Page 1 of Falling for the Nanny

CHAPTER 1

CAT

I sat in the inevitable traffic jam that was Route 7 at rush hour, picking the glitter paint off my arm and checking my reflection in the rearview mirror at red lights. On Fridays, I drove straight from the Little Tykes daycare in Vienna to my bartending job in Great Falls, and I didn’t want my coworkers to have to pull stickers out of my hair again.

I could only see a little of myself in the mirror. Enough to tell me that the mascara I’d put on this morning was flaking off and I looked tired. Not older than my twenty-six years, but pale and drawn, like they’d been long ones. Luckily, the insane amount of traffic gave me plenty of time to fix my makeup and brush my hair into a high, perky ponytail. It also gave me time to stress out about finances. I needed to make money tonight. Rent was due in two days. My roommate/best friend Alyssa could probably spot me the difference, but I hated to ask her. Again.

I turned onto a narrow, winding road lined by mansions and wondered what it would be like to have this kind of money. Not just be comfortable, like my parents in the small house that they’d bought thirty years ago, but to have so much money that your driveway was practically its own road and your house sat on the lot the size of a football field. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to live in a house so big you could legitimately lose someone in it, but it would be nice not to worry about rent and utilities and groceries. To have enough left over to go out to dinner once in a while, or maybe even on a vacation.

“But you chose this,” I said aloud. “You could be in Chicago right now with Devon.”

As always, the memory of my ex-boyfriend brought a mixture of emotions. I missed him–or at least the idea of him–but I was also vastly relieved not to be in Chicago with him. He’d offered me everything I could have ever wanted if I went with him. He’d be making plenty of money, he said. I could get a job if I wanted, or I could focus on writing. Was I worried about moving there with him because we’d only been dating a year? Did I need a commitment? We could go to the jeweler right now.

I’d been tempted. Oh, I’d been so tempted. But it never would have worked. I just didn’t love him enough. So I stayed behind and continued working two jobs and working on my writing in between them.

“I chose this,” I said again, this time feeling more upbeat about it. It was better to be tired and glittery and poor than to be with the wrong person. I was sure of it. Too many of my friends had grabbed onto significant others like life rafts as we entered our senior year of college, holding onto them like they were the only thing keeping them from drowning. Now they were four years deep in relationships that should have been weekend flings, and I barely recognized some of them.

By the time I walked into the restaurant and saw Alyssa behind the bar, I was feeling downright cheerful.

“Hi sunshine,” she said, noting my bright smile. “Good day with the kiddos?”

“Oh, sure, they all are.”

She laughed like I was kidding, then tried to smother it. “I still can’t believe you like changing diapers and having babies burp up on you all day,” she said with a shake of her head. “And then you get to come here and have drunks throw up on you.”

I glanced around, glad the bar was still almost completely empty at 4:30. It meant I could relax a minute while Alyssa set up the bar. “You’re the only drunk that’s thrown up on me,” I reminded her, sliding onto a barstool and flexing my feet in my black, no-skid sneakers. “And I love you, but I’d much rather take care of babies than you.”

Alyssa made a face at me, but she didn’t argue the point. Nor did she bother to point out that the caretaking had gone both ways. In ten years of friendship, we’d taken turns getting the other home safely. I was hopeful we’d spend the next ten doing the same. And then maybe we’d find fabulous men, get married, and have kids and do that whole thing.

“How’s Parker?” I asked, hoping she’d tell me that she’d finally broken up with him. He was the major threat to my dream of growing old and immature with my best friend. He was straightlaced and buttoned up and basically every other boring description that existed. If he had his way, Alyssa wouldn’t even work at the bar with me. After all, he constantly pointed out, she didn’t need the money. Alyssa had majored in IT, like him.

“Parker is…” Alyssa hesitated. When Tom, our other bartender, rounded the bar, weighed down by two gigantic buckets of ice from the kitchen, she hurried over to help him. The ensuing clatter of ice made it impossible for her to answer my question, but I waited. There was something in the way she’d said Parker is… that put a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Parker is what?” I asked as soon as Tom had gone to take the buckets back into the kitchen. “Moving away?”

“Umm.” Alyssa hooked a lock of hair behind her ear and began straightening the bottles of liquor behind the bar. “He is moving, actually.”

I didn’t actually clap my hands together gleefully, but the glee must have shown on my face anyway. Alyssa saw it in the mirrors that lined the back of the bar and frowned at me. “He’s buying a condo in Reston.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. Reston wasn’t quite far enough. Alyssa and I had a townhouse in downtown Herndon, so really, he was moving closer. At least when he was in Arlington, there was about thirty minutes of highway between us.

“And,” Alyssa said, her voice speeding up like she wanted to get this next part over with, “I’mmovinginwithhim.”

“You’re what?” I cupped my ear.

“I’m moving in with him.” Alyssa turned around to face me, her arms crossed over her chest defensively.

I stared at her, open mouthed. I didn’t think she was kidding. Alyssa wasn’t the type to joke around, especially not about something as serious as this, but I still couldn’t quite believe it. “Parker?” I checked. “The guy you said cares more about his stock portfolio than you?”

“I was joking.”

She hadn’t been, I was positive. She had been three Truly’s deep when she told me, and even though Alyssa cried about as much as she joked, there had been a sheen of tears in her eyes. Another confession from that night floated up in my memory, and I seized on it hopefully. “You also said he was bad in bed.”

“I said he was technical.”

“You said selfish.” But even as I fought the battle, I knew there was no point. Parker checked all the boxes for Alyssa–he was from a good family, he had an Ivy League degree, he made six figures, and he was over six feet tall. Nothing I said would convince her she had the wrong boxes on her checklist. I couldn’t win, and if I kept trying, I might lose my best friend.

I watched her furiously wipe down the bar, even though it was still immaculate. Parker was right–she didn’t need this job. She still worked here because I still did. Because I needed the job to cover my half of our rent. Suddenly, a new and terrible thing occurred to me. If Alyssa was moving in with Parker, who was I going to live with?

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