Page 56 of Worst Nanny Ever
“No,” he barks. From the look on his face, I suspect he would have taken off running if a dark-haired server didn’t choose that exact moment to come by with a pot of tea and a tray full of pastries that makes me wonder how those donuts are working for Travis.
Eugene peers at the server, perplexed. “We didn’t order anything. I haven’t even seen a menu.”
“Oh,” she says. “The owner asked me to send all of this over. It’s on the house.”
“That’s completely unnecessary,” he says. “I can’t accept gifts or bribes.”
“It’s for her,” she says, pointing at me. “She’s a friend of the owner.”
He puffs out his lips, as if waiting for me to echo his sentiments, but I grin at her. “I’m very open to both gifts and bribes.”
“Well…I don’t eat anything without knowing what’s in it,” Eugene says in a stodgy tone. “What if I’m allergic to whatever’s in there?”
“Do you have a food allergy, sir?” she asks intently.
“Well…no…”
“We’re good,” I tell her with a grin. “Thank you for bringing us breakfast. That was supercool of Dottie, and we’ll be sure to go by and say hey before we leave.”
“Oh, she’ll definitely be coming by the table to readyour fortunes,” the server says, glancing at Eugene as if he’s a strange creature she can’t wrap her head around.
“Fortunes?” he echoes.
I nod to her, and as she walks away, I say, “Yes, Eugene. This is a place where they read your fortune in your tea leaves. What do you think about that?”
“I think it’s preposterous,” he says, getting a bit worked up by the idea.
“I know, right? But the woman who runs this place is a friend, and she’s into it, so I let her have her fun.” I raise my eyebrows, hoping this will be a teachable moment for him.
He sighs. “You think I’m a stodgy old man who should just let you young people have their fun. I’ve heard plenty about the way you used to manage the tasting room at Big Catch. But I’m running a workplace, Hannah. Workplaces shouldn’t be bacchanals with everyone sleeping in each other’s beds and having…inappropriate relationsat the office. Nor is it acceptable for people to drink on the job.”
I pour us each a cup of tea, then grab a chocolate croissant. Waving it at him, I say, “You don’t work in a tax prep office, Eugene. You work in a brewery. You can’t run a brewery the way you’d run a tax prep office.”
“I disagree,” he says with a passion that tells me disagreeing with people is his true calling in life. “Any successful enterprise is run based on the same template.”
“What’s your background in?” I watch him over the rim of my cup as I take a sip. “I’m guessing you were an accountant, or maybe a teacher.”
His eyes widen with surprise. “A principal,” he says after a moment. “An elementary school principal.”
“Which elementary school?”
He chews his lip in obvious reluctance.
“Oh my God. What could I possibly do with that information?”
“Lakeshore,” he says, and I gasp.
“You just gave me that goose-over-a-grave feeling. My friend goes there.”
“You have a friend who’s a minor?” he says with a thunderous look. “That’s highly inappropriate.”
“Oh, relax, Eugene. I’m his temporary nanny.”
He waves a hand at me. “See, this is the problem with your method of doing things. This child is supposed to be a client, but you’re calling him your friend.”
I gesture back at him. “And this is the problem with you.No oneyou work with would call you their friend. If you want people to listen to you, you need to gain their respect. You have to treat them like human beings.”
He surprises me by sipping his tea thoughtfully. He pauses, twitches his mustache, then sighs and says, “Who’s the boy’s teacher?”
