Page 36 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
"In the future, I'd like to review these before they go out," I say, my tone sharper than necessary. "The language we use with dissatisfied customers is critical."
Lisa's face falls. "Of course. I'm sorry."
I know I'm being unfair. Lisa has been handling customer correspondence for three years without issue. But today, every small misstep feels magnified.
I continue to my office, stopping by the marketing desk where Jake is working on designs for our fall campaign.
"Those colors are all wrong," I say, glancing at his monitor. "We agreed on a more subdued palette. This looks like a summer camp advertisement, not a wilderness retreat."
Jake blinks in surprise. "I thought we decided to go brighter for the fall campaign? To contrast with the early snow?"
"That's not what I approved," I say, even though I have a vague recollection of exactly that conversation. "Fix it before the team meeting."
By midmorning, I've critiqued the new booking software implementation, questioned the cleaning staff's supply orders, and sent back the draft of our newsletter twice for rewrites. The office atmosphere has shifted from its usual comfortable buzz to a tense silence punctuated only by careful keyboard clicking and hushed phone conversations.
I'm reviewing the monthly finances when there's a knock at my office door. Cole walks in without waiting for an answer, closing the door behind him.
"Who lit the fire under your ass today?" he asks, dropping into the chair across from my desk.
"Good morning to you too," I mutter, not looking up from my spreadsheet.
"Seriously, Grant. Lisa looks like she's about to cry, Jake is redoing work he already finished last week, and I just passed two of the housekeeping staff whispering about whether they should report a maintenance issue to you or wait until you're in a better mood."
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm just trying to maintain our standards."
"Bullshit," Cole says easily. "You're taking something out on the staff, and they don't deserve it. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," I say, my jaw tight.
Cole studies me for a moment, his amber eyes—so like our mother's—narrowing slightly. "How's the new nanny working out? You seemed to like her yesterday."
My fingers tense on my keyboard. "She's fine."
"Just fine? Because when I stopped by yesterday afternoon, Emily couldn't stop talking about how 'Miss Ivy knows how to make paper birds that really fly' and how she's 'the prettiest lady ever.'"
"Emily's easily impressed," I say, avoiding his gaze—and brushing aside the annoyance, because even though Cole checks in on Emily often, it always feels like he’s really checking on the nannies.
"And what about you?" Cole asks, that mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "Were you impressed? She's certainly easy on the eyes."
"She's Emily's nanny," I say firmly. "That's all."
"Hmm," Cole says, unconvinced. "Well, whatever's bothering you, you should deal with it. Maybe you need a night out. When was the last time you went to town for something other than groceries or hardware?"
I shake my head. "I don't need a night out."
"Sure you do. We could hit up The Antler tonight. Have a beer, play some pool. The nanny could stay a couple hours extra."
"No," I say immediately, the thought of asking Ivy for anything beyond her normal duties making my stomach clench. "I don't want to impose."
"It's called overtime, Grant. People do it all the time." Cole leans forward. "You haven't had a break in months. You're wound so tight you're about to snap."
"I'm fine," I insist.
Cole throws up his hands. "Suit yourself. If you want to live a miserable life, that's your choice. But don't go around making other people's lives miserable as well."
The words hit harder than he probably intends. I look up, meeting his gaze for the first time. "Is that what I'm doing?"
His expression softens slightly. "Today? Yeah, you are. And it's not like you, Grant. You're usually a hardass, but a fair one. Today you're just being a jerk."
