Page 20 of The Nanny is Off Limits

I narrow my gaze at him. “You’re already on thin ice, Sawyer Jack!”

“If you’re going to call me that, you might as well call me SJ.” He rolls his eyes as he hoists his backpack on his shoulder. “I have to meet with the counselor after school. So, see you at four?”And now I’m wondering if that was the cause for his sour mood.

“I’ll be here.”

He’s gone without another look toward me and I watch as he high-fives a few kids on the way inside.

The day goes by pretty quickly as I spend most of it cleaning and doing the laundry that had been piling up in the laundry room. Even though the house is fairly clean, due to a housekeeper that Mr. Kincaid hires to come in once a week, I took it upon myself to do some deep cleaning. I also spent a good amount of time putting my things away in my room which happens to be directly across the hall from Mr. Kincaid’s office.

I’m just finishing vacuuming the hallway when I cast a glance toward his office. The door is open and though it would make sense for me to clean this room like the rest on this floor, part of me is hesitant to go in without him present. I cross the threshold reluctantly, deciding that a quick spin around the room is harmless. His office is mostly dark with a large shiny mahogany desk currently littered with papers, but in that way it almost looks organized. A cognac-colored leather chair sits behind the desk that matches an L-shaped couch in the corner. There’s a fireplace in the corner as well and just above it is a television mounted on the wall that sits between two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with hundreds of books. I walk toward them and drag my eyes over the casebooks, encyclopedias, and assumedly other law books all organized alphabetically and then by size.

There’s a door that leads outside to a small terrace with two chairs and a small table where I also spot an ashtray with the remnants of a cigar. Next to it, there’s a hammock and I wonder how many nights in the past year he’s gone out there just to take a breather. I turn on the vacuum to finish up when something on his desk catches my attention.He doesn’t have a ton of pictures on his desk, just four solo pictures of each of the kids, but the one that catches my attention has all of them including their mother. It must have been when Isla was born because their mom is holding a pink bundle in her arms while Sawyer presses a kiss to Isla’s forehead. They are all staring down at her with bright beaming smiles and even though she’s not staring at the camera, I can tell how beautiful their mother was. Margot is the spitting image of her. Golden skin and luscious curls that were somewhere between blonde and brown. I know that she and Mr. Kincaid were divorced at the time of her death, but a part of me is now curious about the circumstances around their divorce.

Did he still have feelings for her? Are those feelings even stronger now that she’s gone and he’s dealing with not only his but his children’s grief?

I shake my head and turn away from the picture, refusing to let myself go down this road of questioning when it really should not matter.

It doesn’t. I’m just curious.I try to argue with myself while also trying not to cast another glance at the picture that Mr. Kincaid inevitably looks at several times a day.

Before I know it, it’s three and I’m back at Isla and Sawyer’s school. Isla comes running down the stairs toward me, her clothes slightly disheveled and her pigtails more than slightly lopsided.

“Hi, Ellie!” She twirls in a circle before launching herself toward me, wrapping her arms around me, and giving me a squeeze.

Remembering that she hugged me after only knowing me for a few minutes makes me wonder if she’s naturally affectionate or just trying to fill the void of a woman’s hugs. I kneel in front of her and tighten her pigtails.

“Hi! How was school?” I ask her while I pull her backpack from her and begin motioning her toward the car.

She’s already talking a mile a minute when I hear a woman’s voice cut through the conversation. “Excuse me?” I turn my head toward a woman wearing leggings and an oversized crewneck sweatshirt staring at me from over the top of her sunglasses. Her hair is a glossy chestnut brown with bouncy waves falling below her shoulders that can only be a product of a fresh blowout. She pans her gaze downward at Isla. “Isla, sweetheart, do you know this woman?”

“She’s my new nanny!” Isla cheers proudly and I give her a smile.

“Hi, yes. I’m Elianna Riley. Today is actually my first day, so you’ll be seeing much more of me.” I hold my hand out for her to shake and she gives me a smile in return that I am sure is fake before sliding her hand into mine.

“I see. I’m Abigail Covington, head of the parent-teacher administration. I…didn’t realize that Rowan was looking for a nanny. We have all been so worried about him.” She blinks at me a few times before looking me over, no doubt cataloging everything about me. “You’re a little young, no?”

“I…guess I met his age requirement?” I say with a small shrug, trying my best to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but I hear hints of it.

“You can’t be much older than Margaret.” She narrows her gaze.

“I think you mean Margot?” I correct.

She paints on another fake smile and tilts her head to the side. “Of course. Well, Elianna it was lovely to meet you and I look forward to getting to know you. Please let me know if you need help with anything.”

“Great.” I nod. “I’ll be sure to let you know.” I open the door for Isla to climb into her seat. I typically nanny during the summer and only for families, so I’m not used to the single—ornot-so-single—mom who sees the new nanny as a threat in her quest for the single dad. My eyes find her again, now standing with a group of other women all staring toward my car. I turn away from them and back toward Isla. “You ready to go?” She gives me a toothy smile and a thumbs up. “Great, now tell me about your day.”

It’s nearing ten-thirty when I pull into my driveway that night. I was in court for the majority of the day foregoing lunch, so not only am I exhausted, but starving and in a foul mood. The reminder that my nanny is also a built-in chef does manage to lift my spirits slightly when I walk through the door and can smell whatever she cooked. The house is mostly quiet but I do hear the low sounds of the television in the living room making me wonder who is in there.

I swear to God it better not be SJ.

I set my briefcase down and move through the kitchen toward my living room to see Elianna on the couch watching what looks like a true crime documentary. “Hey,” I say.

She jumps and presses her hand to her chest as her eyes dart to mine, wide and unblinking before she lets out a deep breath. “Oh my God, hi.”

“Sorry, I figured you heard me come in.”

“No,” she points at the television, “and these always make me a little jumpy.” She looks back at what she’s watching and then up at me and I notice that her face is completely void of makeup making her look even younger than usual.And still gorgeous as hell.She’s underneath a blanket so I can’t exactly make out what she’s wearing, besides a loose t-shirt that hides her curves and I find myself thinking about what’s beneath it.I chastise myself fornot the first time today,for thinking about Elianna that way.

“I like to be in a central place until a parent gets home, just so I don’t miss anything. I also find that kids feel a little intimidated in the beginning looking for me in my bedroom…” she rambles.

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