Page 21 of Bad Nanny

“Hey. Sorry for being late.” Josie walked toward me, definitely not braless now.

“Have a seat.” I gestured across from me, where I’d put the second glass. “Do you want a drink?”

She sat down, her hand wrapping around the glass. “That depends on if I’m fired.”

“Fired? Why would I fire you?” I pushed the bottle across the table. “Help yourself. It’s pretty smooth.”

She shrugged, a sheepish expression on her face. “Thanks.”

“Tell me about your first day.” My voice was steady, despite the flurry of inappropriate thoughts that hadbeen hounding me since hearing whatever that was through the wall. Had the builders not put enough insulation thinking that it wouldn’t be needed?

She poured a healthy amount of whiskey and took a sip. “Delaney’s amazing. She’s so smart and observant. Her imagination is great...” Her eyes lit up as she spoke of my daughter, and I couldn’t help but soften a bit.

“But?” I prompted. There was always a “but” on the first day. It was hard for some caregivers to wrap their head around not doing whatever they wanted when they wanted.

She tucked what seemed to be the same stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I think she could benefit from some spontaneity, or at least some variety. The glitter was unplanned, but it made her so happy and stopped her from thinking about when you’d be home.”

I frowned at the mention of glitter—my nemesis—and straightened in my chair. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, routine is crucial for Delaney. She thrives on predictability and structure.”

Her brow creased slightly. “Don’t you think variety is important too? Life can’t be scripted all the time, and even within structure, there can be flexibility. What’s going to happen when she starts school?”

I set my jaw, feeling an unwelcome surge of irritation. “I hired you to follow the guidelines I’ve set for my daughter’s care.”

Josie took another sip of her drink before she spoke again. “I respect your rules and routines, but I also believe in the magic of unexpected moments.”

Her words stirred something in me, but no, I couldn’tafford to waver on this. My life—Delaney’s life—depended on order and certainty.

“I’ll make this clear,” I said firmly, reasserting the employer-employee dynamic that seemed to be blurring by the second. “You’re here to provide a service. Stick to the schedule and consult with me before any...creative deviations.”

“Understood, sir.” The spark in her eyes told me she was pissed. “If we’re done here, I need to get back to work.”

Work? Before she stood, I blurted out the question that had been gnawing at me since I’d stood outside her studio. “What were you doing with a puppet in the closet?”

Josie froze, her eyes wide with surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I heard a voice. From your closet.” I felt the absurdity of the question, but if I didn’t get it out of my system, I’d spend the rest of the night obsessing over the possibilities.

She looked at me like I’d crossed a line. “What I do on my own time, in my private space, is none of your business, Mr. Badden.”

I couldn’t argue with that—she was right. Yet itwasmy house. “Just keep it down. I don’t need Delaney to hear about cocks jizzing.”

If she’d stood any faster, she would have knocked over her chair. “What?”

Either I’d shocked her because she’d actually had her puppet say it or because I’d just said it. There was no way to tell.

For both my sake and hers, I tried to maintain a steely exterior. “I heard both words in a higher tone. I’m assumingyou were talking with your puppet? I’m not judging, but you need to be mindful of where you’re at.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times, like she wanted to say something, but then she shook her head and walked away.

An uneasy silence settled over the room, and I sat back in my chair to stop myself from banging my head against the table. I should have let it go.

I reached for my phone to distract myself, and as soon as I unlocked it and the text messages popped up, my stomach dropped.

I’d been texting Josie instead of my brothers.

“No, no, no!” I held down my finger on one of the texts, hoping there was a recent update that would let me unsend it, like on some messaging apps.

All my frantic messages—my inappropriate admissions and wild speculations—had gone straight to her.

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