Page 20 of Protecting My Nanny

"I'm around if you need me," he says softly.

"Thanks, Shane," I reply, my heart still racing long after he's gone.

The weight of everything starts to settle in. My thoughts drift back to Giovanni, the uncertain future, and the complicated feelings I have for Shane. I don't know how this will unfold, but one thing is clear—I'm in deeper than I ever planned to be.

And there's no turning back now.

Chapter 9

Shane

I feel like I'm changing for the better. My bond with Jaime has strengthened, and I'm connecting with people more. Jaime and Nicole have taught me to trust again, to accept help, and to let others take the lead sometimes. One such person is Oliver, who's become somewhat of a protégé. He shows promise and potential, and instead of feeling intimidated by the younger, possibly smarter, department head, I find myself intrigued and eager to mentor him.

Our lunch training session is in full swing. The office buzzes with quiet efficiency, the hum of the air conditioner blending with the clatter of keyboard strokes. The smell of reheated lasagna and freshly brewed coffee fills the room.

"Selling the product is easy," I say, my tone measured as I look across the desk at Oliver. He's seated with a plastic container of microwaved lasagna in front of him, a plastic spork in hand. His eyes are focused, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. "What you're really selling is the promise. The promise is the key; it unlocks their interest, trust, and loyalty. The catch is that they'll only buy into your promise if you've already sold them on you—through your pitch or the company's reputation. The product just needs to be useful to the client. And even if it's not, the promise can convince them that it is."

Oliver nods thoughtfully, pausing to jot down my words with a small pencil in his notepad. His hunger to learn is palpable, and I know he's on the right path to mastering the intricacies of this business. Beside him, Kristen is typing away on her laptop, capturing every word as it's spoken, her fingers moving swiftly over the keys. She's always thorough, ensuring nothing is missed.

The room is quiet except for the occasional tap of Kristen's keyboard and the soft whir of the air conditioning. Oliver looks up from his notes, curiosity evident in his eyes. "So what's the best example of a promise you think you've sold or are currently selling?" he asks, genuinely interested.

"The best promise," I reply, leaning back slightly in my chair, "is one that comes from understanding the customer's specific needs. It's about listening more than talking. If they've had a data breach in the past, I promise them that our product can prevent that. But it's not just about security—it's about peace of mind. If they suffer from a bad reputation, I show them how our services can help rebuild trust through reliability and a strongpublic image. For instance, if a client has dealt with subpar providers who missed deliveries or failed to meet deadlines, I don't just tell them we'll do better—I introduce them to our satisfied clients who can vouch for our track record. The key is not to promise that we willnevermake mistakes—that sounds desperate. Instead, I assure them that we are better than anyone else on the market because we have systems in place to ensure those mistakes don't happen."

"Think of it this way," I continue, leaning forward slightly, "every pitch—" My phone buzzes on the desk in front of me, interrupting my train of thought. Nicole's name flashes on the screen, and a sense of unease settles in my chest.

"One minute," I say, picking up the phone and stepping out of my office into the outer lobby. "Hello," I answer.

"Shane, Jaime's had a bit of an accident. He's fine, but we're at the hospital now."

My heart drops in my chest. "What happened?"

"Something at school—playing with some other kids. His injuries are minor, okay? I don't want you to panic."

I can hear the concern in her voice, but her reassurance does little to calm the rising fear in my chest. "Which hospital?" I ask, already heading toward the elevators.

"Silver Oak Medical. We're on the third floor now."

"I'm on my way," I say, hanging up the phone.

I open the door to my office, my mind racing. "I need to run; Jaime's had a minor accident."

Kristen immediately looks up, her expression concerned. "Of course, Mr. Matthews."

Oliver echoes her concern. "Yes, take care."

"It's small—no need for concern," I add, trying to reassure them as much as myself. They both give me a final farewell as I close the door and head for the elevators.

I take the quickest route to the hospital, weaving through midday traffic. The streets blur as I speed toward Silver Oak, trying to convince myself that everything is fine. Nicole would have alerted me if something were seriously wrong, but the familiar rush of anxiety gnaws at me. The race against traffic, the destination—it's too much like before.

Claire. I've done this before, recently even, and that's why my heart is pounding, why I can't stop myself from speeding. I keep telling myself he's fine, but the words bring no comfort. I need to see him.

The anxiety worsens as I reach the hospital. My heart races as I step out of the elevator onto the third floor. The sterile smell, the beeping of machines, the low murmurs of hospital staff—it's all too familiar. I keep expecting the worst, to see that same doctoronce again telling me they've done all they can, that there's nothing more they can do.

I approach the nurses' station, ready to ask for Jaime's room, but then I hear her voice.

"Shane." Nicole's voice is soft but steady as she gestures to me down the hall.

She must see the worry etched on my face, because as soon as I reach her, she places a hand on my chest. "Shane, he's fine," she says, her touch grounding me, pulling me out of the panic. "He's got a minor fracture to one of his fingers; it will heal, and he'll be fine." Her words are calm and reassuring—exactly what I need to hear. Somehow, she always knows what I need to hear. And it works. I feel myself begin to calm down.

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