Page 6 of Misery In Me

She pauses and then agrees, and I hang up, feeling a little more unsettled than before. I glance back over at Zoe, still peacefully asleep in her swing.

What the hell am I doing?

I keepmyself busy with housework for the rest of the morning—anything to keep my mind off the looming interview. I clean the living room, feed Zoe, and try to act like everything’s fine. But everything’s not fine.

Nothing is fine.

I’m about to walk upstairs to shower when the doorbell rings. I freeze then look at my watch, fuck, I lost track of time. My heart pounds. I’ve never felt so... nervous.

This isn’t a mission. This isn’t training. I don’t know how to do this. I can’t even think straight about a damn nanny interview.

I take a deep breath, compose myself, and make my way to the door. When I open it, there she is. Alejandra Orozco.

She’s standing in the doorway, looking like she’s ready to take on the world.

My world.

Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, her face clean of makeup but still impossibly beautiful.Rein it in, buddy.She’s dressed simply, in a loose T-shirt and jeans, her posture straight but relaxed. Not at all what I was expecting. She’s not wearing a starched uniform or some professional getup. She looks normal.Like someone who’s been through her own kind of grind. She’s not trying too hard.

I approve.

I clear my throat and stand a little straighter. “Alejandra Orozco?”

“Yes,” she replies, offering a small smile. “I’m here for the interview.”

I step aside to let her in, trying to ignore the way her eyes scan the place and the way she’s taking it all in. I feel self-conscious, like I’m under a microscope.

“So... uh...” I start, trying to find the words. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?” I mentally go through the contents of the refrigerator to see what else I can offer.

She shakes her head, still with that calm, steady demeanor. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

I give her a nod, trying to be professional. I lead her into the living room, where Zoe is now awake, her tiny hands reaching up from her swing.

Alejandra’s eyes immediately shift to the baby, and I see something flicker across her face. It’s the way she looks at Zoe—like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. But then she catches herself, pulling back slightly.

I don’t know what to make of it.

We sit down, and I try to keep things businesslike. I tell myself to stay focused on the task at hand.

This is an interview, Donovan. Keep your eyes above her collarbone.

She does have a really pretty neck, my hand would fit nicely around it.

Fucking Christ! Stop it!

“So,” I begin, trying to ignore the sexual tension brewing in my gut, “you’ve got great references, and your resume checks out. Tell me a little about your experience with children.”

She nods, her expression serious but not nervous. “I’ve worked as a nanny for the past two years, mostly for Navy families. So I’m used to the schedule—being flexible when parents are deployed, handling the unexpected. I’ve worked with kids of all ages, from infants to teenagers. I’m also bilingual, Spanish being my native tongue. A lot of the families appreciate that, especially since we live in California. I was born in Guadalajara and moved to California when I was twenty to go to school.”

Her words are calm and confident. She knows what she’s talking about. But the part about working with military families... I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It makes sense, given my job, but it also makes me suspicious. Each branch is different. There’s a different level of understanding required. And I don’t know if I can trust someone who’s worked with too many soldiers. I don’t know if I want someone who knows too much about the lifestyle.

But there’s no time to second-guess. Zoe needs someone, and if Alejandra can handle it, then maybe—just maybe—she’s the right choice.

“So, what made you apply for this position?” I ask, leaning back, trying to gauge her reaction. “You’re living in San Diego, right? Not too far away.”

She pauses for a moment, then looks at me with a kind of quiet resolve. “I need the job. We lost my father last year and I have younger siblings back in Mexico who need help, and this job will allow me to help take care of them. I’ve always enjoyed working with children, as it’s what I got my degree in, and this position seems like a good longer-term fit.”

A flicker of empathy crosses my face as I nod, but I quickly mask it with a neutral expression. I can’t let myself get too caught up in her reasons. I need to stay professional.

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