Page 28 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
“You’re ready now,” Mother insisted.
I didn’t respond, knowing nothing I said would convince my mother. Instead, I turned and walked away toward the estate’s tall iron gates.
Behind me, the sounds of a car door opening and closing preceded a shriek. “If you leave now, don’t bother coming back.”
When I didn’t stop or even turn around, Mother turned up the volume and intensity of her vitriol. “How can you do this to me after all I’ve done for you? You’re not my daughter anymore. I don’t even know you anymore. You are no longer welcome in this place.”
Tears streaming down my cheeks, I kept walking. When I’d passed through the gates to the sidewalk beyond them, I turned right and proceeded, nearly blind, to the entrance of the Wessex estate next door.
The guard at the entrance asked my name, relayed it to someone inside the house, and then let me pass.
Before I’d even reached the front door, Cinda stepped out, first walking toward me then increasing her pace to a run.
“Oh my goodness—honey, are you okay? What happened?”
She looked me over, taking in the tear-stained cheeks, stricken expression, and the small overnight bag at my side.
“Oh wow. I guess you did it, huh?”
I nodded, swallowing back a sob. “I did it.”
My tone indicated I could hardly believe it myself. “Do you think Mr. Reece would still be interested in hiring me?”
Chapter Eight
Iron Will
Sully
I had never been so happy to hear a doorbell in my life.
When Cinda Wessex had told me the preschool teacher, Angelina Rappaport, was available and interested in taking the nanny opening, I couldn’t believe my luck.
She was exactly the kind of person I’d been looking for. Capable, mature, experienced with children, and from what I’d seen, quite possibly a miracle-worker as well.
It mighttakea miracle to bring my two adorable little hellions under control.
From what I’d seen at the party, Angelina had a better shot at succeeding than anyone. And Cinda said Angelina needed a job and a place to live for the summer. This was going to work out perfectly.
My optimism died the second I opened the door.
There she stood, a small overnight bag in one hand, her light brown eyes round as saucers. She looked like she might be hyperventilating.
My breathing was no better, but my struggle wasn’t due to nerves.
No, it was the sight of Angelina that robbed me of the necessary air to inflate my well-conditioned lungs and made me question my sanity for agreeing to hire her.
I’d remembered very well from that day at the party what a pretty girl she was. “Pretty” didn’t cover it today. She was stunning. She wore a pair of cream-colored pants with heels and a sleeveless black and cream top.
Her cheeks were pink with either embarrassment or excitement, and her hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail like it had been the first time I saw her.
It was longer even than I’d realized—really, really long, falling down her back all the way to her hips. Its color was like spun gold, threads of it catching the sunshine and shimmering as she moved.
She looked almost otherworldly, angelic. Untouchable.
“Hi. I’m Angelina Rappaport. We met at the party? Cinda said you’d be expecting me.”
Oh. Right. I hadn’t invited her in yet, just stood staring stupidly at her waiting on my doorstep.
