Page 132 of Worst Nanny Ever
Dottie responds immediately:
I sensed some trouble in the air, my dear.
Yeah, right. More like Eugene texted her the intel. I’ve seen their super active chat window. Honestly, I don’t know how Dottie finds the time.
You take the time you need. Bear and I would be delighted to have him stay with us tonight—what a treat! If that would be acceptable, let me know, and I’ll plan on it. We have some pajamas we keep here for my grandchildren’s visits.
I ask Travis, and he nods. “Yeah, that would probably be best.”
I fill Dottie in on the situation, and she sends back a photo of some crystals. I’m not sure whether they’re supposed to be inspiring to Travis in his time of emotional upheaval, or if she’s doing some craft with them, so I send back a thumbs-up.
“Sounds like they’re having fun,” I say to Travis.
“Good,” he says. Then, as I turn on the ignition, he says, “Let’s go to your apartment. I want to see it.”
“Uh, it’s a bit messy.”
He smiles at me. “I had every expectation it would be messy.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you to a doctor? What if you have internal bleeding?”
“I don’t have internal bleeding,” he says tightly. “He didn’t hit me hard enough.”
“It sure looked like he did,” I say, feeling the righteous burn of anger.
“He threw weak punches on purpose,” he insists. “I hit him harder.”
I’ll have to take his word for it. It looked like Bixby hit him pretty damn hard.
I drive to my apartment, feeling my nerves prickle, because I honestly don’t remember what it looked like before I left this morning. At least the glitter bomb didn’t go off in my place, but I’m pretty sure there are some clothes strewn across the floor, and a half-finished fashion project on my mannequin.
Not that Travis is going to care. He’s obviously in the middle of a mind storm. I know what it’s like to have someone you love turn on you. Margaret and I were close before things went south between her and Liam. I’d thought it was the kind of friendship that would stick.
I keep stealing glances at him as I drive, and finally he cracks a smile and says, “I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d keep your eyes on the road, Hannah. Every time you do that, the car veers.”
At least he’s making jokes.
I park in the lot in front of my building, feeling a little ashamed, because I’ll be honest, the place is a total dump.
“It’s not quite what you’re used to,” I say wryly.
He sits back, not getting out yet. “I forget sometimes,” he says thoughtfully. “A lot of things haven’t been great for me, but I’ve never had to worry about money. I should have been more understanding with Bixby. Maybe it wouldn’t have come to this if I had been.”
I give him a look of pure disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You don’t need to be understanding. He’s a tool. He?—”
“He’s right. I started The Missing Beat because I thought it would give Rob and me purpose. I told Rob I got some grants that never came through. I paid for a lot of it myself.”
“How dare you,” I say, deadpan.
He smiles, shaking his head. “But I didn’t do anything like that for Bixby. I could have. We’ve been friends for years.”
“The only thing he wants is to be famous. You can’t makehim famous. If you guys did the whole dumb sailor suit thing, you’d be a joke. It would make the news for a week or two, but then no one would care.”
He nods, but his jaw is still tense. “He called you a bitch. I’m not going to forgive him for that.”
“How about not forgiving him for stabbing you in the back?”
“Yeah. That too.”
