Page 15 of The Christmas Nanny

I paused long enough to make Annette sigh. “It’s at a club in the Dark District. I promise it’ll be fine. The guy opens and closes car doors for women. How many guys do that nowadays? Tell me he’s not a keeper.”

“I don’t think you should go. There’s no such thing as an All-American boy. Everybody’s got something they’re hiding. You haven’t had time to see that side of him. All guys are pervs.” I laughed because that wasn’t true. Nothing in my life was worth hiding. Well, that wasn’t true. Maybe Anette was right. “You ready for that interview tomorrow?” Annette loved to change the subject when she was losing.

“Yeah, but that will never happen. You know that. Zero experience and zero love for kids. That will show immediately. I don’t even know why I’m doing this.”

“You’ve completely got the wrong attitude about this whole thing. You’re not raising them or taking them home like a puppy from the Humane Society. You spend a little time with them, shovel some food in their mouths, and set them in front of the TV. It’s that easy.”

“Do you understand the Quartermains are one of the richest families in the country? They will have a thousand questions and figure me out in the first fifteen minutes. I should cancel the meeting and be happy I have a job. Not too many people can say that.” I put food in Wigglebutt’s dish so he would stop staring at me.

“Do not cancel, Christine. You have to listen to what they have to say. Maybe the kids are self-sufficient. Maybe the Quartermains need someone around to ensure a responsible adult is in the house while they’re gone.”

“Okay. I won’t.” Maybe.

“Call me tonight when you get back from your sex party.”

I sighed. Annette would keep poking me about Jacob. “It’s a sexy Christmas party. And I will call you.” I ended the call and sat on the couch, thinking about Jacob. Annette couldn’t be more wrong about the man.

Wigglebutt knocked his dish off the counter, and it bounced across the kitchen floor. I felt like I was at a crossroads in life—a midlife midlife crisis. Telling people I was a nanny sounded worse than telling them I was an accountant.

I spent the rest of the afternoon anxiously wandering around the house, finding little things to do: vacuuming the same spot a dozen times, rearranging the fridge, moving shoes around the closet, and deciding what makeup to wear. When five o’clock finally rolled around, I pulled the Mrs Claus outfit from the top of the closet. I unfolded it from the box and laid it out on the bed.

“Shit!” I spread the legs of the one piece, and although it had a skirt, it was crotchless. “Okay, nothing to worry about. I’m not going to go in that direction anyway. At least not tonight.”

Wigglebutt pranced into the room, jumped on the bed, and sniffed the outfit. He turned away and curled between the pillows.

“It needs ironing, Wigglebutt.”

I took the outfit to the kitchen and unfolded the ironing board. Someone knocked on the door as soon as I plugged in the iron.

Wigglebutt raced from the bedroom and took his spot near the door.

“He’s early, Wigglebutt. You leave him alone.”

Wigglebutt licked his crotch, and I opened the door. Fuck!

“Wait,” Jeremy said. He moved his foot forward so I couldn’t shut the door. He smelled like alcohol and flowers, which was a weird combination. He pulled his hand from behind his back, revealing a bouquet of roses. “I was an asshole.” He pressed the flowers between my boobs and walked into the apartment.

“I didn’t say you could come inside, Jeremy.”

He went straight for the ironing board, holding up the Mrs Claus outfit. “What the fuck? You never wore this for me.”

“You never took me anywhere to wear it!” I pointed at the door. “Get out!”

Wigglebutt hissed.

Jeremey pulled back his foot as if he were about to kick Wigglebutt.

I grabbed the hot iron and waved it at Jeremy. “Get out.” Steam rose to the ceiling, and he watched with frightful eyes.

“So this asshole has you all worked up.” He backed away but didn’t leave. “You’ll want me back.” His arrogance was enough to make me puke. “You’re the one who can never get her shit straight. I’m the one always here to pick up the pieces and put you back together again.”

“You pompous asshole.” I walked forward with the iron, pushing the steam button. “I have a job. I have good credit. I have an education. I pick up your pieces, but unfortunately, your pieces never go back together again. You just blame everyone else! Nothing is ever your fault!”

“Good. I’m glad you agree with me.”

“Agree with you?!”

“Did you get more Mountain Dew?” he asked. “I ordered a pizza before I came up.” He crossed the room and sat on the couch. “Supposed to snow tonight. Wanna Netflix and chill?”

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