“Who the fuck are you?”
“The nanny.” She quivered as I walked out of the elevator, and she took a step back.
I shook my head. “You’re not Bianca.”
It was clear she wasn’t the girl Rick had interviewed. He said he’d hit the lottery by getting someone like her to work for him. The one he’d hired came from Spain. She worked with one prestigious family who gave her glowing references. The only reason she left them was because the dad had a job in Japan, and she came to America to improve her English, so she stayed. She was at least five foot seven, and she’d been to the penthouse twice. She was due to start on Monday. The only reason she was due to start today was because I texted the girl at the agency and asked if they could contact her. They said she did, so where the fuck was Bianca, and who was she? I knew she wasn’t Bianca—especially since I had already met her—and this girl was at least a few inches shorter than her, had dark hair, and looked as if she finished her shift at a diner or something because she had more grease stains on her black shirt than I did. Talking of food, she looked as if she could do with eating all or even half of the pizza I had ordered since her clothes hung on her.
She replied, “No.”
I knew I shouldn’t have got involved in this mess. I could imagine Rick and Pete having something else to throw at me. They would have a dig and call me heartless for leaving the kids with some stranger. I didn’t; I thought I left them with Bianca.
I was about to say something, but the doorman rang about the pizza. I would deal with her later; food came first, and I’d dealt with enough shit tonight. I couldn’t deal with anything more, not until after I’d eaten.