Page 9 of Cross My Heart
I shake my head. “Alright, Ms. Lanie Heart,”
“Just Lanie,” she interrupts again.
Shit, why do I keep calling her by her first and last name? I must be more tired than I thought. That has to be it. That’s why this entire encounter is so fucked up.
“Lanie, on paper, you are more than qualified to be a nanny.” She bristles at that, I briefly wonder why she would stiffen at such a mundane statement, but carry on. “Why are you not interested in continuing in the field of social work?”
She relaxes slightly. “Well, Mr. Dexter Cross…”
Is she doing that to mess with me? She has to be. It should irritate the living hell out of me. Before I can school my features, my lip quirks up and she keeps going.
“The burnout rate for a social worker, especially one working with children, is exceptionally high. I love kids, and I love working with them,” she turns her gaze to the floor, sadness washing over her beautiful blue eyes. When she looks up at me, the warmth seems to have diminished in her face as she speaks. “I realized pretty quickly that I was not cut out to deal with some of the cases you, unfortunately, come across in that field.”
“What is your long-term goal here?” I ask her pointedly.
“Sir?” she asks, making my cock stir in my pants again.
I do like her calling me, sir, a lot! This is so messed up.
“Do you plan to return to social work? You’re coming from Vermont, correct? Do you plan to use your degree here in the Carolinas?”
For the first time since she walked in here, she seems uneasy.Why? I can’t help but think this should be an easy question. Her eyes shift away from me before she answers.
“Ah, yes, I am coming from Vermont, but no, I don’t plan to continue in social work,” Lanie replies on autopilot.
“Why not?”
“I’m just not cut out for it,” she says just above a whisper.
“Why not?” I repeat.
Lanie is very quiet for a long minute. When she looks up, the floor drops out below me. She has tears in her eyes and I have no doubt I can see right through to her soul.
“I am not emotionally equipped to handle such severe cases of abuse,” her voice raw with feeling.
I believe her, but I also get the sense that it is not a complete answer. I won’t push though; I know from experience I couldn’t handle cases of child abuse either.
“Okay, Lanie, I see you’re CPR and first aid certified?” I state.
“Yes.”There’s my girl. Where the fuck did that thought come from?
“And you have excellent references,” I say out loud to no one in particular.
“Is that a question, Mr. Dexter Cross?” She replies sassily.
I stare across the desk at her, unwilling to tame the lift of my lips. “No, Ms. Lanie Heart, I suppose it is not.”
“Where is the children’s mother?” She asks so bluntly I don’t have time to gather myself.
“She left. And she won’t be coming back.” I bark at her. I realize she needs to know the basics, but who the hell does she think she is, and why do I keep letting her control this interview?
“I know the girls are too small, but does Tate know that?” She continues.
Now I’m getting pissed again, “Yes.”
“Does he know that it isn’t his fault?” Lanie Heart persists.
If I saywhat the fuckone more time today, my head might explode. She is staring at me, honestly expecting me to answer. Even my scowl doesn't seem to affect her. How is that possible? I make grown men crumble in board rooms with this glare, yet it does nothing to her at all.
