Page 1 of The Nanny and the Hothead
One
Charlotte
“Nine dollars and eleven cents!”
9-1-1, this is an emergency—of the near-bankrupt kind.
Charlotte Ames stared at her account balance in horror. “That can’t be right,” she said, her voice rising a panicked octave. She refreshed the screen, then gasped. “This can’t be right either.”
Holy nonexistent savings! The charge for her morning coffee had rolled in.
“Five dollars and twenty-three cents!” she exclaimed. Could the decimal be in the wrong place? It had to be a glitch. An error. But no, her eyes weren’t deceiving her. She was broke.
She dropped her phone onto her lap, sank onto the bench, and observed Denver’s posh Crystal Creek shopping district.
At least it was a gorgeous day—not that the weather could alter her dire financial predicament. But it was better than being broke and pelted with hail or battered with rain.
Birds were singing. Bees were buzzing. And the hum of conversation hung in the air as patrons strolled by. Dotted with bistros, boutiques, and galleries, there was a good chance that the people frequenting the stylish neighborhood had a heck of a lot more than five bucks to their name. And these ritzy folks probably didn’t sit on park benches muttering to themselves either.
Stupid fancy coffee!
She shouldn’t have purchased the latte this morning! But it was so good, and the little shop had a sign posted that said it donated a portion of each sale to a local homeless shelter. Her latte helped the city, right? She blew out a frustrated breath. She’d be living in that shelter if she didn’t get her act together.
She stared up at the sky. “I’m twenty-five years old, and I have less than ten bucks to my name. That’s it! I’m putting myself on a latte lockdown,” she mumbled, her shoulders slumping as an older gentleman stopped in front of her. Dressed in khakis and a navy polo shirt with an emblem of a heart made of tiny multi-colored handprints, she recognized the image from somewhere. But before she could rack her brain, she glanced up to see the gentleman frowning, concern clouding his gaze.
Why would he be staring at her?
Oh yeah—because she was a crazy lady camped out on a bench staring up at the sky and talking to herself!
“Are you all right, miss? Do you need help?” he asked gently.
Okay, those were, actually, excellent questions.
Let’s break it down.
Was sheall right?
That would be a hell no!
Almost every facet of her life was a hot flaming mess.
Her landlord had decided to convert her apartment building into condos, and there was no way she could afford to buy her place. She could barely pay the rent as is!
And her cash flow had recently been reduced by more than half!
Not only was she a twenty-five-year-old with five dollars to her name, who was about to get kicked out of her apartment. She was also a broke-ass twenty-five-year-old who had lost her steady waitressing gig due to an incident with a tomato, cucumber, and avocado salad.
What kind of vegetable clash could cause a gal to lose her job?
The kind of clash where that gal hurled vegetables at the back of her ex-boss’s head. An ex-boss who just happened to be a hothead chef and the owner of the Crystal Cricket Bistro.
And she was not a vegetable hurler!
She was a good person. She went out of her way to be kind. She respected vegetables—even the ones that asshat of a chef had assembled into a beautiful salad. But the man was a tyrant. The absolute worst!
She might be Miss Goody Two Shoes. But even she had a limit.
Now, her sole income came from working part-time as a photography assistant.
