Page 11 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
“Come now, if you don’t believe in fate, what do you believe in?”
“I believe in the law,” I say firmly. “It has rules. Boundaries. All of them spelled out. Even when legislators try to muck it up, it can be interpreted, applied. Understood. And when people can’t understand it? That’s what my app is for.”
Uzzi makes a dramatic yawn, then flicks an imaginary speck off his immaculate white suit.
“Fascinating. Truly. But what about love?”
“I love my kid,” I answer automatically.
He smirks like he saw that one coming a mile away.
“Obviously, I mean romantic love. You know, sweaty palms, racing hearts, inappropriate dreams, preferably about a mate you can’t stop thinking about.”
“Hard pass.”
“Stubborn Cougar,” he tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t make me enchant your phone to give me all your details, messages, and emails. My tech guy, Horace, is still upset about the last time I tinkered with his coding.”
I huff an annoyed sigh.
“You wouldn't. It’s illegal and immoral.”
His eyes glint with mischief.
“I would. And I already have.”
“What?”
He gestures. I look down.
Somehow, a glittery blue business card is already in my hand.
Date to Mate: Let Magic Help You Find What You Didn’t Know You Needed.
I scoff. “This is ridiculous.”
“Is it? Or is it exactly what you need?” he asks, already floating backwards on a breeze that smells faintly like enchanted sandalwood and smug satisfaction.
I should crumple the card.
I should toss it.
Instead, I slide it into my pocket with a muttered, “Fine. I’ll take a look.”
Uzzi’s laughter echoes like wind chimes. “That’s all I ask.”
“And if all it gets me is spammy emails,” I shout after him, “I’m blaming you!”
“Oh, darling,” he calls over his shoulder, “you’re welcome in advance.”
The Next Day
The summit ends early.
Not just we got through the final panel with five minutes to spare early—no, I mean a full day early.
Apparently, the Werewolf delegation from Quebec challenged the Norse revenants to a drinking contest last night and everyone agreed to call it a wrap when the hotel pool turned into a naked mud-wrestling pit of diplomatic shame.
So now I’m standing in my living room after quickly packing up my things from the Red Roof Inn (the one off exit 92) and driving back home in record time.
