Page 7 of Never Bargain with the Boss

“Riley?” I echo, though I’m mostly picturing my isolationist brother at a literal rave. It’d be his worst nightmare come to life, which while extremely entertaining to witness, his attempt at beatboxing is pretty amusing too. My lips almost twitch, a rarity.

Cole drags his eyes away from Emmett. “Yeah, I was gonna talk to you about her, actually. She’s a nanny.”

I can’t help but snort at the irony. “You hired a nanny before I did? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Cole isn’t a people person. He’s the opposite of whatever a people person is. He’s gruff, grumpy, and rude, which isenough to put most people off, and then, when you add in that he’s obsessively protective of Janey, and now Emmett, there’s not a lot of room for people to get close to them. Literally or metaphorically speaking. So the idea that he let some stranger into his house, handed over his baby, and then took a little nappy-nap is downright ridiculous.

“I didn’t hire her. Well, not exactly. She asked me for a favor, so in return, she’s doing one for me—helping with Emmett for a few days. But she’s an experienced nanny whose job just ended, and she might be looking for a new one. I thoughtyoumight like to meet her.”

Is he being…nice? The very idea makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because it’s such an odd thing for Cole to be. I have exacting standards, ridiculously high ones, I’ve been told by more than a few, but I’m currently not in the position to be a choosy beggar. At some point, my family’s patience with me—not Grace, never her—will reach its limit and I’ll have to, I don’t know, take a leave of absence from work while I get this nanny situation sorted. That’s something I don’t want to do, unless there’s no other option, so I’m inclined to take the gift Cole is offering thankfully. But not without question.

“Do you have her resume I could look at? What agency does she work with? Experience?” I run through my list of usual qualifying demands, and Cole cocks his head, giving me a scathing look from beneath sharply arched brows.

“I handed over my kid and took a nap. What more do you need to know?”

He’s got a point. An extremely valid one, because if Cole felt comfortable doing that, he’s already done a background check on her that’d rival the Pentagon, plus done a gut check of his own impression of the woman. And I trust Cole’s gut. “That’s fair. I’m willing to interview her, at least.”

“About that?—”

He’s cut off by the two women coming into the living room from the hallway. One is my sister-in-law, Janey, with a riot of red curls and gray eyes that look surprisingly bright given her new mom status.

The other is young, maybe early twenties, and while I wouldn’t say she’s classically beautiful, she’s interesting-looking. Her hair looks like cotton candy, pale pink and wispy, and is cut in a way that makes shaggy chunks flip out all over her head and shoulders. She has wide-set blue eyes which are rimmed in gray shadow and precisely drawn, black cat-eye liner, and there’s a tiny hoop in one nostril of her pixie nose. She’s wearing baggy jeans with frayed hems that lay messily on thick-soled tennis shoes, an oversized T-shirt that’s folded under and tucked up to show a tiny sliver of her midriff, and two wrists full of chunky bracelets that match what must be at least five necklaces hanging around her neck.

My eyes virtually bounce over her, trying to find a singular thing to focus on, but there’s simply so much, like her presence is shouting at me from across the room. And given the way she’s looking back, I’m probably frowning, which she shouldn’t take personally. It’s my default expression.

“Riley, I finished!” Grace interrupts my scan of the newcomer. My daughter is triumphantly holding up the piece of paper I took from Peanut Butter to the pink-haired woman, who flashes a beaming smile that makes her eyes sparkle.

“Nice,” she answers Grace, holding up her fist for a bump.

I see a look pass between Cole and Janey, and then Janey waves at me before saying, “Hey Grace, can you help me in the nursery for a second?” Before Grace can answer, she ushers my daughter out of the room, leaving me with my brother and the other woman, who is apparently Riley, the nanny I’m interviewing… now?

“Gotta hand it to Janey, she’s smooth like that,” Cole deadpans.

He has jokes? Since when? Maybe Janey hit him over the head or he tripped and fell? It’s the only explanation.

Riley approaches me easily with her hand extended. “Hi, I’m Riley Stefano. Nice to meet you.”

“Cameron Harrington, and you too,” I reply, shaking her hand. As we move up and down, her bracelets jangle in a discordant tune.

“No worries if you don’t want to do this, now or at all. Cole mentioned you need a nanny, and as it so happens” —she holds her hands out wide as though presenting herself and smiles— “I am one. But no pressure.”

Cole shoots me a look that is definitely filled with pressure.

“No, I do need to hire someone. I’m just not sure if…” I give her pink hair, outfit, and decidedly youthful looks another glance, feeling my frown deepen. “Well, Grace can be a lot sometimes.” I say that at a near whisper so there’s no chance of my daughter hearing me, even if it’s the truth. “We’ve been through a few nannies over the years.”

Cole chokes but tries to cover it with a cough before repeating dryly, “Few?”

Okay, we’ve been through more nannies than I can remember at this point, although that’s cumulative over nine years, and not all of them left because of Grace. Some of them left because of me. Others left because they’d simply moved on to a different phase of their own lives.

But there have indeed been several who left because of my not-always-darling, verbally-unfiltered daughter.

Riley laughs at my attempt to sugarcoat the situation. “Look, I’m gonna take a wild guess that you’ve never raised a teenage girl, yeah?” She pauses, waiting for me to agree, which I do with the slightest tick of my head. “Me? I’ve raised five of them—myself, three when I was a teenager, and then my latest job was with Jordan, who recently turned sixteen, has straight As, is a star volleyball player, got her driver’s license after I taught her to drive, and no longer needs a nanny. You’re welcome to call her mom, Bianca, for what will be a glowing referral if you’d like. I can give you her number.” She lists off Jordan’s accomplishments with pride, like she had a hand in helping the girl achieve the impressive roster of successes.

Cole is grinning at Emmett, but I don’t think his reaction has anything to do with the unmoving, expressionless bundle in his arms and instead has everything to do with Riley’s skillful handling of me and my preconceived judgments because he notices everything and didn’t miss me taking in Riley’s appearance and being critical, even if only in my head. It’s not that I need a nanny who wears uniforms and fits some stereotypical mold, but the woman in front of me isn’t exactly inspiring confidence in her caretaking skills with her attire and hair. I mean, pink? Is she serious?

“Well, be that as it may, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure, I have some for you too. Shall we?”

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