Page 16 of Devil Seeks Nanny

Leaning toward the mirror, I apply my mascara, but my gaze drifts to the photo frame I have resting on my bedside table. That picture of me and my dad. Suddenly, I recall the conversation I had the other day with the twins about how Bruno brings them cookies from their favorite bakery every Saturday night. And how, funnily enough, their favorite bakery is the one my dad owned. It had taken a lot for me not to burst into tears in front of the kids as I started thinking of my dad, of the bakery that would need to be rebuilt, and, God—did I even want to rebuild it? Would I be able to continue the legacy he left behind? Or would it be too hard for Slice of Life to exist without my dad in it?

My throat tightens, my hand trembling as I try to finish up my makeup. It’s too difficult, too painful to think about this stuff now—or ever. But at this moment, I continue doing my makeup for a night out with friends and hope that I can put these thoughts out of my head for long enough to just enjoy a couple of hours.

*****

As expected, the line into Hideaway wraps around the block. When I get out of the car, thanking Bastian for the ride, I easily spot my group of friends waiting off on the side. I had told them that we wouldn’t need to wait in line, so they said they would wait for me—which they would have to do anyway since apparently Bruno gave the security my name and I’d have to show my I.D.

With Cathy are a couple of other girls we’d been friends with in high school—Julie and Willa. We’ve all put on our best outfits, it seems since the club’s exclusivity level commands it. My own outfit consists of black skinny jeans with a red spaghetti- strapped bodysuit tucked into it and black heels. Some gold jewelry on my ears and around my neck completes the look.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Cathy grins when I approach them, pulling me in for a quick hug. Her floral perfume wraps around me comfortingly. “I’m so happy you came out tonight.”

I smile, chest warm. “Me, too.”

I quickly hug Julie and Willa in greeting before the group of us heads toward the club’s entrance. For some reason, my stomach flutters in nerves as I pull out my I.D. card, ignoring the dirty looks from the few people in the front of the line. I go up to the bouncer with a flat expression, looking at me like he’s ready to tell me to get to the back of the line.

“Hi,” I say with a smile, trying to be loud because the club is practically vibrating behind him with the bass of the deafening music. “I’m Diana Elliott—I think Mr. Cataldi called and said I’d be coming tonight?”

God, I sound like a privileged bitch. I would hear people in Los Angeles talk this way all of the time, and after a while, it stopped fazing me because it was their lifestyle. But now I’m saying words that they would always say to cut the line of some exclusive party or club or whatever, and it feels like I’ve stepped into someone else’s shoes. I’ve never been someone who found it to be the end of the world if I had to wait in line for something, but I felt like if Bruno found out that I decided to queue, he would be insulted.

You don’t want to insult a mob boss—even if you’re his kids’ nanny.

Recognition seems to instantly flash across the bouncer’s face. He checks my I.D., verifying that I am who I say I am, and he nods. “Of course—Mr. Cataldi said you’d be here.” He quickly checks my friends’ I.D. cards as well before gesturing toward the door. He even smiles at us like if he didn’t it would somehow get back to Bruno and he’d be in trouble for it. “Enjoy your night, ladies.” We walk past him, and I swear I hear him saying into a radio, “Ms. Elliott’s party is walking in now.”

Just like that, we are ushered into the booming, busy club, purple and blue lights flashing in time to the beat of the song as my friends and I exchanged impressed looks of being right in. I did not at all want to look back at the line to catch more glares from those who had to wait in that long ass queue.

Unsurprisingly, it is hotter in the Hideaway than it was outside, the crowds of bodies packed in here making up for a lot of warmth. A long bar is toward the left side of the room, the middle opened for a dance floor where most of the people are. To the right is a staircase that leads to the second floor but I can’t see what’s up there other than more dancing bodies.

It’s a pretty nice place with ceilings high, perfect for a laser show. From what I can see, the collection of alcohol behind the bar is extensive, and five bartenders work to serve customers. Along the sides, a safe distance from the bustling dancing crowd, are tables and leather couches for table service, and I see servers walking around, holding up trays filled with bottles and glasses, sparklers going off on top of them. Purple and pink LED lights line up the backs of the couches, lighting them up, and all the way to the back is where I see the grand DJ booth.

“Wow,” Willa says next to me. A laugh escapes her as she adds, “This place is amazing!”

Before any of us can respond, a man comes up next to us and asks, “Are you Ms. Diana Elliott’s party?”

I blink at the sound of my name, bewildered. “Um, yes. I’m Diana.” I show him my I.D. which I hadn’t put back into my wallet yet.

The guy looks at me and at my driver’s license before nodding and offering me a smile. “Right this way, ladies.”

“Uh—” I exchange confused looks with the girls, who all just shrug, looking just as lost as me. We have no choice but to follow the guy, though he doesn’t lead us too far.

We follow him along the side where the tables are until we reach the middle and he stops to gesture toward an empty section. “This is your table; a bottle girl will be right over to provide you with your drink. You have full bottle service, so don’t hesitate to order whatever you’d like.”

My eyes widen, blinking in surprise. Next to me, the girls are both shocked and excited, not that I blame them, but I still feel the need to clarify. “I’m sorry, there must be some mistake. I didn’t—I didn’t reserve a table for tonight.”

The guy blinks at me like I’m the one talking nonsense. “Mr. Cataldi reserved it for you, Ms. Elliott.” His words knock the air out of my lungs, and despite how loud the music throughout the club is, all I can hear is a stunning ringing in my ears. “He’s taking care of everything tonight. So, please,” the man smiles, “Enjoy your night.”

He leaves after one last gesture to our section but I’m still stuck frozen as the girls sit down on the leather couch. As surprised as they seem over this development, they’re quick to the excitement, while I’m still trying to process this. “Shit, Diana,” Julie laughs over the music. “Your boss must really like you.”

My cheeks flame up, and I swallow the lump in my throat as I force my feet to move. “It’s not like that,” I refute, though I keep my tone casual as I sit down on the end of the couch. I try to appear nonchalant, leaning back into the corner where the armrest meets the back of the couch, hands on my lap and one leg crossed over the other. “He’s probably just being nice.”

Even I want to laugh at my words. Bruno Cataldi—being nice? It sounds as outrageous as pigs flying.

“Whatever it is,” Cathy speaks up with a grin, “Apparently the drinks are on him. So, I say we take advantage of this and test the limits of our livers!”

That has me letting out a laugh, despite the insanity of this situation. My skin still feels hot, an effect Bruno seems to have on me even when he’s nowhere near me. When Cathy catches my amused look, she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “What? I haven’t been able to get drunk in a while, okay?”

Willa snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, ’cause you’re too busy getting fucked by your husband.”

That makes Julie and me laugh, and I welcome the change of topic, not wanting my thoughts to linger on Bruno or the arrangement he’s made for my friends and me tonight. I’ll analyze the why of it all later.

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