Page 41 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“I see,” Mrs. Sullivan replied with a sage nod. “Phoebe wouldn’t tell me what it meant. She said it was between the three of you. Do you happen to know what the two taps are for?”
Penelope’s cheeks grew pink. “One tap for each syllable.”
But that wasn’t what his house manager was asking.
“Phoebe called one of her classmates a butthole,” he supplied, filling in the gap, then tapped his foot twice.
Mrs. Sullivan inhaled a sharp breath. “Well, there’s a six-year-old who will need to apologize to the mailman tomorrow,” his house manager answered with a chuckle as the elevator pinged and the doors opened to the first floor.
“Why don’t we chat in the kitchen before I leave. My office is tucked away in there,” Mrs. Sullivan offered, waving for them to follow.
Penelope nodded, but he wasn’t paying attention to his house manager, nor was he taking in his home’s modern architecture and expensive furnishings. This was a strangely momentous occasion. Besides Regina, his mother, and the women who came to clean each week, Penelope was the only other woman to step foot inside his home. When he’d returned to Denver, he’d purchased a penthouse downtown. That’s where he’d lived and entertained his one-night stands. He couldn’t have cared less what they’d thought of the swanky space. But now, he watched as Penelope took it all in.
“It’s pristine. You’d never know that a little girl lives here,” Penelope said, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed two outdoor water features, glowing an ethereal blue under the night sky.
Mrs. Sullivan flipped on the lights in the kitchen and settled herself on one of the stools that surrounded a giant marble island in the center of the room. The woman surveyed the space. “Rowen likes everything in its place—he always has.”
“I can see that,” Penny answered, eyes wide, as she took in the spacious kitchen. Sleek and minimalist with gleaming white counters and contemporary cabinetry, it sported the features one would expect in a home that cost a small fortune. But he had to set the record straight. He wasn’t a tyrant when it came to what he would and wouldn’t allow in the place.
“What about this?” he said, pointing to the piece of paper on the refrigerator held in place by a magnet in the shape of a pink sparkly unicorn. “It’s Phoebe’s last spelling test. She got an A-plus. I implemented the one magnet policy when Phoebe came to live with me. This paper fits the criteria.”
“What’s the one magnet policy?” Penelope questioned with a crease to her brow.
His chest tightened. He knew that look. If Mrs. Sullivan wasn’t here, he’d be getting another poke in the chest.
Penelope turned to Mrs. Sullivan, but his house manager pointed to him. “That’s Rowen’s department.”
He shifted his stance. “While I’m pleased that Phoebe’s doing well on her spelling tests, I detest clutter. The one magnet policy was a generous compromise worked out between myself and my niece to celebrate her academic achievements as tidily as possible.”
“And you picked out the magnet, I assume,” Penelope replied smoothly.
He stared at the mythical creature glinting in the light. “You think I chose that?”
Penelope grinned at him with those twinkling sable eyes of hers. “I’m kidding, Rowen,” she said, then tapped the A+ with her poking finger. And again, he was jealous of an inanimate object. He figured he’d been doing a decent job of fighting his reaction to the nanny or at least hiding his heightened response. But that confidence degraded when he caught his house manager watching him closely.
Mrs. Sullivan sized up the nanny, and he could tell the wheels were turning in her head—never a good thing. He couldn’t have her thinking anything was going on. And there wasn’t. There couldn’t be. This reaction would wear off. With time, her scent, her smile, and her warm, sable gaze would become as mundane as the unicorn magnet. Yep, that’s how it would happen. Easy as pie.
Shit. Who was he kidding?
“I spoke with Madelyn Malone earlier today regarding your work schedule,” Mrs. Sullivan said to Penelope, and her words plucked him from his nanny obsession stupor. Regina Sullivan checked her watch. “Because of the late hour, I was hoping we could iron out the details tomorrow?”
“Sure thing! I’m very flexible,” Penny answered, then gasped. “Flexible with my time—not my body. But my body is slightly flexible. I’m working on that with my friend Libby, who is a yoga instructor. She’s extremely flexible—double-jointed.” Penelope paused and caught her breath after serving up one hell of a word salad. “I’m going to stop talking,” she finished in a bluster.
Mrs. Sullivan glanced between them, doing another round of Rowen to Penelope eyeballing.
“There is one item I’d like to address now, if you don’t mind,” his house manager began, and instantly, thanks to the cadence of her voice, he knew she had something up her sleeve.
“All right,” Penelope answered with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Regina retreated to her office, then returned with her laptop. “Just a few quick questions. Do you have children of your own?” she asked matter-of-factly, opening the device.
Penny shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
Mrs. Sullivan looked up from the screen, which he could tell was a blank Word document thanks to the reflection in the woman’s glasses. “Are you married, dear?” his house manager continued.
Penelope held up her ringless left hand. “No, not yet. I mean, no,” Penelope finished, nervously shifting her tote to her other shoulder.
Regina nodded, still staring at nothing but a crisp white screen. “Will your boyfriend or girlfriend be stopping over?” the house manager pressed, then met Penny’s gaze from over the laptop’s screen. “I don’t mean to embarrass you with the question. I like to keep tabs on who’s on the property. Rowen has a top-notch security system, but I’m not so great with technology. It helps if I know who I should be looking out for.”
