Page 22 of Single Mom's Daddies
Her face softens. “I’m sorry.” She watches me carefully. There’s something on her mind. “So. What if I told you I found you a better job?”
I blink at her over a half-eaten dumpling. “A better job?”
She nods, eyes shining. “Yeah. One that doesn’t involve simulated banana penetration.”
“Tempting,” I say flatly. “What’s the catch?”
“It’s for a nanny position. High-paying. Full-time. Live-in.”
I set my food down slowly. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
I lean my head back against the couch again. “Lolita, you know I don’t do rich-people gigs. They either want you to be a live-in maid for twelve dollars an hour or they cry when you cut the crust wrong.”
“This isn’t that.”
“No?”
“No. This one’s different. Real money. Real boundaries.”
I squint at her. “You’re being weirdly cautious.”
She shrugs. “Because the clients are…Orlovs.”
I go still. “TheOrlovs?”
“Yep.”
“As in…tattoos-on-their-hands, might’ve-killed-a-guy, rumored-to-own-the-east-sideOrlovs?”
“Those exact ones.”
I sigh. “Lolita.”
“What?”
“You’re trying to set me up with criminals.”
“I’m trying to set you up with a paycheck.”
“They run the Bratva.”
“They run afamily compound. They’ve got a mansion, security up the ass—and they need someone to take care of the kids. That’s it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “With all my other problems, your solution is for me to work for the mafia.”
She grins. “Well, they’rehotmafia.”
I groan.
“And don’t call them mafia. They hate those guys.”
“Lolita—”
“Listen, Saffron,” she says, sobering. “Iknowit sounds crazy. But I overheard them talking about needing help with the kids. One of them—Roman, I think—was pissed because the kids are getting too nosy. Point is, they need someone to keep the kids out of the way.”
I exhale slowly. “Did you tell them about me?”
