Page 53 of Jett

“Close the door behind you,” Jett orders.

Ouch.

I face him, already knowing that this isn't good.

“When were you going to tell me about what happened at Abigail's?” He starts pacing around with his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed.

“I didn't have time to think about that,” I reply, truthfully. As I watch him, I start wondering who called him. As far as I was concerned, I was trying to cheer Brooke up. Her well-being was my main concern, then we put up the tent and then he called her down to dinner. I didn’t have time to tell him.Yet. “I would have told you, eventually,” I say, feeling as if I'm to blame, when I'm clearly not. I hate that he makes me feel like this.

“But you didn’t. Instead, I found out because Abigail called me.” He walks over to a wooden desk near the center of the room. A green banker's lamp stands on one side, but with his rolled-up sleeves, his bare forearms steal my attention. He presses his hands on the desk, flexing. All I see are his thick veins. It’s enough to kickstart my fantasies.

I drag my gaze back up to his eyes, forcing myself to focus.

“Abigail said you were out of order. You have been described as being accusatory, rude, and defiant.”

Trust her to call Jett to whine. “I’m not surprised,” I retort.

“Neither am I.”

“She and her daughter accused Brooke of breaking her doll—”

He cuts me off. “She didn't say anything about that.”

“What?” I gasp. “She didn't?” I search his face for clues. “Why did she call you, then?”

“Because you obviously made an impression,” he answers, dryly.

“This isn't about the broken doll?”

“What broken doll?” he growls.

I sink back, wondering what game Abigail is playing. “She knows who broke it,” I say, feeling smug.

“I don't know what you're talking about, but you can't be rude and shoot your mouth off when you're here.” I listen to him, frowning in disbelief. “Here, you must talk to people with respect. Abigail alleges that you were rude to her and her daughter, and that your behavior was threatening.”

“But she didn't mention anything about the doll?”

“I heard nothing about a doll! She said the girls had a disagreement.”

I chortle. “Jett. You've only heard half the story, and without the context—”

“You do not know these people, Cari—”

“I know enough about them.”

“There you go again! You cannot lose your temper, or insult them, no matter what the disagreement is about.”

“You only have half the story.”

“Cari.” Here it comes. This man is pissed and gritting his teeth together. “You were a guest at their house. You are here as a nanny. You have no right to talk to Abigail like that.”

“Her daughter made Brooke cry!” I raise my voice.

He stops and blinks. “What?” His eyes narrow to slits. It’s the first inkling I have that he's realized there's more to the situation than he's been led to believe.

I slap a hand to my forehead. “She really thought she could complain to you about me and I wouldn't say a word in my defense? Of course, I’m going to tell you what really happened. How incredibly stupid,” I mutter. I have a feeling that the doll problem has solved itself, because Abigail’s found out the truth. And it probably doesn't paint her in a good light. “Do you know what happened? Why I told Abigail that she and her daughter needed to apologize to Brooke?”

“You said that?”

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