Page 36 of Nanny for the SEALs

“NotThe Nanny. A nanny. For kids. The kids of the guys who kidnapped me.”

“Kidnap… girl, none of those words made sense in the order you said them. Does this have to do with the hotel last night? Did you find yourself a sugar daddy?”

I looked at the time. “It’s too much to explain right now. Go back to sleep. Your bear looks cold.”

Maurice glanced over at the lump next to him in bed. For a moment he seemed to waffle on whether he valued gossip more than physical affection. In the end, the latter won, and he curled up against the other man.

“Don’t do anything Fran Drescher wouldn’t do,” he told me as I slipped out the door.

Normally I would balk at taking two Uber rides in the same day, but I didn’t have to worry about money anymore. That was a pleasant thought. I plugged in the address Rogan had given me, got in the car, and rode it back across town. It was near the Four Seasons, in a commercial park with new-age office buildings that were two and three stories tall. The driver pulled up to one such building and parked.

“Is this the right place?” I asked the driver.

He shrugged. “This is the address you gave me.”

I stopped worrying when I saw Rogan walk out the front door. He gave a little wave, and I got out and approached. He gave me a polite kiss on the cheek which left me wanting more.

“Welcome to HLS Security,” he said. “Our offices are on the first floor, with the residence above.”

He led me through the front door, which had the HLS Security logo frosted on the glass: a shield, comprised of a single line that wound inward like a maze. The entryway immediately split off: there was another frosted-glass door leading into the security offices, and next to it was a stairwell heading up to the second floor.

“I have to warn you,” Rogan said as we took the stairs, “the kids are extra wild right now.”

“I’ve dealt with little hellions before,” I replied while staring at Rogan’s ass. “I’ll be fine.”

Fine like that ass, I thought to myself.

Rogan opened the front door to the residence, which entered into a wide living room space. There were two full-sized couches and three leather recliners in one corner, facing a big TV screen. A dining room table was to the left, with the kitchen somewhere beyond. The ceilings were high, loft style, and the floor was some sort of hardwood or laminate substitute.

But it was tough to see the floor, because the place was amess. Toys of all shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the room: Legos, action figures, dolls, bigwheel tricycles. Even bits of Play-Doh and splatterings of what looked like fingerpaint.

An animal-like roar announced two of the boys. One had a head full of black curls and the other was a carrot-top. The redhead was chasing the other, both of them screaming at the top of their lungs. The redhead hurled a little plastic cube at the other boy, which spewed a trail of brown sludge. I realized it was a pudding cup.

“Okay,” I said. “You weren’t kidding.”

“They’re demons.” Rogan pointed at the redhead. “That’s Micah. He’s mine. The brunette is Dustin, Brady’s boy.”

“I thought there were three.”

“Asher’s girl, Cora, is reading in the other room.” Rogan raised his voice. “Boys! Come here. I want you to meet your new nanny. Her name is Miss Hart.”

“You can call me Miss Heather,” I said.

The boys screamed and flailed their hands in what might have been a wave, but they were still too busy chasing each other to care. One of them—Micah, the redhead—grabbed the pudding cup and pulled back his arm to hurl it.

I snatched his wrist before he could. “What do you think you’re doing with that, young man?” I asked in my sternest voice.

His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. Clearly, he had never been scolded before. These boys were going to need a lot of discipline.

“This is food,” I said, taking the pudding cup from him. “In my house, weeatfood. We don’t throw it.”

The shock on his freckled face twisted into defiance. “This isn’tyourhouse.”

“It most certainly is. I’m the new nanny. Now if you don’t put this pudding cup in the trash, I’m going to putyouin time-out.”

He took the plastic container from my hand sheepishly. I let go of his wrist and nodded. He was going to obey, which would make me look good in front of Rogan.

But then Micah launched the pudding cup at my chest from point-blank range. Chocolate goop splashed all over my shirt.

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