Page 7 of Puck Your Nanny

Before I can even reach for him, Willow is suddenly beside me, her bracelets clattering. "Oh, the poor little star seed! His aura is clouded with distress!"

She reaches into the crib, but William recoils, his cries intensifying. He turns his head away from her outstretched hand. He’s never reacted to anyone like this before, not even me.

"Perhaps a cleansing chant?" Willow pulls a small, oddly shaped crystal from her pocket. "It helps to dispel negative vibrations."

"I think he just needs a diaper change." I gently push her hand aside. I pick up William, who immediately starts to calm down, snuggling against my shoulder; the first time he's ever done that, it fills me with joy. Even at three months old, he clearly knows who he doesn’t want near him.

I carry him back to the dining room, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. I keep my voice even, fighting to not let my tone betray my growing panic. "Willow, I appreciate your... unique approach, but I don’t think this is going to work."

She looks surprised. "But I haven’t even shown you my collection of healing stones! Or demonstrated my intuitive baby massage techniques!"

"I’m sure they’re lovely, but I’m looking for something a little more... conventional."

Willow sighs dramatically. "The world is so closed off to the higher frequencies. It’s a pity, really. You’re missing out on a profound connection." She gathers her many belongings, the scent of patchouli intensifying. "May your path be illuminated, Mr. Blake. Even if it’s a bit... dim now."

She sweeps out of the house, leaving me staring after her in stunned silence. I look down at William, who’s now calmly sucking on his fist, his eyes wide and alert. He seems remarkably unfazed by the whole encounter.

"Well, buddy," I murmur, "at least you have good taste."

I slump back into the chair, wondering if it’s even possible to find a sane, competent nanny in this town. Two down, four to go. I brace myself for the next interview. How can people like Ms. Henderson and Willow Moonbeam even exist, let alone be entrusted with the care of children? It’s a terrifying thought.

Five interviews. Five complete and utter disasters. After the iron-fisted Ms. Henderson and the aura-cleansing Willow Moonbeam, I thought I'd seen it all. I was wrong.

Applicant number three, a burly, middle-aged Beta named Barry, spent the entire interview talking about his "proven system" for building character in young boys, which seemed to involve a lot of push-ups, cold showers, and shouting. He kept referring to William as "the little soldier" and suggested that I invest in a miniature obstacle course for the backyard.

Number four was an Omega, despite the agency's assurances. She arrived smelling strongly of perfume, batted her eyelashes at me, and spent more time complimenting my "Alpha physique" than discussing her childcare experience. When I firmly reiterated the Beta-only requirement, she pouted and accused me of discrimination.

And then there was number five. A painfully shy and young Beta woman who looked like she was about to faint the entiretime. She barely spoke above a whisper, answered most of my questions with a nervous "I don't know." And jumped a foot in the air when a dog barked in the neighbor's backyard.

I'm starting to lose all hope. I'm this close to calling the agency and demanding a full refund, along with compensation for emotional distress.

Just as I'm about to pick up the phone, another knock echoes through the house. The final applicant. I take a deep breath and open the door.

Standing there is a mid-twenties woman, a stark contrast to the day's previous encounters. She's petite, but there's a quiet strength about her. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, revealing a delicate jawline and clear, blue eyes that seem to hold a hint of sadness. She's dressed simply, jeans and a soft, gray sweater. She offers a small, hesitant smile. The most unnerving thing, however, is the complete absence of scent. No Alpha dominance, no Omega sweetness, not even the mild, reassuring scent of a Beta. It's like a void.

"Mr. Blake?" Her voice is soft, but clear. "I'm Daisy Johnson."

"Come in, Ms. Johnson." I step aside.

I lead her to the dining room. She sits, her posture relaxed but not slouching, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. There's a calmness about her, a quiet stillness.

"So," I take my seat. "Tell me a little about yourself. Your experience."

"Well, I'm twenty-six. I have a bachelor's degree in Child Development and another in Early Childhood Education. I worked as a live-in nanny for the Miller family for three years, starting when their youngest was a newborn, until they moved overseas."

"The Millers." I glance at her resume. "They gave you a glowing review."

A small, fond smile touches her lips. "They were a wonderful family. I grew very attached to the children." She pauses. "It was difficult when they left."

"That must have been hard."

She looks up, meeting my eyes. "It was. But it reinforced my preference for live-in positions, particularly with infants. It fosters a stronger bond, a deeper understanding."

I lean back, studying her. "And what about your presentation?" I blurt out and immediately regret sounding like an ass.

She blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you a late presenter?" I need her to be a Beta. I need her to not smell like nothing.

---