Page 6 of The Nanny Contract

Martin placed a warm, flaky croissant covered in a faint glaze of butter on a sparkling clean white plate. As he fussed about the plating, I grabbed my phone and did a quick search for the professional he’d mentioned.

Sure enough, the photographer’s fees were astronomical. One celebrity gossip website mentioned that Jean Pierre had been paid a cool six figures to take photos of a movie star’s wedding in Paris.

Evidently, perfection didn’t come cheap. But at Pierre’s prices, the photos had better come with a paparazzi-proof force field.

No doubt he was as bewildered by my mother’s request as I was.

Minutes later, I walked downstairs into the sitting room which had been transformed into a chaotic scene. Betsy fussed around a few things while Jean Pierre looked confused and scratched his chin behind his extravagant camera setup.

On the floor in front of the camera was an ancient typewriter, a dented helmet, and a crowned rooster.

“Good morning,” I said, catching Mother’s attention.

She whipped around, her long hair flying around her face. “Logan! You’re just in time.”

“Mother, why did you hire a world-class photographer to document a rooster?”

Her jaw dropped open in feigned surprise. “This isn’t just any rooster, dear. It’s the crowned rooster. Please be seated for your photograph!”

“My photograph?”

“With the rooster,” she said as if it was completely normal. “I’ve loved this rooter since you were a child, and I think it’s important to document heirlooms with sentimental value.”

Jean Pierre looked as perplexed as I felt.

“Mother, I’m not posing with a rooster. That’s absolutely unnecessary.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, don’t be a stiff! It’s our family heritage and it embodies Westbrook pride.”

I was initially resistant, but eventually gave in, reminding myself that there was no point in arguing with her.

More often than not, she won.

I flopped down in the chair as Mother gently placed the rooster on my lap. Unfortunately, it was surprisingly heavy.

As if on cue, Casey and Henry walked into the room mid-shoot, just as the camera started clicking away.

The moment Casey entered the room, it was as if the air shifted. Casey paused in the doorway, taking in the unusual scene with a grin lighting up his face. His eyes flickered over to me as I sat with a fucking rooster on my lap.

Incredibly dignified for a cardiac surgeon.

Casey’s laugh was soft and barely audible, but it was enough to send a wave of—something—over me.

I didn’t know what thesomethingwas yet.

He had a certain way of moving. Casual, but confident at the same time. It was as if he didn’t care who was watching. Part of me was just a tiny bit jealous of that. With my career as a surgeon and my position on the board of directors at Pinehurst Medical Center, I was often overly concerned with what others thought of me.

But not Casey.

His shirt was untucked at the hem and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms. They were somehow… distractingly solid. He was obviously a man who looked after himself. His hair caught flickers of sunlight as it pressed into the oversized sitting room.

As Casey’s gaze landed on mine, there was a hint of something in his eyes.

Maybe it was simply amusement.

Or curiosity.

Either way, it caught me off guard and made me swallow harder than I should have.

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