Page 40 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“Sea glass and sable,” he repeated, entirely under her spell when the slap of footsteps caught his attention.
“What’s going on down here?” came a woman’s piercing voice.
Rowen froze.
Oh shit!In their erotic eyeball observation haze, he’d forgotten she was here.
Nine
Rowen
Rowen didhis best to compose himself, but at the sound of the voice, Penny reared back, and the space-time continuum bubble popped.
“It’s my house manager,” he explained, taking his glasses from her and slipping them into place. “She’s been with Phoebe tonight,” he replied, working to reclaim his bearings.
“Oh, okay,” Penelope answered with a minute shake of her head. But they didn’t have long to recover from the trance they’d fallen under.
“You must be Penny,” the woman said, opening the passenger side door. “Phoebe’s been talking about you all night,” she continued with a warm grin—the same expression she’d given him when he was a wisp of a kid.
“Yes, I’m Penny Fennimore. It’s nice to meet you, Miss…” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at him before exiting the vehicle.
“This is Regina Sullivan, my house manager,” he said, joining the women.
Penny shifted her tote to her shoulder and shook the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan.”
A few strands of gray hair framed Mrs. Sullivan’s face. With her rounded features and eternally rosy glow, the kind woman looked straight out of central casting for a Mrs. Claus character. “Rowen still calls me Mrs. Sullivan, but Regina will do fine. Are you hungry, dear? Would you like me to make you something to eat before I head out? Or do you eat like Rowen?” she added with a disapproving curve to her lips.
Penelope glanced from him, then back to the house manager. “How does Rowen eat?” she asked warily.
Sweet Jesus! What did she think—that he was a vampire who drank the blood of beautiful young women?
“Rowen eats as if he’s training for a triathlon or maybe preparing to live off protein powders on Mars,” the woman remarked, tossing him a sly wink as they headed toward the main house.
“You know how I feel about sugar,” he replied.
Mrs. Sullivan was a petite woman, but she could be a force of nature when she wanted.
“Oh yes, and you know what I say about that,” she chided.
He sighed. It wasn’t worth arguing with Mrs. Sullivan. “A cookie now and then never hurt anyone,” he restated, recalling the first time she’d said those very words to him. But there was no time for a walk down memory lane. When he glanced over, Penelope wasn’t there. She’d stopped walking and stood frozen in place.
“Is that an elevator?” she asked, pointing to the actual elevator. She had to see it. It wasn’t hidden behind a curtain.
He frowned. It was one thing to shun technology. It was a whole different ball of wax to avoid elevators. She had a car—a pretty shitty one—but still a car. And then there was the flip phone. She interacted with basic tech. “You’ve never ridden in an elevator?” he questioned.
“Yes, of course, I’ve ridden in an elevator,” she remarked. “But I’ve never been in a house with one.”
“Pretty slick, isn’t it?” Mrs. Sullivan replied. “My husband teases me and says that I came out of retirement to work here for this fancy perk.”
“And I’m eternally grateful,” he answered. And he was. Few people knew his story—and that’s how he wanted to keep it. Regina Sullivan was one of them.
Regina waved Penelope over. “Go on, you know you want to push the button,” she offered playfully. “Lord knows Phoebe will never let you do it.”
Penelope gave Mrs. Sullivan the hint of a grin, then pressed the call button with the same finger she’d poked him with today. And he was instantly jealous of the damn elevator. He tore his gaze away from her hand as the doors opened and the trio entered the snug space.
“Can you tell me more about this foot thing?” Mrs. Sullivan asked, tapping her foot twice as the elevator ascended to the first floor.
Penelope caught his eye, then looked away. “I taught Phoebe a little trick I used to use on my older sisters when I was frustrated with them. It allowed me to call them something not very appropriate without saying the words.”
