Page 12 of The Perfect Mistake

“Good. The position is live-in.”

“Yes, Connie mentioned.” My voice sounds remarkably steady, even if the idea of residing in the same space as Alec sets my insides on fire. Nerves make my chest tight.

“I sometimes need to leave early, and there are evenings when I’m not back until late,” he explains. He doesn’t look happy, either. But then again, I’ve never even seen him smile. He’s always stern. In control. Restrained. “You’ll have help. My housekeeper Katja is there from midday to dinner time. Mac, my driver, knows all the pickup routines at school and extracurriculars. You’ll get my private number to use if anything happens. Here’s the rundown.”

He pushes a stack of papers across the desk, and I flip through them. The notes are meticulous. Names and ages of the kids, their favorite meals, preferences, nicknames, and the locations of Alec’s home and his children’s school…

My stomach drops. This isn’t a little babysitting gig like I had in high school. This is much, much bigger. And the man across from me doesn’t suffer fools.

“I also have a contract. Please look it over, and if you’re pleased with the salary offer, go ahead and sign.”

I accept another stack of papers. “When do you want me to start?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“No.”

“All right.” His jaw flexes. “And Isabel, I know you’re Connie’s friend…”

The sound of my name in his deep voice shouldn’t be that pleasant. It really, really shouldn’t. “I know, but I promise that won’t affect this. I can be professional.”

“Good,” he says. And then, like it’s an afterthought: “So can I.”

That almost makes me smile. As if he’s ever anything but. Alec glances down at the heavy watch on his wrist. “I took this meeting in between the existing ones. I have to go.”

“Of course.” I stand and grip the mountain of paperwork. “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible with the signed contract.”

He extends his hand across the table. I meet it with my own, and his long fingers close over mine. We shake once, twice, three times. A warm tingle travels up my arm.

“Thank you,” Alec says. His voice is cordial, but his eyes on mine are intense. I can’t read them. Maybe he’s wondering if he just made a mistake.

As I walk out of his office, arm still tingling from contact with his, I can’t help but wonder the very same.

Admiring him from afar was one thing.

Living with him will be something very different.

Isabel

The legendary St. Regis prep school is located in an ornate stone building on the Upper East Side. Trees line the street outside the wrought iron fence that ensures the grounds stay protected. Beyond the gate, I spot the large copper bell that must ring when classes begin. Extravagance is everywhere—the landscaping, the structures, the athletic fields. The campus is so large and so popular among the city’s elite that, in the past century, it has become a premier kindergarten to grade twelve institution to send their sons and daughters. No child should have to leave the warm embrace of a school where a tuition fee is more than my annual salary.

Right now, the schoolyard is empty. But it won’t be in five minutes. There’s already a row of cars down the street, and parents or nannies linger on the sidewalk, in time for pickup to get underway.

Yesterday, I was interviewed by Alec in his office. Today, I’m picking up his children. Things have gone dizzyingly fast, and if it wasn’t for the comprehensive brief he’d given me, I would be feeling completely unprepared.

The car behind me is Alec’s. With dark-tinted windows, the black Bentley blends in amid the fleet of similar vehicles. Alec’s driver is named Mac, and he’s standing beside me with his giant arms crossed over his chest.

He must be in his fifties, bald and bearded. Everything about him makes Mac seem less like a driver and more like a bodyguard.

“They’ll be out soon,” he says calmly.

I nod and hoist my bag higher up on my shoulder. There’s a list in the brief, and I run through it in my head. Double-check that Sam has his backpack (he often forgets). Ensure Willa gets a snack. If there are no after-school activities, go directly home.

“And they know there’s a new nanny here today?” I ask. Alec had already assured me the kids would be informed, but I have to confirm again.

Mac nods. “They spoke about it in the car this morning.”

Good.

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