Page 50 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Yes.”

“When can you start?”

“When do you need me?”

“As soon as possible, preferably.”

“I’ll have to put my notices in—”

“Just quit.”

“Would you want your employees to ‘just quit’ on you?”

“With an opportunity like this knocking on their door? I’d help ’em write the fucking resignation letter.”

“I—”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts me off, pulling his leather wallet from his back pocket. He grabs a bill and tosses it onto the counter. “Seven AM. Don’t be late.”

I nod once, and he doesn’t say anything else, just grabs his ice cream and leaves.

My eyes trail after him as he pushes through the door and climbs into his fancy SUV. His eyes find mine through the glass and he sits there, watching.

My eyes slide to the empty seat next to him, and I think about the last time I was in that car, when we were on the way to his house.

The sexual tension was palpable. The A/C was blasting cool air, but it didn’t stop the heat. When we stopped at a stoplight and he looked over at me with those kissable lips, I was certain we wouldn’t even make it back to his place.

I wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

I don’t know how long we stare at each other, but it’s long enough that it’s well beyond what’s acceptable for an employee and her boss.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I sneak a look at it.

UNKNOWN: Stop thinking about kissing me.

I look back up, but he’s already backing away.

What the hell did I just agree to?

Slice Seven

Porter

Idon’t know what possessed me to drive across town and beg Dory to work for me.

It could have been the way she kept sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Or it could have been the way my daughter took to her like she hung the moon.

Or maybe it’s because I’m a masochist.

No matter the reason, I can’t take it back now. It’s too late.

Yesterday, she moved into my home. Into my space. Into mylife.

To my surprise, she called me the next morning to inform me she gave both of her jobs a one-week notice—because she felt bad just leaving them completely hanging—and promised not to take another babysitting job while she was on my payroll, something I insisted on because she’s already been working herself to the bone. She could use the break from juggling multiple jobs. Besides, I pay her well enough she doesn’t need anything else. We both know this.

That same day, she came over to my house for the first time since she spent the night, and she’s been here every day since, getting acquainted with Kyrie. It wasn’t exactly what the contract we drew up spelled out considering she’s a live-innanny, not a live-outnanny, but I had complete faith she would eventually hold up her end of the bargain. Besides, she didn’t have any other options what with quitting and all.

The good news? My daughter is still obsessed with her.

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