Page 23 of Nine Week Nanny
I figure this has to be Camila.
Her hand rests on the shoulder of a small boy trailing behind her. Lennon.
My breath catches.
He's so small. How did I not know how small a seven year old is?
His thin shoulders fill out a blue t-shirt with planets scattered across it, and his dark hair falls into his eyes. Those big, brown eyes scan everything, appearing to miss nothing.
Behind them follows a woman with auburn hair streaked with gray, chin held high with the confidence of someone used to making difficult assessments. She must be Dana Black, the guardian ad litem. The court's eyes and ears.
I move forward to meet them, extending my hand to Camila first.
"Pope, thank you for doing this." Camila's grip is firm, her eyes direct. "And thank you for sending the plane for us. It was much better than a four-hour drive."
"Of course." I turn to Dana. "Ms. Black. Thank you for accompanying them."
Dana studies me with clinical detachment. "Mr. Carrigan."
Then I face Lennon. I kneel down to his eye level.
The resemblance catches me off guard. He doesn't remind me of Chris, thankfully, but something in the set of his jaw reminds me of photos of myself at that age.
He's wary and watchful.
"Lennon, I'm Pope. It's good to finally meet you."
His eyes dart between my face and the ground. He nods once, then looks back at the sleek aircraft behind him. "That's your plane?"
Something shifts in my chest. "It was yours for the day."
A flicker of genuine interest crosses his face before his expression shutters again. Camila's mouth lifts slightly at the corners, but Dana continues her silent assessment, cataloging every interaction.
"Let's get you settled," I gesture toward the waiting SUV. "We have someone special coming to meet us at the house, so we should probably get going."
As we slide into the vehicle, Lennon's hand releases Camila's. He presses against the window, watching the jet grow smaller behind us.
Then those large brown eyes shift, finding mine across the leather seats. The look is brief but penetrating. He's sizing me up, measuring me against some internal standard I can't begin to guess at.
He turns back to the window, but that look stays with me as we exit the airport gates. It's a silent question, like he’s already decided if I measure up.
And if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure I do.
SEVEN
Sloane
I wipe my sweaty palms against my black slacks one more time before approaching the massive beachfront home. The stunning structure is all clean lines and gleaming windows that reflect the morning sunlight.
Taking a deep breath, I mentally run through my interview answers again.
Stay professional. This is just another job, and I'm overqualified, to boot. I've got this.
The doorbell chimes softly inside when I press it. Seconds later, the heavy wooden door swings open to reveal a woman with dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Stress lines frame her eyes, but her smile seems genuine.
"You must be Sloane Brennan." She says with a slight accent. She extends her hand. "I'm Camila Reyes. Thank you for making this time work on such short notice."
"It's nice to meet you." I shake her hand, noting her firm grip.
