereal instead! Or maybe just rice cereal.” Maeve is still after my hair, uninterested in my lame jokes. But seriously, that’s what she has every day. And wears as much of it as she eats. It’s pretty gross.

While I keep up chipper patter for the camera, I try to plan a route to the kitchen that minimizes the chance that I’ll run into Corbin.

Yes, it’s stupid. No, I can’t keep it up forever. But damn, I’m just not ready to face him yet.

We get to the kitchen with no incident. Phew.

“Give me the baby and you can go get dressed for the day while I give her breakfast,” Marta sees my hesitation and adds, “It’s fine, I’ve been doing it every day, so it’s in my routine. Go on!”

It’s kind of her to assume my hesitation was an unwillingness to tax her schedule. Really, I just don’t want to take yet another chance of running into Corbin. I swear, I feel like I’m in a slasher movie, dashing up halls and into stairways, my heart pounding every time I hear a door…

But I make it back to my room, confronted by neither my employer nor a scary murderer.

As I stand in the warm, strong spray–at least I don’t have to go back to that low-flow shower–I realize that if Corbin had the security footage on, he knew I was about to head down to the kitchen and made no effort to catch me. Maybe it wasn’t that I’m super stealthy, it’s that he’s avoiding me, too.

And really, I can’t decide how I feel about that. Relieved that I’ll have time to figure out what I want to do? Annoyed that he isn’t pursuing me? Worried that he didn’t actually care all that much and has not given me another thought? All of them.

I try to let the drumming of the water on my body wash my worries away. I can’t do anything right now. I need to figure out what I really want. I think about the kiss: His hand had felt so right in mine, it didn’t feel strange at all when he took it. And when he pulled me to him, just at the moment I’d been willing him to, my knees felt weak. I rose up on my toes to meet his kiss. His lips were perfect–warm, but not too squishy. I could feel that tight Daniel Craig body through the fine linen cloth–muscular, cut, but not a gym rat. And I could feel that the kiss felt good to him, too. At the time, it felt like a terrific preview of what could come. But his hand at my back tugged my braids just a little, just because they were in the way, and I thought of Maeve. And I felt…sick. When his tongue tried to slip between my lips, my flight response kicked in or something. I just knew I had to get away.

But I still don’t know why, really. I feel like I’m

in a cartoon and the angel on my shoulder is all “You don’t know this man AND you work for him, you need to keep it professional.” And the devil is all "Girl, did you feel what was in those pants? Get that."

Oh, yeah, my devil is Asia. I should text her again.

While I get dressed, I fill her in. Like Grandma, her first response is: Isn’t that what you wanted to happen?

She is unsentimental, advising me not to worry about tomorrow until that day comes.

A:Look, he’s super hot. Way hotter than you said he was. Go for it. How long has it been since you had some action?

V: Very. But what if he’s all wrong? What if he’s really a mess?

A: So? You’re not committing to marry him. Just…be a nanny with benefits.

V: Yuck, stop. But yeah, maybe.

A: You’re too into the mystery–Why is he sad? Can I fix him? Who cares. Bone. him.

I’m texting as I walk back to the kitchen, instead of dashing in and out of doorways. I’m paying zero attention, and I want right. into. Corbin.

“Um, Good morning,” he says, totally cool.

“Oh! Sorry!” My face feels hot and my heart is pounding.

“You shouldn’t text and drive you know. Or walk, apparently.” He’s smiling at me like nothing weird has happened.

“So my Grandma tells me, all the time. Seems she was right, again!” I want, urgently, to just zip around him and off to the kitchen. Pretty sure that would make it weirder, though.

Corbin puts a hand on my upper arm. It’s like electric current radiates out from his touch. “Look, can we talk? Tonight? Say, eight?”

And because what else am I going to do? I say, “Sure! Great!”

He nods with a little smile and steps aside a bit. “Good, see you then, meet me by the kitchen garden door.”

After he’s gone and I look back at my phone screen filled with line after line of Nessa? Vanessa? Hello? I step into what seems to be a library and quickly text Asia back.

V: Sorry, ran into C. He wants TO TALK. Tonight. what do I do?

A: Let yo body talk, gurrrrl She adds a devil emoji. See?