Page 28 of The Christmas Nanny

“Beneath your tree looks as bare as mine,” she said.

I shrugged. “Still eleven days until Christmas Eve.”

“If you could have anything for Christmas, what would it be?”

Damn. Wasn’t expecting a question like that. “Other than world peace? I’d say painting the most perfect picture ever painted. It's better than the Mona Lisa, which I absolutely hate. It’s overrated.” I rested my hand between her legs, intentionally placing my pinky against her pussy. The delicious treat was again wet. “What about you?”

“Never thought about it.”

“Nows the time.”

She stared at the tree. “I lost my older sister a few years ago. I think I’d like to have her here to meet you. Minus the stuff in the basement.” She laid her head against my shoulder. “Thank you for dinner.”

I didn’t want to push her to say more about her sister, so I let that go. There would be plenty of time to discuss that and other personal things. “You’re free to spend the night if you like. I can drive you to your place in the morning, and we can go to the interview together.”

“Good. You’re taking the job.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to see what kind of shit they bring up in the joint interview. I don’t want this tearing us apart. No reason for it to be some sort of competition, which is exactly what I think they will try to make it.”

“They mentioned getting a divorce,” Christine said. “Usually, something like that gets out into the news.” She curled beside me on the couch, and I moved my arm around her shoulders. “How’re they keeping something like that quiet?”

“Probably trying to get through Christmas, then, Happy New Year, the Quartermains are divorcing!” I laughed, and Christine giggled. She shifted on the couch and laid her head on my lap. I snagged the blanket on the back of the sofa and covered her.

“Four days ago, we didn’t even know each other, and here we are,” she said. “Seems a little fast. I think most people want a slow burn.”

“Everyone has an opinion when they aren’t in your situation. Turn the tables, and most will do the complete opposite of what they originally told you they would do. What people want and what people actually do is often in opposition to each other.”

“You’re getting philosophical on me.” She pulled the cover to her neck, and I ran my fingers through her hair. I didn’t say any more about it, but a machine in the basement was waiting for us. I had the perfect canvas waiting. The camera was ready. I moved her hair away from her face and found her fast asleep. As we were, it would have been the most perfect picture of all.

***

Christine entered the kitchen wrapped in a blanket, the same blanket I’d wrapped her in before carrying her to the bedroom last night. She’d slept alone while I took the bed in the spare bedroom.

I poured a second cup of coffee and added a modest amount of milk. “Sugar?”

Christine shook her head. “A little.” She sat on a stool by the kitchen island. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

I shrugged. “Not a big deal. We both needed a good night’s sleep before meeting with the Quartermains.” I went back to the eggs and bacon on the stove. “Really think we can do this?”

“Co-nanny?” she asked. “I think we can make it work for the money we’re paid. How hard could it be to manage a teenage girl?”

We stopped and looked at each other. “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of. I think it’ll be a bitch. I think she’ll challenge us at every turn. I think she’ll go and complain to the appropriate parent every time we try to do something we think is right but that she doesn’t like.” I dished eggs and bacon on two plates. “I could make oatmeal if you prefer.”

“A real woman eats bacon,” she said and dug in.

“While you slept last night, I tried to find anything on the Internet about Samantha Quartermain. Not a damn thing.”

Christine finished chewing and put her fork down. She had greasy lips, and I considered swooping in for a taste. “Probably trying to keep her out of the news. Save her sanity.”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird.”

“You know what else is weird,” Christine said. “I didn’t see one family picture in the office or hallways.”

She was right. It was all art, except for the ego-feeding pictures of Stephanie and celebrities in her office. “I think we have to be careful with what we’re walking into. It’s a lot of money, but damn, it seems fucked up.”

Christine finished breakfast, and we left for her place.

While waiting for Christine at her apartment, me on the couch, Christine showering, I got up and walked to the porch, parting the blinds to look at the parking lot. The black Mercedes that followed us from my house to her apartment sat in the parking lot, out of place with the older model cars parked around it. The tinted windows made it impossible to see who was inside. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know the Quartermains were having us followed.

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