Page 129 of Nine Week Nanny
"So it's really happening." She sinks down beside me on the floor, back against the wall. “When I was here with you the other day I half expected that something would come up. But, you're leaving."
"Not much choice left." My fingers trace patterns in the carpet.
"Did you try calling Pope? Maybe he could?—"
"No." The word shoots out like a bark, and I instantly feel bad for taking out my frustration on her.
"Whatever's happening with the custody case, I can't be involved. We're both toxic for each other."
Tyler crawls off the blanket, babbling happily at his reflection in my laptop screen. The simplicity of his joy makes my throat tighten.
"Those pictures..." Angela's voice drops. "I saw them. It was private. Intimate. They had no right."
"Apparently, when you're sleeping with your billionaire boss during a custody battle, privacy isn't an option." Tears burn behind my eyes. "God, I sound like a Lifetime movie cliché."
"You fell in love. That's not a cliché, that's human."
The tears spill over. "I lost everything, Ange. My job, my apartment, most of my savings. My professional reputation." I wipe my face with my sleeve. "All because I was a dumb, naive girl who didn't think about anything past the moment."
Angela pulls me against her shoulder, her own tears dampening my hair. Tyler crawls over, sensing our distress, and pats my knee with a sticky hand.
"I'm going to miss Micah's science fair." My voice breaks. "And Tyler's first steps."
"And I'm going to miss having someone who actually understands what I'm talking about when I rant about homeschool curricula." Angela tries to laugh, but it comes out as a sob.
We cry together, mourning what's being lost. Not just my career and home, but this friendship that had just taken root.
Outside, the U-Haul waits. Sixteen hours of highway, leading me back to my parents’ house in Augusta.
Back to square one. Back to a life I thought I’d outgrown.
THIRTY-FOUR
Pope
I stare at the tabloid spread across my desk, the glare of my office lamp making the photos seem almost radioactive.
Sloane and me, caught in that private moment on the lawn. The night we thought we were alone, when she'd whispered against my mouth like I was something she'd been searching for.
Billionaire's Nanny with Benefits
My fingers trace the edge of the paper. Something primal builds behind my ribs.
The fucking vultures didn't even blur her face. They just plastered it for everyone to see, her career and reputation collateral damage in Chris's vendetta against me, his quest to rob his own son.
"Goddamn you.”
Chris. My father. The walking disaster who'd crawl through broken glass for money that isn't his. When the judge dismissed his petition and extended my guardianship, he couldn't stand losing. So he went nuclear.
My phone lies dark beside the papers. Three weeks since the photos hit. Three weeks since Sloane's name was dragged through the mud.
I crush the paper in my fist. The muscles in my jaw scream from being clenched for days. The rage is like acid eating through my chest.
I slam my fist onto the desk. The impact sends pain shooting up my arm, but I barely register it. I'd tried so hard to protect her from exactly this. I sacrificed everything we might have been to keep her safe from Chris, from the courts, from the scrutiny.
And for what? I failed at shielding her and I lost her.
My eyes burn as I remember Lennon asking why Sloane doesn't call anymore. The confusion in his voice gutted me when I couldn't give him an answer.
