Page 19 of One Sweet Lie

“Third, I’m not a fan of washing bottles or handling stains, so I’ll need to speak with your housekeepers on ways they can handle that for me.”

I said nothing.

The agency had somehow let a lunatic slip through the cracks, and I’d almost made the mistake of hiring her.

“Now, those are just the main requirements,” she said. “After you agree to those, you’ll need to hear me out on my supplementary demands.”

“Go ahead and tell me those now.” I took out my phone.

“Oh my god, really? I’m so happy we’re on the same page already!” She pulled a notebook from her purse. “There are onlyfive pages, but I’ll do my best to go through them as quickly as possible.”

Send over the next nanny option.

And please have someone from your agency get this one out of my sight before my security team does.

SIX

HARLOW

Six Days Later

“You have to stop checking your phone every five seconds, Harlow.” Sasha snatched it from my hand and plopped onto a bean bag.

“I’m still holding out on hope for a callback from Mr. Nameless,” I said. “I promise I’ll search for a cooking job next.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Okay, but you promised.” She tossed it back to me. “If it makes you feel any better, rich people think everyone else is ontheirtime,” she said. “A man like that probably has a hundred other potential applicants to get through. People withrealnanny experience.”

“Thank you for letting me live in fantasyland for a while,” I said. “Please tell me your week is going better than mine.”

“It’s far worse.” She shook her head.

“How so?”

“Two huge book bloggers gave me a three-point-five star review ahead of my next release.” She looked like she was about to cry. “And guess what they both did to add salt to the wound?”

“They didn’t round up?”

“Exactly!” She shrieked. “Shade that goddamn fourth star in! Round up, not down, and protect an author’s mental health! It’s the least that they can do!”

I glanced at the oven’s timer, so she wouldn’t see me roll my eyes.

I’d long given up telling her that a 'three and a half star' rating wasn’t “bad.” That most of my comfort reads fell into that category, and it wasn’t personal.

My words of advice never landed, though.

Sasha, better known as S J Ash, was a best-selling indie romance author. To everyone on the outside, it meant that she was a ‘creatively sane’ individual who penned spicy stories in her pajamas.

But I witnessed the truth behind the curtain—the daily unraveling and re-raveling of someone who cycled through ten different emotions in an hour. Someone who talked to herself aloud in public, insisting that it was the “characters” sharing their stories in her head.

It was only a matter of time before the psychology world placed “authoring” on its ‘Careers that are Hazardous for Mental Health’ list.

Beeeeeep!

The oven’s timer sounded, and we jumped off the bean bags.

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