Page 73 of The Nanny and the Nerd
Penny froze as the sound of giggling from the closet pulled her attention from the text fest.
“Penny, I’m ready!” Phoebe called.
Penny: Gotta go, girls! My #1 six-year-old needs me!
The dots appeared on the screen. Her gals had more to say—shocker. But she couldn’t chance Phoebe catching a glimpse of that text exchange. Quickly, she jammed the phone into her pocket. “Let’s see it! What are you rocking tonight?” she called as Phoebe threw open the door, and Penny had to catch her jaw before it dropped onto the floor.
What would Rowen think?
She plastered a grin on her face while trying to keep her eyeballs from popping out of her head. In what could only be described as disco fabulous meets Prima ballerina meets Oscar Mayer wiener, the child had pulled a tutu on over her pajama bottoms and paired that with a sparkly jacket. For her hair, she sported a hot dog headband.
She had to hand it to the girl! The child walked to the beat of her own drum.
Cocking her head to the side and resting her hand on her hip, Phoebe Gale was an absolute riot. Penny searched her brain for some way to pay Phoebe a compliment when a stern voice tore through the air.
“What the hell did you do to my niece?”
Fifteen
Penny
Penny nearly jumpedout of her skin at the sound of Rowen’s bark of a question.
She glanced over her shoulder to find him stone-faced. But the slight twitch of a muscle in his jaw punctured his robotic veneer. Only an hour ago, he’d seemed more relaxed—well, relaxed for him. And that was after walking in on an impromptu cookie and pizza party. Could it be his niece’s questionable bedtime outfit, or was it her? Did the thought of sharing his home with her put him on edge?
“Penny didn’t do anything. I put this together,” Phoebe answered with a twirl. “Cassie Klein would say that I’m styled. She says that her mom has a lady who brings clothes to the house. Then her mom picks whatever she wants. She gets styled,” the child added with a lopsided pirouette.
Rowen entered the room and dropped to his knee as his ramrod posture relaxed a fraction. “Is this the Cassie Klein who was a real butt—”
“Yep!” Penny injected, cutting him off. They didn’t need Phoebe dropping that word again. “And remember, for the naughty words we,” she finished, sounding like a Stepford wife, then tapped her foot twice.
OMG! Why did she act like a lunatic in front of this man?
Rowen glanced at her, giving nothing away with his muted expression, then focused on his niece. “I thought Cassie was a,”tap-tap.
Phoebe’s expression grew somber. “She was a,”tap-tap. “But now she’s nice to me. We play hopscotch. Today at recess, she told me that her daddy says Penny is a NILF.”
“A what?” she and Rowen exclaimed as his robotic demeanor disintegrated, and she felt her cheeks heat.
Maybe the Kleins were a bunch of buttholes!
Phoebe shrugged. “NILF. I don’t know what it means. That’s what she said.”
Rowen gestured for his niece to lean in. “Phoebe, Cassie might not be a,” tap-tap. “But her dad sure is.”
Phoebe scrunched up her face. “What’s a NILF anyway?”
Rowen’s gaze blazed with anger. But she could not let the man say what that d-bag, Mr. Klein, most likely meant. She needed to come up with an alternative definition.
“N-I-L-F. Nanny ice cream loving friend,” she blathered before Rowen could answer. Granted, that would technically be a NICLF. But she didn’t have the time to work out something both G-rated and clever. The guy looked at her like she’d lost her mind, but she pressed on. “Cassie’s dad must have seen us getting ice cream after school this week.”
Phoebe and Rowen stared at her with the exact same WTF expression. It was adorable. And if she wasn’t worried about Phoebe calling her out for that ridiculous word salad of a NILF response, she would have remarked on the similarity. One thing was for sure. While Phoebe and Rowen shared different physical features, the pair were two peas in a pod when it came to personality quirks. But she couldn’t dwell on that. She needed to derail any more NILF questions. Falling back on acting like a lunatic, she checked her watch, then busted out a look of complete and utter shock. “Yikes, it’s late! Into bed, little one,” she said, sounding like a deranged Mary Poppins, then glanced at her boss, who was watching her closely.
She felt the heat of his gaze.
“What happens to the hot dog-loving Fairy Princess Phoebe tonight?” the little girl asked, blessedly dropping the NILF inquiry.
“Who’s Fairy Princess Phoebe?” Rowen asked, peering at a spot on the wall. The guy had reverted back to robot mode when, seconds ago, he’d looked downright irate at the mention of some douchebag dad thinking she was attractive.
