Page 2 of The Christmas Nanny

I put the Chinese food on the kitchen counter next to the stack of bills I’d not opened, turned on the TV, skipped the news and loads of Christmas movies, and headed straight to HBO. I started watching a show last week about rich people treating the rest of us like shit and got hooked. The have-nots, especially me, were always intrigued by the haves. Someday, I would be a have.

I stripped in the bedroom and put on new panties and a tank top, thankful to be rid of the bra. I glanced at the drawing on the desk but then caught sight of my vibrator, sitting alone on the nightstand.

The vibrator had been a gift from Annette after I complained about Jeremy and his inability to bring me to orgasm. She informed me a lot of men had the same issue. No kidding. The following day she gave me something she found on the Internet—a vibrating, clit sucking sex toy she said was taking the orgasm world by storm. I tried it the first night and made it my best friend several times a week—another reason I needed to eliminate Jeremy.

I stopped at the pitiful Christmas tree in the living room, a five-foot-tall, plastic tree with a sometimes working star on top. I swatted at the star, and it blinked on. Most of the ornaments were either broken—thanks to Wigglebutt—or scratched—thanks to Wigglebutt. There were no packages beneath the tree, and there would be none at the rate I was going. It was going to be a very gift card kind of Christmas.

I read the mail and tossed the credit card statement on the kitchen table, trying to ignore the collection letters. I wasn’t making enough to get by, making me long for something more. Not getting by was sucking ass. I deserved more. Sure, the escort business had filled my bank account, but that had run its course. Why couldn’t I have a billionaire like in one of those smutty novels? A girl could dream, couldn’t she?

I grabbed the Chinese food and sat in front of the TV, feeding my face and anxiety. Just one break. That’s all I needed. Couldn’t the universe spare one moment of excitement? Couldn’t the stars align properly just this once?

My phone buzzed, and Annette’s face appeared on the screen. A text followed: Deacon said you need to look at this link. Check it out, and have a great weekend. Jeremy is still an asshole.

I opened the link, and it took me to an ad.

Experienced Nanny Wanted

I am a professional looking for a caring, responsible, and experienced nanny to care for my teenager. You will be a nanny with at least three years of experience in nannying, child care, or au pair work. You must love children and be mature, reliable, trustworthy, punctual, and well-presented. You will be required to work weekdays from 8 a.m.-6 p.m., with occasional evenings/weekends for which you will be compensated. We are a non-smoking household and would prefer a non-smoker. Your responsibilities will include:

Preparing meals.

Some cleaning and general housekeeping.

You will need a current First Aid certificate, background check, and driver’s license.

In return, you will be treated well and receive a fair wage and meals, have full use of the house, and be treated as one of the family.

I stared at the ad for several minutes, reading it repeatedly. Annette’s sense of humor could be trying at times. I didn’t know how to cook and had no idea how to manage a child, though I could google both. I reread the ad, my curiosity growing—no way the damn job paid more than my current salary, and no way it had benefits.

Shit. But maybe. I laid my phone on the couch cushion and stuffed my face with noodles. My parents would be super pissed if I quit my job to become someone’s maid. I could hear my father’s voice. “We didn’t send you to college to clean bathrooms or babysit.” I appreciated that I graduated with their help—they didn’t know about the student loans—but I would always be in debt to them, which just sucked sometimes.

“Hey stranger,” I said to Mister Wigglebutt when he entered the room, his meows demanding I put down the Chinese and feed him, his royal highness. “You are the wildcard, Mister Wigglebutt. I doubt very seriously I would be allowed to bring you along.”

He ignored me and went straight for the kitchen, jumping on the counter and smacking the empty food dish. He watched me as the dish moved closer to the counter’s edge, green eyes staring a hole into my soul.

“You wouldn’t?” I wagged my finger at the pretentious little ass.

Mister Wigglebutt nudged his bowl closer to the edge, answering my question.

“You’re going to use up all nine lives this evening if you aren’t careful.”

I fed Mister Wigglebutt and stood beside him while rereading the nanny ad again. My phone buzzed, and Annette’s face appeared. I put her on speaker. “What’s up?”

“Weekend plans are canceled. Deacon got called into work. A bus wrecked out on the highway, and the hospital is expecting multiple traumas.” She covered the phone and mumbled something to her dog. “I’ve got a bottle of wine if you got time.” She brought her dog over a few weeks ago, and the poor thing left with a clawed eye.

I glanced at Mister Wigglebutt. “You’re on your own, dude.”

He licked his paw and jumped down from the counter, my existence a thing in his past, my purpose for the evening served. “Twenty minutes?”

As soon as the call ended, someone knocked on the apartment door. Great. When I opened the door, my mood completely changed.

I stood in the doorway and placed my hand on the door jamb, blocking them from entering. “I thought you were in Cincy?” Each guy behind Jeremy held a game console. They were about to suck down the WIFI. “It’s not a good time.”

“Come on, babe, there’s a huge Call of Duty tournament on tonight. It’s twenty-five bucks apiece.” He stuck out his lower lip. Tell him to go to hell. No. Tell him to go fuck himself. “Give me a minute to clean up a few things.”

“That a girl!”

I closed the door on Jeremy’s shitty grin and went to the bedroom for a pair of jeans, slipped into a pair of comfortable shoes, grabbed my purse, and returned to the door.

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