Page 7 of Protecting My Nanny

"So," Nicole adds, "we ordered some of her favorite breakfast foods. My treat."

I stand there silent, not quite sure what to say.

"You do need to eat breakfast, right?" Nicole asks. "And I'm sure you are at least a little curious about your nephew's week... our trip to the park... perhaps if anybody is being too usey."

"Let's eat," I say, smiling at Jaime.

The pure joy of me saying it lights up his face. It's a smile that fills me with happiness and shame all at once.

I sit at the table, where a steaming cup of black coffee sits beside my empty plate.

Nicole looks at me and smiles, then looks at Jaime. "Shall we pray?" she asks.

"Pray?" I question.

"Yes," she says, looking back at me. "We pray."

It's definitely not something his mom taught him, but I hold my tongue for now. I'll have some words with her later.

"Okay," I agree, bowing my head before the food.

I enjoy breakfast. It warms me up to Nicole. I also love seeing the smile on Jaime's face. It reminds him of times with his parents, I assume. After breakfast, I leave for my office. We agree to have dinner together. Meanwhile, Jaime and Nicole go for a walk.

I sit at my desk in my office, watching them from my window. They are heading down the woodland trail, and I can't help but notice how much she cares for Jaime. Even after they disappear down the road, I find myself thinking of her. The beautiful green of her eyes, and how her smile shines brighter than the morning sun. I'm thinking of her more and more each day, maybe even too much.

That evening, I go downstairs to find Nicole and talk to her about the praying. Our family is Catholic, so I don't necessarily have a problem with it. However, it should be discussed and not taken lightly by a nanny. As I enter the kitchen, I hear her singing in Italian while stirring a sauce on the stove. The song sounds old, traditional, and beautiful. I quietly observe her from behind, captivated by her voice and graceful movements. She doesn't notice me, so I take a moment to appreciate the scene. Despite wanting to speak, I remain entranced by her voice and theway she dances while stirring the sauce. The afternoon sunlight highlights her curves and hips.

Intoxicated by her presence, I can't look away. I imagine walking up behind her, smelling her neck, and expressing my desire for her. I picture her reaching back to stroke my face, pulling me closer until our bodies press together. I fantasize about how her butt feels, how her tight jeans would look sliding off, and how soft her skin would be underneath. But then reality hits me when she drops her spoon on the counter. I snap out of it, realizing that she's the nanny, and I'm becoming a walking cliché. I compose myself and swiftly leave the kitchen, needing to be in my office. I seek distraction in work, because all I can think about right now is her backside.

I spend the rest of the night in the home office, looking through financial reports and project proposals, trying my hardest not to think of Nicole. I watch as 7:00, our planned dinnertime, comes and goes, half-expecting a knock at my door, to which I plan to pretend I am busy. But it doesn't come. What does come is a text from Nicole.

Attached is a picture of Jaime sitting before a large dish of homemade lasagna. The caption reads:

Dinner?? We're waiting.

I hesitate to answer, but then respond:

Sorry, Nicole. I've got an emergency meeting. Please tell Jaime the same.

I feel tempted to add a sad face emoji.What are you, Shane, a college student?I tell myself. I send the message emoji-less.

No response comes.

I can't shake the guilt. When I finally look up, it's past 8:00, and the house is eerily quiet. Just as I begin to relax, my door swings open, and Nicole stands there, arms crossed, her face a mix of frustration and determination.

"Shane, we need to talk," she says, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation.

"I'm busy, Nicole. This isn't a good time," I respond, not looking up from my screen.

"Really? Because it seems to me you've been 'busy' avoiding dinner and avoiding Jaime," she retorts, her voice rising.

I finally look at her, feeling the tension build. "I have responsibilities, Nicole. My work supports this household. It ensures Jaime has everything he needs."

"Everything he needs?" she scoffs. "Like what? A roof over his head? Food on the table? Those are the basics, Shane. Jaime needs more than that. He needs you."

My patience snaps. "I hired you to take care of him, Nicole. To be there when I can't. Do you think it's easy running a company? Providing for everyone here?"

"And do you think it's easy for Jaime to lose both his parents and then have an uncle who treats him like an afterthought?" she fires back. "You're not just paying for his expenses, Shane. You're supposed to care for him."

---