Page 126 of Nine Week Nanny
"Wasn't the cousin supposed to take him after the nine weeks?"
"That's what the original plan was.” I twist my napkin. "Maybe they're waiting for the school year to start? I don't know. He never gave me the full story, so who knows?"
"Maybe." Angela doesn't sound convinced. "Or maybe Pope's just trying to keep things stable for Lennon."
I nod, not wanting to let myself go there. I’ve been working hard to remove any emotional attachment to them. The thought of Pope staying permanently in Palm Beach, raising Lennon, creates a melancholy I can't quite shake.
"Enough about the past." Angela straightens, her eyes scanning the bar. "What about the future? Specifically, the future that might involve the absolutely delicious man at two o'clock who keeps looking over here."
I follow her gaze to a tall guy with tousled light brown hair nursing what looks like whiskey at the bar. When our eyes meet, he smiles.
"Angela, no." But I'm smiling despite myself.
"Angela, yes." She grins wickedly. "It's been two months, Sloane. Two months of responsible adulting and building your impressive career. Maybe it's time to build something else, too. Time for you to get back on that horse.”
"I'm not sure that's a good idea." I glance back at the man, unable to deny he's attractive.
"Come on. When's the last time you even flirted with someone?" Angela nudges my shoulder.
"Before Pope? God, over a year ago." I swirl my drink, watching the liquid catch the light. "And I wasn't exactly planning to break my newest drought tonight."
Angela's eyebrows shoot up. "Newest drought? Sloane Brennan, we are fixing this immediately."
"Not every problem needs fixing." But a tiny flutter of something blossoms. It's the excitement of possibility, maybe, when he looks over again.
"Too late. He's coming over." Angela straightens, her smile widening.
The stranger approaches our table with an easy confidence that reminds me of—no. I shut that thought down. His suit jacket hangs loose over a crisp button-down, casual but expensive.
"Ladies." His voice is warm, a little rough around the edges. "Can I buy you a drink?"
Angela kicks me under the bar. "We'd love that. I'm Angela, and this is?—"
"Capable of introducing myself, thank you." I shoot her a look before turning to him. "I'm Sloane."
"Warren Carter." He signals the bartender. "What are you drinking? Next round's on me."
The conversation flows surprisingly easily. Warren asks about my work without the glazed expression most people get when I mention pediatric therapy. He laughs at my jokes, even the bad ones. For the first time in months, I'm starting to feel like myself again.
"So you're new to Palm Beach?" Warren leans closer.
"Relatively. Aren't most of us in Palm Beach, though? I've been here almost four months now. Still getting used to everything." I gesture vaguely at the room full of designer clothes and perfect hair.
"It's its own ecosystem." His smile creates creases around his eyes. "But worth figuring out."
Maybe Angela was right. Maybe I'm ready for this.
"I should probably get your last name if I'm going to ask for your number." Warren's gaze holds mine.
"Brennan. Sloane Brennan."
The change is subtle but immediate. His posture stiffens, and his smile freezes in place. He glances at his watch.
"Actually, I just remembered—" Warren stands abruptly. "I need to make a call. Excuse me for a minute."
He walks away, leaving his half-finished whiskey on the table.
"Did I say something wrong?" I watch as he disappears toward the restrooms.
