Page 12 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
And for the first time in a long while, I feel completely unsure of what to do next.
I leaveEmily’s room with a dull ache in my chest and head back down the stairs. I’m halfway to my office when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Cole.
I answer with a grunt. “Yeah?”
“Hey, just checking—you planning to show your face around here today or are we pretending you’ve retired?”
“I can’t leave,” I say. “No sitter.”
A beat of silence. Then: “Still can’t find the perfect nanny, huh?”
“Go to hell,” I snap.
Cole chuckles, unbothered as ever. “Look, I just need to know if you’re handling the Prescott group check-in this afternoon or if I should rearrange the schedule.”
“You should rearrange it,” I say flatly. “I’ve been patching busted pipes and running payroll all week while you played hooky with the Marianne Situation. It’s your turn.”
“Damn, man. I was just asking.” His voice loses its edge. “I’ll handle it. Chill.”
I close my eyes, exhale slowly. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Just wanted to make sure you were good. You don’t have to bite my head off.”
He hangs up without waiting for a reply.
I feel like a jerk.
Again.
I finally make it into my office and sit at the desk—bare wood, scarred edges, drawers that stick—and wake the monitor. I log into the Carter Ridge booking system to check reservations, but the screen’s barely loaded when the phone buzzes again.
Caleb.
I consider ignoring it. I don’t.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
I don’t need to ask what he means.
“It didn’t,” I say.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she’s not the right fit.”
“Why?” His tone sharpens.
“She doesn’t have experience with grieving kids. She’s not local. She’s temporary.”
A pause. “That’s a lot of assumptions.”
I shift in my chair. “I have my reasons.”
“No, Grant. You have your excuses.”
