Page 8 of The Nanny Contract

I didn’t want to look at my mother, but I couldn’t help it. I glanced over and caught her watching us. Her smirk was sharper than her navy-blue suit. I braced myself for her to say something. But she said nothing at all.

She merely sipped her tea with an air of triumph.

Chapter 3

Casey

After just two days at Westbrook Meadows, I’d started to find my footing.

Well, as much as anyone could in a place this opulent and bizarre.

I descended the sweeping staircase toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a snack for lunch before picking up Henry from school later that day. From the rumors I’d heard around the estate, Henry might be receiving a new car from his grandmother on his birthday the next day.

I knew he’d be thrilled. In my short time as his nanny, he’d been remarkably independent, and a car would mark a new time in his life.

On my way to the kitchen, an unusual scene caught my eye.

Betsy was fussing about the grand sitting room. She had set up the seating in a semi-circle that was centered on an ornate lectern. Betsy noticed me and waved me over.

She was absolutely commanding in her bright green suit and beautiful hat. She moved around the room like a stage director, adjusting vases and fluffing pillows as if she were preparing for a performance.

“Casey!” she exclaimed.

It was as if she was always happy to see me. Her welcoming warmth had made my adjustments to living at Westbrook Meadows easy.

“Big day today,” she said with theatrical flair, her diamond rings catching the light. “The family is about to learn about bequeathments. You’re in for a show.”

That sounds intense, I thought.

I recalled the local headlines about Betsy’s task: distributing one-hundred-million-dollars of her fortune among her family.

I wouldn’t want to be in Betsy’s position, having to determine who gets what. Then again, being in her position would mean a life of unimaginable wealth where money was never a concern.

But that wasn’t my world. I was the nanny, here to do a job.

Still, as I stood there, I couldn’t help but marvel at my surroundings. I soaked in the grandeur of the space, knowing how lucky I was to glimpse this life even temporarily.

I glanced again at the lectern.

This was going to be quite a show.

Before I could envision it, Martin appeared in the room.

“Ma’am, the Mercers are here,” he said. “They’ve requested an audience.”

An audience?

I raised an eyebrow.

This was like living at Buckingham Palace.

Betsy sighed and looked at her feet, her brow furrowed in frustration. She turned and glanced at me.

“The Mercers are Henry’s maternal grandparents,” she said.

Martin nodded stoically. “They’re in the parlor, ma’am. Shall I have them come in?”

Betsy nodded yes and rushed over to whisper while we waited for their arrival.

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