Page 8 of Never Bargain with the Boss

Riley moves to a chair, gesturing to the couch, inviting me to sit in my own brother’s home like she has any right to do so. When she sits down, it’s not proper and formal like one should be for a job interview. Instead, she crisscrosses her legs in front of her, her knees resting on the inside arms of the chair, with her tennis shoes on the furniture. I eye her position from beneath one arched brow and wait for Cole to correct her since it’s his home. But when I glance his way, he appears completely unfazed by her ill-mannered posturing.

“I think I’ll refill Janey’s cup. She’s replaced her strawberry-apricot Red Bull addiction with strawberry-apricot ice water since she’s still watching her caffeine intake,” Cole says, excusinghimself to the kitchen, where he can absolutely eavesdrop on my conversation with Riley.

“Want me to start with the basics?” Riley offers.

I can’t help but relax a little. She’s making this easy, and I fully expect her to say something that will remove her from consideration in the next three sentences. When I don’t argue, she launches into a surprising ‘about me’ speech.

“I’ve been taking care of kids since I was one myself, going into foster care when I was five and being the primary caregiver in several of those situations. I saw lots of parenting techniques—some good, some not-so-much, some downright awful—and learned from them all. Ran away at sixteen—long story—and raised myself, finishing high school while working at a daycare that also had an after-school program, so I worked with newborns on up to age twelve. Since then, I’ve done what I’m best at—nannying for families with busy schedules, high expectations, and complex situations. I don’t have a degree, but I’ve taken loads of child development classes, plus CPR and first-aid certifications. I’m an excellent driver, can help with homework up through basic trig, do a decent job in the kitchen, and can coordinate with whatever other staff you have.” She glances to the side like she’s replaying what she said, thinking it through after it passed her lips, and then nods like she’s only just now approving it.

It's mildly alarming. However…

“Impressive,” I say, because her ‘tell me about yourself’ speech most definitely is.

She’s a hell of a lot better than some of the other agency hires I’ve interviewed in the last two weeks—like the woman who told me that kids need strict discipline or else they’ll go feral (newsflash: Grace is already dangerously close), or the one who loudly popped her gum the entire interview (Mom would’ve clutched her pearls at the sheer rudeness), or the one who flat-out propositioned me for a sugar baby situation then tried to backtrack by saying she was joking but would be happy to revisit it at her three-month review (no, just no). The best option I’ve had in the last two weeks is sitting across from me, looking at me expectantly, her long, dark lashes fluttering as she blinks. And suddenly, I’m not sure I care what color her hair is. Or at least, don’t care as much.

“Your turn,” she prompts, pointing a finger at me. I notice her short nails are the same color as her hair. It’s an unconscious sign of an ordered mind, one that I can appreciate. “I’m interviewing you too.”

That stops me short. She cannot be serious. Anyone would be lucky as hell to work for me and take care of Grace.

You really think so?

Okay, I don’t even believe my own bullshit on that, but I don’t like being made to feel like I’m the one under the microscope. That’s my move.

I hear Cole snort from the other room like he’s trying to suppress a laugh, and then there’s a clang of metal on metal as he stirs Janey’s drink. Oh, yeah, he’s listening and will likely have reported this entire conversation to our sibling group chat before I pull out of the driveway tonight. I can imagine the shit-talking now, and it sets my spine on edge.

I clear my throat. “It’s been Grace and me since she was three—long story,” I say, using her phrasing that obviously means ‘don’t ask for more’. “She’s twelve, going on twenty-five, is in seventh grade, has a couple of extracurriculars but spends most of her time at riding lessons or doing chores at the barn, and she’s probably a bit spoiled by my entire family, including me.”

Riley nods as I recite my own list, then asks, “And you?”

“Me, what?” I say as my brows furrow together. She looks at me like I’m stupid, which I don’t appreciate in the slightest, and I frown hard. It’s then I realize what she’s asking. “Oh, me?”I wave a hand dismissively because I don’t matter here. Grace does. “I’m a C-level executive at Blue Lake Assets, the family business. I work long hours, in the office and at home, but Grace is my priority. Always. I want her to receive the best care because she spends a fair amount of time with her nannies, so having someone she meshes with is important to me.”

She smiles approvingly, making me feel like a toddler who earned a cookie with his obedience. I scowl at her, hoping she shuts that shit down before I have to. It’s only when she purses her lips that I realize her approval might’ve actually been for my commitment to finding a good fit for Grace, not because I dutifully answered her question.

Well, fuck. Guess I’m earning my reputation as an asshole today, same as every other day.

“Long hours,” she repeats. “What does that mean? What does a typical day look like for the two of you, and where would I work into that?”

Who’s interviewing whom here?

I know what the answer should be, but I suddenly realize that I haven’t asked her a single question. She’s volunteered information and asked me questions, but I haven’t countered one of them, which irritates me more than it should.

I’m used to being the most powerful man in the room. I sweep into boardrooms and people quake, wanting to either impress me or remain invisible to me, depending on my mood. My presence commands respect, my bearing is that of authority, and most don’t dare to challenge me, much less cross me. Even at home, I don’t truly relax very often. I’m a man of seriousness and routine, two things I get the feeling Riley Stefano has never been in her life.

Despite her setting me on edge, I answer, “I wake up early, work out, and check the markets. Grace wakes up at six thirty on school days, gets herself ready, and comes downstairs forbreakfast, which the nanny usually makes for her, but it doesn’t need to be anything fancy. She’s been on a frozen pancake kick here lately,” I confess. “Around seven thirty, the nanny drives her to school and I leave for work. During the day, you could do your own thing, although there are household things I’ll need done—grocery shopping, laundry, getting school supplies, things like that. Grace gets out at four and will definitely try to talk you into taking her to Starbucks, which you can do twice a week. She does homework, or goes to the barn and then does homework, and after that, she has free time for TV, friends, or whatever. Sometime in there, you’ll make dinner, and when I get home, which is usually around seven, I’ll relieve you of your duties so that Grace and I can eat, spend time together, and do her bedtime routine.”

It doesn’t escape my attention that in listing everything out, I began using a generic ‘the nanny’ but by the end, I was flat out saying ‘you’, meaning Riley. I guess I’m more desperate than I thought. But I don’t think I’ve ever listed out our days quite so literally, and by the end of my recitation, I’m exhausted. And in truth, I’ve been living it, day after day. Great days, but long ones, nonetheless.

Riley has been listening closely and now nibbles her bottom lip as though considering all I’ve said, but before she can say anything, Grace and Janey come running back into the living room. Well, Grace is running. Janey is walking along behind her with a smile on her face, like always. She’s probably the happiest person on Earth at any given time. Cole says she wasn’t always that way, but since he brought her around our family, she’s perpetually smiling.

Janey keeps walking, beelining for Cole and her new son in the kitchen, and leaving the three of us in the living room.

“Did you hire her yet?” Grace asks me, nearly bouncing with excitement and sounding like this is all but a done deal.

“What?” I mutter, definitely not leaning that way. At least not yet, after only five minutes of conversation, despite Riley’s surprisingly remarkable resume. Especially given the way she’s acting a bit too in-charge for my liking.

“Do you two need a minute?” Riley offers, fighting unsuccessfully to hide her growing smile.

“Yes,” I say firmly.

---