Page 11 of Worst Nanny Ever
The sad thing is that it’s tempting. It would be so easy to hand over the reins to someone else—and if Rachel’s after my father’s fortune, she’d be more likely to put up with Ollie’s antics than Nannys One, Two, or Three. But I don’t want her to be nice to my kid because she thinks she can get something from it. Screw that.
“No,” I say tightly. “I don’t want a stranger living in my home.”
She looks taken aback. “But we wouldn’t be strangers for long. We’d have plenty of time to get to know each other while Ollie’s sleeping?—”
“He doesn’t sleep much.”
“I can help with that.”
I shudder at the thought of her force-feeding him melatonin like Nurse Ratched so she can make an unwanted pass at me in my living room.
Sure, she’s hot, and I haven’t been with a woman for months, but nothing turns me off more than a woman who’duse Ollie to get to my father’s money. I don’t like being used either, but this is many orders of magnitude worse.
“No, that’s okay,” I say. “In fact, I don’t think this is going to work out.”
She pushes her bottom lip out, which isn’t as sexy as she probably thinks it is. “He’d like me if he got to know me better.” Her fingers wrap around my bicep again. “You’dreallylike me.”
I make a show of removing her hand. “I don’t think I would. How’d you find out?”
“Find out what?” she asks, suddenly all innocence.
“About my father. It’s obvious you know who he is.”
I have his last name, sure, but it’s a common enough last name.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, lifting her eyebrows in a mockery of innocence.
“I think you do.”
Her expression hardens. “The only thing I know about you is that you’re in that band with the awful name and your son’s a horrible little brat.”
“Nice,” I say with a pissed-off nod. “The truth comes out. He’s a good kid, actually, and very talented at seeing through artificial people. Speaking of…would you have worn that outfit for your interview at the daycare?”
She gasps in outrage. “Howdareyou comment on my clothing!”
“Yeah, that was kind of a crappy thing to do, but I guess I take offense at people walking into my house and insulting my son. Have the day you deserve, Rachel.”
Rage flashes in her eyes, and she grabs a bouncy ball off the side table next to the couch—there are hundreds stowed all around the house now—and hurls it at me. I catch it easily, my reflexes honed by years of drumming.
“See, youcanplay catch!” Ollie says, swinging open his door, which must’ve been slightly ajar this whole time.
She grabs another ball, but before she can even aim it at him, I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but no, she will not be throwing a ball at my son.
“Go,” I say firmly.
“You’re anasshole.”
“And you shouldn’t be swearing in front of children.”
She stalks off but looks back at us before rounding the corner toward the front door. “I’m going to warn all of my nanny boards about you.”
Oh, fucking fantastic.
Then she leaves and slams the door loud enough to shake the house.
Ollie comes running out of his room, a huge grin on his face. “That was awesome, Travis.”
And, just like that, my kid gives me a high five.
