Page 44 of One Sweet Lie

“It’s about a kid I’m watching. I mean,Sashais writing a brand-new romance novel that involves a single dad and his kid.”

“Ooooh.” She fanned herself. “Is there spice?”

“Always.” I nodded. “Anyway, it’s about a nanny who has to deal with a difficult nine-year-old girl. I figured you’d have some tips since that’s when you and I met. I knowIwasn’t that difficult, but?—”

“Bahahahaha!” She tossed her head back, laughing. “Oh my goddddd!”

Wheezing, she patted her chest.

“I’m so glad I could provide you with some comedy today, Lauren.”

“You were god-awful to me when we met, Harlow.” She wiped her eyes. “Hell, you were downright mean.”

What?“No, I wasn’t.”

“You called me Cruella De vil for an entire year.”

“Because you ran over my dog’s favorite plushie.”

“It was an accident,” she said. “Plus, I bought him a new one. Anyway, tell Sasha to make the nanny show interest in things the little girl likes. She needs to treat her like she’s intelligent.”

“She’s beyond intelligent,” I muttered. “She’s practically a genius.”

“Show her she cares about her emotions, but make sure the nanny is serious about discipline.”

“Should I recommend Scared Straight Prison Tours?”

“Only if she starts stealing.” She laughed. “Tell Sasha she can call me about this book anytime.”

“What book? I mean—yeah, of course.” I noticed Olivia walking toward the car. “I’ll definitely let her know everything you said. Gotta go! Bye!”

Olivia slid onto the seat across from me and buckled her seatbelt.

“How was your day at school?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Whenever you want to talk to me about your emotions or your friends, I’m here for you, okay?”

“Hmmm.” She nodded, giving me hope we were close to a breakthrough. “You suck ass and you won’t last.”

Okay, I give up.

I inhaledthe fresh lavender scent from the twins’ linens and placed them on a shelf with their newest blankets.

Laundry time was quickly becoming my favorite task.

Since I handled it during their second afternoon nap, I enjoyed utter peace and quiet. I also used the time to catch up on my favorite podcast,When You Want to Murder Your Boss.

“Nanny May was only twenty-seven years old when she realized her boss was working her to death,” today’s host said, “so she decided to kill him first. Tired of his endless demands, she armed herself with a nail gun and tiptoed to his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

Mr. Dawson cleared his throat from behind, and I hit pause.

“May I help you with something, Mr. Dawson?” I asked.

I didn’t bother explaining away the podcast.

“My housekeeping manager accidentally left William’s Binky Bunny in San Fran today,” he said. “I need you to go get it.”

---