Page 1 of Third Time Lucky

Chapter One

Joey

Today is brought to you by the letter B and the word Balls.

That’s the best five letter description of the day I’m having. The clock started as soon as I stumbled downstairs for a hot cup of cockblocking my brother JD in his own house, getting an eyeful in the process that may have scarred me for life.

An eyeful of Marine balls.

I guess five days is the limit of company they can take before their restraint gives out and things get freaky outside of the bedroom. Like I couldn’t already hear them through the walls. God help them if they finally decide to become parents.

They’ll appreciate Uncle Joey then.

After calling a car to drive me to the new offices instead of hitching a ride with my embarrassed brother-in-law, I found the painters already hard at work, and the lifestyle reporter lying in wait, two hours early for our scheduled interview and armed with enough questions to fill a few biographies.

She’s sitting across from me in the only finished office that has furniture. The walls are a soothing light blue-grey. Spring Thaw, I think they call it. There’s a cluttered desk I’ve been using for work calls, a few chairs, and my thinking trampoline. I pushed that into the corner in the hopes she’d think it was some weird piece of pricey, modern art.

I’ve seen stranger things in galleries.

I should have rescheduled when the place looked more polished, I know. But I wanted to get this over with, get the keys to my new apartment and start settling in.

Leona—the blonde, suspiciously smirking interviewer—starts out exactly the way I expect her to, with several softball introductory questions like, how did I like the city so far and do I have any pets. Then she dives deeper.

“How did Joey Redmond go from afterschool babysitter to an under-thirty millionaire and owner of one the most successful professional nanny placement agencies on the West Coast?”

My only answer for her interview is, “Big question. I suppose the short answer is hard work, good timing and a dedicated team.”

The fact that the initial seed money came from my first team member, best friend and silent partner is not something I’m allowed to disclose yet. If ever. I’m working on it.

I also don’t tell Leona that in my opinion, at least some of our success had to do with changing our company’s name. The Nanny Hub was what we originally called our service, and it’s still the name I privately prefer. Hubs are the nerve center. The heart. I was convinced I was a genius for coming up with it in high school.

Unfortunately, by the time we were ready to make it official, it had also become synonymous with porn. You do not want to know how many emails and phone calls we got from people expecting X-rated Mary Poppins action. Some of those requests were traumatically specific.

We ended up changing it to the more generic J&T Nanny Placement, and that did the trick. Seven years later, we’ve got multiple offices dotting the West coast, over a dozen skilled managers in charge of our large stable of childcare professionals, and a long list of satisfied customers.

She doesn’t blink at my brevity, but moves on to her next question with a spark in her eye that makes me wary.

“J&T is nearly as well known for its charities and community outreach to at-risk children as it is for your league of extraordinary nannies. How important is it to you to give back? And does it have anything to do with your own traumatic background as The Redmond Rescue back in Washington, before you were taken in by your foster parents?”

The woman has obviously done her homework and is looking for her Barbara Walters/Oprah moment, waiting for me to tear up and share all the horrors of my past. I’m not falling for it. Outreach is hugely important to me, and of course my own childhood has shaped that. But I don’t like to think about life before Rick and Matilda took me in. They are the reason I thrived, and they’ve been my biggest champions for most of my life.

I make sure they get the praise they deserve, name drop several youth programs that could use the plug and stymie Leona at the same time. If you could see the way she’s looking at me, you might want to stymie her too.

She’s making me so tense I’ve already gotten my small suede juggling balls out of the desk drawer and started squeezing.

What? I juggle. Some people bite their nails. At least my anxiety is entertaining.

“Why did you decide to personally oversee the opening of this new office on the other side of the country, Mr. Redmond? It can’t be for our mild winters. Are you simply looking for a new challenge?” She looks at me with an innocent smile and the eyes of a shark scenting blood in the water. “Or does it have something to do with Senator Stephen Finn’s rather notorious wife? Natasha Finn has been very vocal in her approval of your relocation. How long have you two known each other? This city has fallen in love with their adorable twin boys, as I’m sure you’re aware. Has she already requested your services?”

That question gets me out of my chair, juggling balls still in hand. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the Finn family recently suffered a shock, after two members of their family were nearly lost in a fire. The same fire they were hard at work attempting to put out. One of those heroes, Noah Finn, has been through multiple surgeries and is still recovering from the excessive damage done to his body.”

She uncrosses her legs, her smile fading. “My readers have all been praying for his full recovery.”

I lean on the desk, making sure to hold her gaze. “So has his family, a few of whom I happen to know. Even in the hospital, struggling for his life, Noah’s concerns were centered around his child. We flew out one of our most successful and accredited caregivers to help with young Zachary so he wouldn’t be forced to leave his father’s side during the long recovery process. Mrs. Finn, as well as the rest of her family, was appreciative of our company’s efforts and believed we would bring both jobs and necessary services into her husband’s district. I happen to agree with her.”

The rest of my reasons for moving here are not anything I’d be willing to share with the reporter I’m starting to believe is working on more of a gotcha article than the home-and-gardens puff pieces she’s normally known for.

It’s not helping with my stress levels. Which, incidentally, is one of those reasons I’m not telling her about. According to my doctor, I have minor anxiety and a borderline blood pressure issue. My partner and my foster mother were both adamant that the diagnosis meant I needed a change. A fresh start away from my “hub” and disappointing love life so I can learn how to relax. Or something.

---