Page 49 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“I was going to tap,thank you,” the girl replied with a sly grin. “I like tapping everything now!Thank-you,hell-o,butt-hole. They have two syllables,” the child explained as she tapped away.
Penny sighed. “They do. But no saying the b-word out loud, Phoebe. Always tap that one. Now, go eat your breakfast. We don’t want to keep Mrs. Sullivan waiting.”
With a salute and two taps of her Maryjane-clad foot, Phoebe ran off.
“You taught her the foot tap trick!” Harper whispered.
“I still use it,” Charlotte added. “It works like a charm and lets me call my jerk chef boss a—”
“Are you guys on the phone?”
Penny chuckled at the sound of Libby’s outraged voice.
“Shit! Libbs dragged us to her early as hell yoga class. We’ve got to go! Love you, butthole!” Harper whispered before the line went dead.
“Love you too, buttholes,” Penny replied, closing her phone and slipping it into her tote as she left her room.
She peered down the hall at the door that had remained closed for the last seven days—Rowen’s door. And while she hadn’t ventured into his bedroom, his absence had given her the chance to explore the modern mansion. It was a stunning house. Equipped with all the lifestyles of the rich and famous perks one could imagine. It contained a library, a gym, a climate-controlled wine cellar, a movie theater, a music room, not one but two hot tubs, and a sprawling outdoor entertaining area with a swing set for Phoebe.
And then there was Rowen’s office. She’d entered the room once to return his Game Boy when she’d caught Phoebe with it a few days ago. With hunched shoulders, the girl showed her the drawer where Rowen kept it. Along with the wooden box of dominoes, it seemed like such an odd thing for someone obsessed with the latest and greatest in tech to covet.
But that presumption only reinforced how little she knew about the man.
She sighed as she passed his office and Phoebe’s voice, calling out the letters of her spelling words, floated down the hall.
“Penny, dear, can I make you some scrambled eggs or get you a cup of coffee?” Mrs. Sullivan asked from where she stood, spatula in hand, next to the giant range.
Though they hadn’t spent much time together—a cup of coffee here and there—she’d grown fond of the woman. Surprisingly, Regina Sullivan kept quite busy with shopping and managing the maintenance of the estate. Penny had wanted to ask the woman about Rowen, but she’d held back.
She mustered up a grin. “No, thank you.”
“Do you want one of Uncle Row’s protein bars?” Phoebe questioned, then scrunched her little face and mimicked gagging.
“No, this will do,” she answered, plucking an apple from a bowl in the center of the kitchen island before opening the door to the closet where Phoebe hung her backpack. She pulled a pink folder from the girl’s bag and removed an envelope from the side pocket. “What’s this, Phoebe?”
“It’s something from Mrs. Bergen. It’s for my parent or guardian. Is that what you are, Penny, now that Uncle Row doesn’t live with us?”
Penny pasted a grin on her face, masking the hot rush of anger surging through her veins. It was one thing for the man to ignore her. She was an adult and his employee. But Phoebe had lost so much—her mother and father, and now she couldn’t live with her grandmother. How could Rowen not see that his absence affected the child?
“Yeah, I’m something like that,” she answered, then scanned the letter. The teacher had written up several activities Phoebe and her parent or guardian or asshat of an uncle could do to bolster her literacy skills. She skimmed the list and stopped at an activity she was sure Rowenwouldn’tapprove of.
“Is it about this?” Phoebe asked warily, then tapped her foot against the stool.
“No, it’s a list of fun things we can do together.” Penny brought the list and the backpack to the island where the child was eating a plate of scrambled eggs.
With the wheels in her head turning, Penny bit back a devilish grin, then started braiding Phoebe’s hair as the girl finished her breakfast.
“What are we going to do today after school, Penny?” Phoebe asked, wiggling in her chair.
“That depends on Mrs. Sullivan,” she said as the house manager turned toward her. “Are you heading to the market?”
Regina wiped her hands on her apron. “I sure am. Is there something you’d like me to pick up?”
Penny finished braiding Phoebe’s dark locks, then secured the bow. “How about the ingredients to make homemade chocolate chip cookies.”
Phoebe sprang out of her chair. “We’re gonna bake real cookies with sugar?”
“And chocolate chips. Lots of chocolate chips,” Penny answered.
