Page 42 of Worst Nanny Ever
“I’ll clean it up,” she says and gets up off the couch, lifting both hands in the air. “I promise.” Glancing back, she takes in the trail of spilled soda on the couch cushion. “And that.”
I shake my head, and glitter sprays from me like I’m a unicorn. “The way you cleaned the undersides of all thecushions? Because, if so, I’ll have to turn down your very generous offer.”
Her lips teeter upward as she fights a smile and loses. “I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
“I notice everything you do.” I didn’t mean it to come out like an accusation, but she’s closer now, her bra so vivid against the white of her shirt. I want to nuzzle my head against her chest to give her some of the glitter she wanted, but I shove that thought down and say through clenched teeth, “Let me get you a towel.”
“I can get my own towel.” She reaches out and runs her finger over my eyebrow, coming away with glitter. “You’re probably going to need to take a shower. It’s too bad you already opened it. I was hoping Ollie would be around when it happened.”
First she flooded my house with her scent, making me think of her anytime I do anything. Then she messed up my Netflix queue instead of using her own profile. And now she’s annoyed because I got blasted by glitter at the wrong time? Anger pushes through me—the kind of anger that usually steers me straight to the music room to play. “You’re upset because I opened the glitter bomb you ordered for me,your boss, at the wrong time? I should fire you.”
She stands her ground, holding my gaze. “Just when I thought we were becoming friends.”
Her words prick my anger like it’s a thin balloon, but I try to press a finger over the puncture and hold onto it. If I’m pissed off, at least I won’t do something totally insane like kiss her. “You work for me.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Would you like me to call you boss man from now on? Or maybe Mr. Thomas?”
“How about sir?” I ask, part joking and part pissed.
“Why, Mr. Sir, all you had to do was ask.” She brushes some glitter off my shoulders. “Iamsorry. Ollie was feeling low, and I wanted to cheer him up, but I went too far. If it makes you feel better, I paid for it. I didn’t use the emergency credit card.”
“You sent one to Roland too?”
She nods, her gaze holding mine. “Along with some other stuff.”
I gesture for her to go on.
“I didn’t do anything bad. There was the glitter bomb, of course, and I got him some shitty magazine and catalog subscriptions, signed him up for spam mail, and sent him insulting cookies.”
“Insulting cookies, huh?” I ask, trying not to smile.
“Veryinsulting. I have high hopes that they’ll destroy his self-confidence forever.”
“That’s a big ask for a cookie. You think he’ll need to put on reading glasses to read the messages?”
“Hopefully not before he gets an eyeful of glitter.”
“And you did this out of loyalty to Ollie,” I ask, my feelings still on a roller coaster. I’m pissed that my house looks like a twelve-year-old’s Pegasus party just ripped through it, but I appreciate her devotion to Ollie. Truthfully, I want to rearrange Roland’s face—senior citizen or not, he’s a pox on humanity and deserves to be treated like one—but I’ve held myself back. I need to look squeaky clean if it comes down to a fight for custody.
“Of course,” Hannah says. “That asshole cancelled Ollie’s game subscription on his iPad.”
“iPad?”
“Oh, shit.” She lifts her hands to her face and speaks through them. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you about that.”
“Hannah,” I say, frustrated again. “You’re my nanny, and he’s a minor. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”
She lowers her hands. “How’s he ever going to trust me if I do that?”
“You work for me, not Ollie.”
Heat flashes through her eyes. “Yeah. So noted. Roland was paying for some kind of game subscription service on this iPad he gave Ollie, but he cancelled it. It sent Ollie spiraling, so I decided to make him feel better. And yes, all of this is very juvenile, but it’s also harmless, and he’s a kid. Juvenile is his language. But he didn’t want me to tell you about the iPad, because you already told him he’s too young for screens.”
“He doesn’t trust me,” I say, feeling deflated. I already knew that, but it doesn’t feel great to have my fear validated.
“So show him you won’t overreact to every little thing.”
“I’m starting to think you just enjoy giving me a hard time,” I say tightly. “Go ahead and get that towel. I’ll get you a shirt to change into.”
