Page 101 of Nine Week Nanny
"Oh, I get it. He files one, the court-appointed lady, whoever the fuck she is, says Chris isn't suitable, and the judge agrees, keeping things as they are. But then Chris can just keep filing these petitions, so what's even the point?"
"Pope, you need to calm down and think about this rationally. Yes, new evidence means he can file a new petition.He can’t keep filing endlessly, but every time you hand him new ammunition, he gets another shot."
"Fuck me."
"Pope, listen to me. We need to talk strategy. Can you come to my office?"
I stare out the windshield at the palm trees swaying in the breeze. I haven't even told Sloane about Chris. After finding out on Tuesday his petition was struck down, I didn't see the point. I figured it was over. He was a blip.
Now he’s back, and I’ve dragged her right into the middle of it without her even knowing.
Not only do we still have to deal with him, but now her reputation is on the line because of this fucking drama. And she has no clue.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
I pushthrough the front door at ten past nine, my body leaden with exhaustion. The house is quiet except for the soft clink of dishes coming from the kitchen. Yellow light spills into the hallway.
Sloane stands at the sink, drying a pot. Her hair falls forward, hiding her face from me. She doesn't look up when I enter.
"Hey." My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
She nods without turning. "Oh, hi, Pope."
"Lennon in bed?" I set my briefcase on the counter, watching her hands move methodically across the fabric.
"Fast asleep since eight. We went to the Children's Museum and then he had a good day at Seabreeze. He was exhausted." Her words come out measured, professional. Maybe she's tired,or maybe it's me, and I'm misreading it, but there is a line drawn between us that wasn't there last night.
I lean against the doorframe, searching for something normal to say. "Did dinner go okay?"
"Yes. We had pasta with broccoli. He had seconds."
The kitchen falls silent except for her rhythmic folding of the cloth napkins. This isn't the woman who laughed with me in my bed last night after we made love. This is someone else entirely, someone who won't even look at me.
"Everything alright?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
Sloane finally meets my eyes, her gaze cool and distant. "Fine. Just tired. Like I said, it's been a full day."
I recognize this dance. The polite retreat, the professional barrier sliding back into place.
Part of me wants to grab her shoulders and tell her everything about Chris, the photos, the custody hearing. But Warren's warnings echo in my head.
You can't be sleeping with the nanny if you're trying to show stability.
I nod instead, letting the silence stretch between us like a wall. "I'll be in my office for a while if you need anything."
"Okay, thanks. I'm probably going to turn in." She turns away, stacking the folded towels with mechanical precision. "Goodnight."
The formal goodnight lands like a slap.
Maybe it's better this way. If she's already pulling back, it makes what I need to do easier. The distance between us slices deeper than I expected, but I tell myself this pain is necessary. This is a shield protecting everyone from what could happen if I don’t.
This was never going to last, anyway. Lennon will move, she will go to her job, and I will move back to Denver.
"Goodnight, Sloane."
I turn away, each step toward my office is heavier than the last. Behind me, the kitchen light clicks off, plunging the downstairs into darkness. Her coolness lingers like a fresh bruise.
Instead of chasing after her, I let her go. This distance is the only thing keeping her safe right now.
