Page 12 of Never Bargain with the Boss

She dances and sings the rest of the way home, and when I turn into the driveway the GPS directs me to, I stare at the house in front of me in awe. “Whoa. Grace, your house is massive.”

“Huh?” She glances out the windshield like her house magically supersized while she was at school. “It’s just home.”

No, it’s not. I work for families with money. Otherwise, they couldn’t afford to have a private nanny, especially a live-in one. Plus, my services come at a premium because I’m worth it. However, the Harrington home is easily three times bigger than Bianca’s house and I thought it was large. “I should’ve asked your dad for more money,” I whisper, and she laughs. “Alotmore money.”

“Come on. I’ll show you where your room is,” Grace tells me, unbuckling and jumping out as soon as I shift my car into park.

She barrels toward the front door, presses a button on her phone to unlock the electronic security system, and then waves at the doorbell camera. “Hi, Dad!” To me, she explains, “He gets an alert when I get home.”

We go inside, and she closes the door behind me as I glance around. From the foyer, I can see a formal living room and a fancy dining room that both look pristine and untouched, so I’m guessing they don’t get used often. Grace runs past the stairs, and I follow her into a large open area with vaulted ceilings that houses the family room, kitchen, and breakfast nook, though ‘nook’ is probably a misnomer since I’ve been to restaurants smaller than the space. It does seem more lived in, though, with a sense of use and enjoyment despite being obviously done by a decorator with coordinated groupings of pillows on the couches, fancy candles on the table, and pretty but generic art on the walls.

Grace dumps her backpack on the island and yanks the fridge open. “I’m starving!” she announces, digging into a drawer and coming out with a cheese stick. “Want one?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Once we’re both munching on cheese sticks, she leads me around the rest of the house, sounding like she’s done this tour guide gig before. “Down there are Dad’s office and his bedroom.” She points to two closed doors in a hallway behind the formal living room, then swings her finger over to the other side of the house. “And over there are the gym, mud room, garage, and a guest bedroom. There’s a bathroom under the stairs too.” She heads up the stairs, waving for me to follow her. “Up here is the media room.”

She opens the door to a dark gray painted room with a large screen on one end and two rows of long, black leather, reclining couches. There’s a glass-front refrigerator filled with a variety of drinks and snacks, plus a small kitchenette that looks stocked with treats.

At the next door, which is just across the hall, she says, “My room.”

She reveals what’s clearly a young girl’s room with blush pink walls, gold accents, and white bedding with pillows in shades of pink in various textures from fluffy faux fur to tufted velvet. There’s also a desk, a dresser, and a television in front of a beanbag chair that’d probably fit three people on it.

“Pretty,” I tell her, and she beams, seeming pleased that I like it.

“And this is your room.” She opens the door at the far end of the hallway, then stands back, letting me walk in first. The room is larger than I expected, even given the scale of the home. The high ceiling and all four walls are painted a pale taupe, the queen bed is covered in white bedding that looks plain but expensive, and there’s a seating area with a couch facing the television.There’s also an armchair by the window, which looks like a cozy spot to read a book or watch the rain fall while sipping a cup of tea. It lacks personality, but I expected that. Still… very nice.

“You can decorate it however you want. I’ve heard Dad tell the other nannies that, but Beatrice—that’s the last one—didn’t do anything but set her suitcase on the couch. Her clothes still ended up all over the place, though.” She rolls her eyes, and I get a little peek into how Grace felt about her last nanny. I make a mental note to ask Cameron exactly what happened there.

“I don’t need anything too fancy,” I tell Grace, still looking around and finding the attached bathroom with a big walk-in shower, long vanity, and a closet bigger than any childhood bedroom I had, and I shared most of those. “But I’ll definitely keep my clothes off the floor. I wouldn’t mistreat my treasures like that.” I pull at my vest, striking a pose worthy of the finest catalog model.

She scans my outfit skeptically before quietly echoing, “Treasures?” She’s virtually a mini-me of her father, the hypercritical inspection a repeat of his reaction to meeting me yesterday.

“Yeah, these threads don’t come from any regular old store at the mall. These are allauthenticvintage. I have to search and search, through racks and racks, at every thrift store I can find to get this look.” I do a twirl in place, my skirt swirling around my legs, and then strike another pose. “What started because I couldn’t afford nicer stores became an obsession. I love to shop, make outfits, and even sell stuff online.”

“That’s awesome!” Grace declares, making a quick about-turn and now giving her support to the side hustle I do more for fun than cash flow, even though I make decent change doing it. “Maybe I can do it with you too?”

“If you want,” I offer with an easy shrug, “but you don’t have to. I usually hit the thrifts during school hours, but we could goon the weekend or after school if you don’t have a riding lesson and finish your homework.”

“Let me do it now, then!” Grace is already running back down the stairs, and when I follow her, I find her back in the kitchen, pulling her laptop from her backpack. “I only have a little bit of work tonight.”

“Hold up, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. How about tonight we focus on getting me moved in, getting your homework done, and making dinner for you and your dad? And we can plan a shopping trip for later, after I research the best thrift stores in the area.”

“Oh.” She looks disappointed, but after a moment of consideration, she brightens again. “Maybe we can shop and go to Starbucks too?”

I can’t help but laugh as I shake my head. “Girl, you might be addicted to Starbies, but yeah, that sounds good. Come on, help me with my stuff.”

With the two of us working together, it doesn’t take long to get my suitcase from the car and bring everything in. Grace helps me hang up my clothes on the wooden hangers already in the closet, oohing and aahing over various pieces and listening intently when I tell her about the ones that are extra special to me, like the vintage Levi’s with colorful iron-on patches, my silk leopard skirt that fits like it was made for me—no small feat with my tiny waist and curvy hips—and the original band shirts I’ve collected. Like I told her, nothing fake about my vintage.

When we’ve gotten my closet and bathroom supplies set up, she looks around and asks, “Is this basically everything you own?” She sounds vaguely horrified at the idea. “Or do you leave stuff at home and only take what you need with you to work?”

I scan the space, more than pleased with my belongings given I was once lucky if I had a trash bag to take my things with me. And honestly, the trash bag was never full. I could put my entirelife into a backpack and be living somewhere else in minutes. It was a fact of life for me, so an entire oversized suitcase plus a duffel bag seem ridiculously maximalist.

But Grace doesn’t need to know all that, so I smile. “This is everything. And this is home.”

“Yeah, for now.”

She sounds jaded, and I’m not sure if she’s referencing my trial run deal with Cameron or the revolving door of nannies she’s had, but either way sucks. The view from outside might look very different given the luxury Grace lives in versus the poverty I lived in growing up, but the uncertainty is similar. Not knowing who’d be there when you get home, or if they would stay. In my case, I was the one moving. In Grace’s, people leave her, time after time.

---