Page 16 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Charlotte mermaid-walked over to the steps, fumbled her way up, then accepted the towel. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a member of the country club,” Madelyn answered smoothly.
Of course, she was! The pricey Birkin bag on her arm cost as much as ten of her old Hondas. The nanny match maven probably belonged to every country club in the city.
“And you happened to be here to witness this unfortunate event?” Charlotte replied.
Calling this an unfortunate event wasn’t quite right. It was more like her complete and total humiliation. But at this point, it didn’t really matter how she labeled it. She was screwed.
Madelyn waved her off. “A little water never hurt anyone. Now, you haven’t answered my texts.”
That’s right! She hadn’t.
Charlotte accepted the towel and pressed the soft fabric to her face. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve been…”
“You haven’t been waitressing. That’s for sure,” Madelyn supplied.
Charlotte shivered, then wrapped the towel around her shoulders. “I don’t work at the Crystal Cricket. There was an incident with a salad.”
“Yes, I know. I was there,” the woman answered with the ghost of a grin.
Charlotte gasped. “You were?”
“The chef was yelling at a busboy,” Madelyn continued.
She nodded. “Yeah, he was.”
“And you didn’t approve?” Madelyn continued, watching her closely.
Charlotte glanced away. “The kid didn’t mean to break a glass. He didn’t deserve to be berated.”
“So, you threw a salad at your boss—Chef Elliott?” Madelyn supplied.
More like the hothead super-prick Chef Mitch Elliott!
She hadn’t meant to assault the man with leafy greens—it just happened.
“I did. Then I walked out. But I want you to know I don’t usually react like that. I’m a nice person ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine percent of the time.”
Madelyn nodded, then surveyed the mermaid tail. “You’re not waitressing, and it appears that you aren’t employed as a professional mermaid any longer.”
Charlotte released a resigned sigh. “I’m supposed to be an assistant to a photographer.”
“Perhaps you’re supposed to be a nanny,” the woman slipped in, raising an eyebrow.
It wasn’t the worst job offer in the world. But what about London?
She adjusted the towel. “There’s a chance I may be accepted into a photography workshop in London.”
A tiny, infinitesimal chance—but still, a chance.
“When?” the woman probed.
“Two months from now—again, only if I get accepted. It’s a two-week intensive workshop.”
Charlotte expected the woman to change her tune and rescind the offer, but Madelyn’s eyes sparkled as a wide grin stretched across her face.
“Then you have the time to participate in the nanny trial period. You’re friends with Penny Fennimore. Did she share with you how the sixty-day trial period worked?”
