Page 2 of CTRL+ME
Here goes nothing.
The house is something you see in movies, making my breath catch as I pull into her driveway. A huge “middle-class” home, but it’s probably a two-million-dollar house due to its location. It has a more modern exterior, with the white siding andblack garage door, but what catches my attention, and has me smiling like a fool as I walk up the steps, is the baby pink front door.
I knock twice in quick succession, and it opens before I even have my arm back down by my side.
She’s fucking stunning.
Like jaw on the ground, stunning.
And I can’t lie and say I don’t feel a little more comfortable when I see tattoos lining her arms, visible even under her short-sleeved V-neck.
She sticks her hand out, and with the sultriest voice, one like music to my ears, says, “You must be Lylah. I’m Tatum. Thank you so much for coming on short notice.”
“No problem at all!” Great, that sounded way too excited… She doesn’t look at me like I’ve lost it, though, and she doesn’t seem to be judging me. Hopefully, those are good signs.
“Josie’s down for a nap, so we can chat a little before you meet her, if that’s okay with you.” Again, her voice, it feels almost erotic to my ears.
I can’t have the hots for this woman.
She’s probably fucking married.
And if I’m lucky, she’s about to be my boss.
But most importantly, her daughter will be one of my patients.
They preach about this throughout school, and every time I would roll my eyes, thinking those kinds of thoughts would never cross my mind. But now, they are, and without my control.
It’ll be fine... I can stay professional.
TWO
COOKIES FOR TWO
TATUM
I was nearly at the point of giving up hope of finding care for Josie when the app on my phone dinged, alerting me to a new applicant. I begrudgingly stared at the screen, waiting to see another beyond underqualified teen applying because the pay was set high. As I scroll through the application, my jaw hangs slack. The schooling and completed degrees this applicant has far exceeded my expectations. Shocked? No. Maybe excited is the better word for it. I accept the application so that the app will allow me to view the profile behind it.
From her picture, she looks to be in her early twenties, with dark hair that appears to go past hershoulders, and maybe stretched ears. She’ll definitely fit right in at this house.
While I rock Josie to sleep for her nap, the spark of interest doesn’t leave me. It’s been so hard finding care for Josie that I’ve been pushed past my breaking point. Everyone is underqualified, or my gut screamsno.
Some would say I’m an overprotective mother—they would be right. Being a single mom to a baby girl in the ever-bustling SoCal is scary as hell. Not to mention, my own career choice—I make my living blasting my face online for views—the last thing I need is some creepy “fan” knowing too many details about our life. I keep everything that is Josie, my little nugget, away from the public eye.
A few more alerts ping on my phone, and I can’t ignore the application any longer. I type out, delete, and retype the message multiple times. Each time, I try my damndest not to beg at this young woman’s feet to allow me to interview her. My mouth is nearly drooling over the application and her credentials as my eyes scan over it again. She responds almost immediately. Lylah will be here in an hour.
Baking cookies in the meantime is definitely the move. I’m sliding the last few off the baking sheetand onto one of my favorite serving platters that never sees the light of day when the alarm system lets me know someone is in the driveway. I grab the hand towel from the counter and hang it back on its hook, give the kitchen bar a once-over, and head to the door to greet who I hope is Josie’s new full-time nanny.
Our conversation has been flowing naturally. Everywhere and everything between her education, why she decided to pursue this path, all the way down to her hobbies and niche interests. She’s adorable and alluring in all the best ways, and I can feel it in my bones that Josie will take to her instantly.
“How rude am I? Would you like a drink? I can get you water, sparkling or flat, green tea, or I do have a small selection of sodas if you’d like?” I offer her.
“Thank you. Is your green tea iced?”
What are the kids saying these days? That this is swoon-worthy? Whatever. A fellow iced greentea lover in my presence. Fuck, my toes are tingling.
“It is. One sec.” I give her a smile and make my way to the fridge. I don’t miss the way her eyes follow me the whole way. I don’t know if she’s learning my fridge, or me, but I’m obsessed with her tentative nature.
I extend the glass to her and watch as full lips take a sip, and her metal lip ring that wraps around her beautiful bottom lip clinks on the glass. They leave the smallest smudge of dark mauve lipstick on the rim before she sets the glass down on a coaster.
