Page 4 of The Nanny Next Door

I froze. “I don’t understand.”

“I picked you for this gig,” he said as he slowly stood and came around the desk, getting closer to me and amplifying my fight or flight response with every inch of ground I lost, “because I needed something sweet to look at around the house, y’know? And with those sexy little skirts you always wear…” He openly ogled me, his eyes sweeping over my exposed legs in a way that made me want to take a very long, very hot shower. “You must have known, right?”

My stomach churned, and then I felt his hand snake around to grab my butt. I yelped involuntarily, a squeaky sound like a kicked puppy would make.

Instantly, I recoiled from Mr. Mayhew’s lecherous touch, jumping back from him as best I could and nearly stumbling over the chair he’d expected me to sit in. He looked amused by this, half-grinning and trying to move closer like he thought it was a game of cat and mouse I was playing just to tease him. Like I was in on the joke.

Absolutely not.

It was probably sad that this was the first time I’d ever been blatantly hit on. No one had ever touched me sexually before, and the newness of the experience would have been intimidating to me even if I’d wanted it. But Mr. Mayhew was creepy and leering and old enough to be my father, and I absolutely hated the idea of him touching me. Being the first person to touch me like this. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t do it in front of him.

My voice shook, but I was able to get out a passably firm, “No, I didn’t know. And you’re a pig. I–I quit.”

The adrenaline didn’t start to settle until I’d already stormed out of his office in a huff. By the time I was hoofing it down the sidewalk toward the nearest subway station, the reality of my new situation was setting in like a dense, ominous fog.

I’d never quit anything in my life—and I’d just quit the highest-paying job I’d ever had. My only source of income. What on earth was I going to do now?

3

FELIPE

“That, my friend,” I said in a low tone through a wide grin, “seemed like a roaring success to me.”

Even though Miles only hummed thoughtfully from beside me, I knew I was right. I’d never been as invigorated by a business meeting as I was coming out of our long-awaited first official meeting with Pierce Enterprises. There was a fresh, hopeful spring in my step as I exited the immaculate conference room of with my best friend and business partner by my side. The future of my philanthropic work looked bright enough to blind, and after all the grinding I’d done to get here, the feeling was pure elation.

I could tell that Pierce—both the company and its hyper-competent CEO—liked our style, liked the mission behind the work Miles and I were doing in addition to the good PR it would get them to partner with us. Aaron Pierce himself had practically lit up when I talked about our work to expand access to tuberculosis treatment in the developing world—well, as close to lighting up someone like Aaron Pierce could get, I guessed. The other bigwigs we’d met with so far hadn’t seemed to give a damn about the mission itself, only their bottom line. Those flat expressions as I extolled the virtues of using my wealth and privilege to help those less fortunate… yeah, working with any of those selfish CEO types was a hard no for me.

My whole goal in life was to use my ample resources to help as many people as I could. I’d been lucky enough to be born into wealth back home in Chile, but I saw hungry, sick, unhoused people in the streets back there and in my new home of New York City too often to ignore how easily I had it. I wouldn’t allow the mission Miles and I had set together to be tainted by partnering with a soulless, amoral, money-making machine. No matter how helpful it would be to be bankrolled by their stacks of cash.

“Goddamn it,” I heard Miles hiss under his breath as we were making our way down the hallway and into the Pierce lobby. My eyes shot to his face—angular and robotically still as always, though I could see the tension in the crinkled corners of his eyes. He’d been looking at his phone screen before he shoved it back into his pants pocket as if trying to smother it to death.

“What is it?”

“It was a text from my nanny.” He sighed. “Did I tell you she’s leaving?”

“No way. Mrs. Nyugen? She’s been with Olivia since she was born.”

“Hence the frustration,” Miles said. “Nearly every other nanny in the five boroughs is already booked for the next year, and none of them will be half as good as Mrs. Nyugen, anyway. The kid loves her. I don’t know what I’m going to do—especially for the next few weeks after she’s gone.”

I resisted the strong urge I had to suggest the same thing I had a million times before—that Miles take some time off work, or at least work from home a while, so he could spend some time with his little girl for once. But my friend was as hard-headed as he was intelligent, and he didn’t take well to my attempts at steering his life.

It was just a pity that Miles resisted connecting with his child so strongly. I knew it was fear and not apathy that kept him from spending time with Olivia, playing tea party or dress-up with her like she clearly wanted. In his own way, Miles did everything because he loved his daughter. He worked to provide for her, to create a better world for her to grow up in, to keep her safe from the misfortune so many other children experienced. He’d said as much to me years ago, before Olivia was even born, before he’d become too broken and jaded by life to show affection or weakness. I didn’t begrudge my friend his workaholic tendencies, especially since it had helped lead us to such success as meeting with one of the highest-grossing CEOs in the country this morning. I just knew that emotionally closing himself off from his child wasn’t the way for either of them to heal from all the loss they’d experienced.

“You’ll figure something out,” I told Miles instead of the truth. We parted ways, then, Miles heading off to the elevator while I made a point to stop at reception.

I’d made friendly small talk with Holly at the desk in front of Aaron Pierce’s office before the meeting, so I hoped to bid her a good day on my way out. But when I approached the large, curved desk, I was surprised to find her looking stressed out and frantic, holding a child that was clearly not her own. The kid, to his credit, didn’t seem bothered, despite his constant wiggling in her inexperienced grip. But as I took another step toward the desk, he suddenly started to wail louder than his tiny lungs should allow. Holly quickly went from overwhelmed to panicked.

It was instinct and years of spoiling my younger family members back in Chile that had me sweeping in to ask Holly, “May I?”

She was visibly relieved as she nodded and handed the little tike over. I must have had the magic touch, just like my family members had all said when I comforted their babies over the years, because after a few bounces and shushes and a gentle, “It’s alright, mijo,” the child quieted down. With another few moments of joyous bouncing, he was smiling, and he stayed calm as I handed him back to Holly, his blue eyes watching me with alert curiosity.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Holly told me breathlessly. She leaned in, and I leaned toward her across the desk to hear her next words. “Mr. Pierce’s estranged sister left her son with him. Just… dropped him off and ran. Mr. Pierce is too busy to handle this kind of thing, so I’ve been trying to find childcare for the little guy at the last minute. Unlike you, kids… aren’t really my thing.” She grimaced, and as if on cue, the baby took a small handful of her face-framing layers of dark hair, tugging it until Holly yelped.

“Just think of him as any other person you dazzle with your charm every day,” I told her with a smile. “He’s a person, just little. You’re doing fine.” I made sure to come behind the desk again to help free the tiny baby fist from Holly’s hair. I shook the small boy’s hand, giving him a serious, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pierce, the younger.”

Holly and the baby both seemed to giggle on cue. A gentle fuchsia blush painted Holly’s face, which I’d noticed in our earlier interactions as well. My Abuelita back in Chile always scolded me for what she called my charm, though she meant it more as an admonishment than a compliment. “These young ladies can’t resist those green eyes, Felipe,” she always used to say with a shake of her head. “You have to be careful not to break any hearts.”

Holly was a pretty young woman, but I wasn’t looking to lead her on. So, I grinned at her and the baby and started to leave, recognizing that the young woman had relaxed enough to handle this predicament without me now. I threw them both with a wink over my shoulder as the elevator doors pinged open for me and I stepped on.

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