Page 19 of Where the Blacktop Ends

I gesture for James to follow me inside as he hauls my bags in with ease. The air between us is thick with Troy’s stern, emotionless tone, and I already dread not pushing harder to stay at the cottage. I knew he was all business from the interview, and I sensed his seriousness the night we met in the steam room, but this level of coldness is unnerving and unwelcoming.

At least I won’t have to see him much.

I take a deep breath, count to five and remind myself that nannying is really always about the kids anyway. It was rare that I spent any time around Mr. and Mrs. Smith and likely, will be even more rare that I run into Troy Marshall.

This is fine. Totally fine.

“Your room’s upstairs, second door on the right. Private bathroom. Liam’s is on the other side of the hallway,” Troy says, his voice clipped and professional.

I nod, already halfway up the stairs. “And where’s your room?”

His eyes narrow, and I instantly regret the way that question came out.

“I’m asking because I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” I explain.

“Opposite end of the hall,” he replies flatly before turning away. “Come to the kitchen when you’re done unpacking. I’ll walk you through Liam’s routine. I leave for my business trip in the morning, so my free time is limited tonight.”

I’m half tempted to stick my tongue out at the back of his handsome, perfectly styled head but then I swear I hear a sigh, so I restrain myself, turn and race up the stairs with James hot on my feet.

When I reach my new room, I’m surprised at how spacious it is—far bigger than I’d expected. But the décor? It’s like walking into a beige nightmare. Everything’s neutral: white comforter, beige walls, white carpet, brown dressers. The room is pristine but utterly lifeless, styled exactly like the downstairs.

If this reflects Mr. Marshall’s personality, it explains a lot. I bet a camel would enjoy living here.

James frowns, scanning the room. “Well, this is the opposite of how you decorated the cottage. Fits Mr. Marshall’s style though—bland, boring, uptight.”

I laugh, but deep down, I wonder if there’s more to Troy than his buttoned-up exterior. Four months ago, I caught a glimpse of something different in that steam room, but who knows? Maybe this serious, business-only version is all there is.

“It’s fine, I’ll make it my own.” I grab a handful of clothes from my suitcase and stuff them into the dresser, not bothering folding or hanging anything up. “I’ll be okay,” I say, flashing James a big smile, though I’m not sure I believe it. There’s something about having Troy’s presence looming in this house that feels suffocating—not just because of our awkward first encounter, but because he’s so tightly wound, I feel like no matter what I do, it’ll be wrong. I can’t stand being around people who are hyper critical.

Lowering my voice, I say, “You should probably go now.”

James taps his foot, and I can tell he’s reluctant to leave me just yet. “I don’t like leaving you here, but to be fair, I haven’t heard anything bad about him. Even if he’s a bulldog, he doesn’t have a playboy reputation and has never been in the headlines before.”

“What exactly have you heard?” I ask, rubbing my temples.

“He’s ruthless with his political consulting—gets results, though. If a candidate hires him, they’re basically guaranteed to win their race. Beyond that, his personal life is incredibly private but no one who knows him has anything bad to say about him. It’s just all politics. It’s like he doesn’t have a personal life.”

Okay... already knew most of that.

“Mr. Smith mentioned something about him gunning for a government job?”

James shrugs. “It wouldn’t surprise me. I didn’t even know he had a two-year-old grandson. He keeps that quiet too, it seems.”

I nod. Oh well, too late for second thoughts and doubting my decision now.

“Alright, well, I love you. Don’t forget—Hamptons White Party’s next Friday at the Club. I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday?” he says.

I nod, remembering that Troy had said Liam’s former nanny would have him on the weekends so that I would get off work.

“Yeah, sure.” I wrap my arms around James one last time before he pulls away, already heading for the stairs.

“If I don’t hear from you in twenty-four hours, I’m coming back!” he calls over his shoulder, loud enough for Troy to hear in the kitchen.

I wince. Great. Troy’s going to love that.

The door clicks shut behind me, sealing me into the unfamiliar quiet. I exhale, pressing my back against the wood for just a second before pushing off and making my way to the bed. I sink onto the mattress. It feels brand new and way too hard for my preference.

Basically, like everything in this house.

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