Page 12 of Taming the Boss

Kids loved me. Adored me, in fact. I seemed to relate to them on their level or something.

I grabbed my phone and called Reagan, my best friend. Who actually happened to be my niece. Handy thing, that.

“Read the ad to me again,” she instructed. “Slowly.”

I did as she requested.

“I think it’s sex trade-related.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “I just saw a Dateline special about this very thing.”

I let out a groan. “Rea, it’s not trafficking. I’m sure the paper vets stuff before they let it be printed.” Actually, I had no clue on that score, but this ad very much felt like my diamond-like needle in a haystack. Being a nanny to a probably sweet little kid seemed like a job tailor made for me.

Something close to gruesome reality was not allowed to intrude. Not this time.

“Besides, the Cove is super safe,” I went on when Reagan remained silent. “You know that already, and you’re new in town. Plus, your dad would kill anyone who even looked at me funny.”

Reagan’s father, Christian, was my older brother and a senior officer on our local police force. Like my other oversized brothers, he was huge and burly and very intimidating, which was annoying when dating, but it came in handy if I wanted to convince someone that it wasn’t a good idea to mess with me.

I also could take care of myself. I’d taken self-defense classes since a young age. If there was anything hinky about this ad, bring it on.

“Yeah, but if you go to this job interview and the guy sucks you into his web, you might never be heard from again. Then my dad can’t save you if the trail instantly runs cold. You have to make sure you leave us many breadcrumbs to trace your location. By the way, how many references constitutes copious?”

“I wondered the same.” I bit my lip as I rubbed between Fergus’s ears. Fuck it, I only had this one newspaper. I’d have to just tear out the corner with the ad. “Hey, write down this number, will you? Box 0809.”

“Is this the killer’s mailbox number?”

I had to laugh as I ripped out the corner of the paper with the ad and shoved it in my jeans pocket. “His inbox at the paper. There is no killer. I just needed the paper for the cat box.”

“Hmmpf.”

“Seriously, I’m not sure investigative journalism is the best career for you. Maybe you should try something less…suspicious. Like elementary education? All those cute little kids smelling of jam.”

“Kids like Jacob?”

Reagan’s three-month-old little brother spent most of his time wailing, so maybe a small child wasn’t the best example for her at this time.

“You gotta admit he’s pretty damn cute. Kids in general are so much nicer than gritty news stories and less likely to give you nightmares.”

She sighed heavily. “But I like investigative journalism. I like researching crime. Hell, you know I watch serial killer docs to unwind. Just don’t tell my dad. He would make me go to therapy. You know he worries.”

“He sure does. So, see, he’d appreciate a career change for you too. You’re only starting your freshman year soon. You can still change your major. Freshman year is for expanding your options, remember?” I blew out a breath as Fergus sat his big furry behind in his empty box and gave me a pointed look. “Okay, okay. Just let me put this paper in and the litter and you can go. Jeez. Impatient much?”

Hurriedly, I nudged him aside and lined the box with the newspaper, and then I dumped in a healthy amount of litter. As soon as the last grain fell from my scoop, Fergus plopped his large behind in the box and started going to town digging. I made sure to get out of there quickly, so he could have his fun without pelting me with litter.

I rushed up the basement stairs to the first level and then kept going to the second floor and my bedroom. I was the only one of the Masterson kids who still lived at home—not that I wanted to, not one bit—so I’d taken over the biggest bedroom other than my parents’ bedroom several years ago.

My four brothers had vacated the family homestead a while back so the place was pretty much mine—other than my parents, of course. And my parents were plenty.

Why I needed more money so I could get my own place. I even had a line on a perfect apartment right on Main Street in town. My soon-to-be sister-in-law Honey, Christian’s future new wife, was going to sublet her apartment to me, which was a trick since she actually had been subletting it from her sister-in-law when Christian knocked her up.

“You sound miserable,” Reagan informed me. “I think you need a vacation, not a new job. Especially one taking care of some rich, probably spoiled brat.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, he’s three. How spoiled could he be at that small?”

And he probably smelled amazing post-bath. That was the wonder of little kids.

“I’d be afraid to find out. Better you than me, sister.”

I rolled my eyes. She had a good point though. Especially since her bonus mom Honey’s brother, Maverick, and his new wife, Vanessa, had recently had twins too, a boy, Henry, and a girl, Reign. Though those two were better-natured on average than Rea’s new little brother, they were still fairly typical whiny children who needed diaper changes with alarming regularity.

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