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I storm out and hope the men will never visit my favorite café again.
Walking along the busy Manhattan streets, I contemplate what the guy said. I need to loosen up. It's a Monday night around nine, and I'm rushing to fetch my brother. Tomorrow morning at seven, I have to be at my new nanny job. Tomorrow night I'm teaching a yoga class. When is one supposed to have fun? And how could men like him who have money ever understand that?
Chapter two
Roland
I glance at the clock, cursing under my breath. It's not like me to be tardy, but I'm a bundle of nerves today. I'm anxious about having everything perfect for Carmen and the new nanny. I've been running around the house, making sure I haven't left a trail of paperwork and that Carmen's toys are neatly stacked away. If this nanny is nice, I want her to stay.
The previous four nannies have been disasters, each one leaving in tears after being fired by me for their incompetence. My temper is infamous among my staff, but they've developed a thick skin over time. Unfortunately, my impatience often gets the best of me.
"Roland, your coffee is getting cold."
It’s Gina, my chef, calling out as she watches me pace around the penthouse. She smirks, knowing full well that I'm too preoccupied to care. Gina is a powerhouse of a woman with a full mane of red hair to prove it.
"Thanks, Gina," I mutter, grabbing the still-steaming cup and taking a sip. The rich, dark flavor does little to calm my frazzled nerves. Pancakes sizzle on the stovetop, filling the air with a sweet aroma that reminds me of simpler times—before my ex-wife, Sofia, and I went our separate ways, leaving me to raise our daughter, Carmen, alone.
No, I'm kidding myself. It was not simpler times. I might have enjoyed pancakes with Sofia in the mornings once Carmen was born, feeling like a family, but Sofia only enjoyed the pancakes so long as it was just the two of us, so long as she felt like a woman living "the life." Once Carmen was born, she felt burdened with responsibilities. Heck, I think she even thought I was a responsibility once the fun and games had worn off because she couldn't sleep with just anyone.
"Everything's under control, boss," Gina reassures me, flipping the last pancake onto a plate. "Just relax, OK?"
"Relax?" I snort, running a hand through my dark hair. "That's easier said than done when I'm about to entrust my three-year-old daughter to yet another stranger."
"Maybe this one will be different," Gina insists, her voice soft and hopeful. But I know better. The odds are not in our favor when it comes to nannies. But perhaps...
"Let's hope so," I grumble, watching as Gina sets the table for Carmen. The thought of another failed nanny fills me with dread, but I have no choice. I need someone reliable to look after my precious little girl while I tackle my responsibilities as the CEO of The American Coffee Roasting Company. Not the most inspired name, but my buddy Brett and I came up with it after having one beer too many and discussing founding a company specializing in beans from South America.
"Morning, Daddy!" Carmen's voice rings through the room, and my heart swells at the sight of her. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and I can't help but smile despite my anxiety.
"Good morning, sweetheart," I reply, scooping her up in my arms. "Are you ready for your pancakes?" They are healthy pancakes with bananas and protein powder, but they taste divine. Everything Gina cooks tastes divine.
"Uh-huh!" she says, nodding enthusiastically, her eyes wide with anticipation. "And to meet my new nanny!" Her soft dark curls and big brown eyes thankfully remind me more of myself than Sofia, though she has her mother’s slender nose.
"Of course," I reply softly, trying to hide my apprehension behind a forced smile. As I sit down at the table with Carmen in my lap, I pray that this nanny will be different—not just for my sake, but for my daughter's as well.
The doorbell echoes through the penthouse, and I glance at the clock, groaning. Dammit, I'm still in my robe, and it's already seven, time for the nanny to make her appearance. I put Carmen down and head to the door.
“Roland Carmichael?” the woman in the doorway asks. She looks like a commercial for Visit Scandinavia—long blonde hair, red cheeks, and clear blue eyes. She’s wearing a bohemian-looking jean jacket but has combined it with a pair of black slacks and a nice blouse to soften the impression.
There’s something familiar about her. My jaw drops. It’s the feisty girl from the coffee shop.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammer, unable to hide my surprise. She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my disheveled state.
“Nice to see you too,” she drawls, entering uninvited. “I’m the new nanny. Maddie Johnson at your service.”
“Impossible,” I scoff, my frustration mounting. “How did you even get past the doorman?”
“Let’s just say I have my ways,” she says, grinning wickedly, glancing around the luxurious penthouse.
Anger surges through me, but before I can unleash it on her, Carmen appears between my legs, giggling at the sight of Maddie.
“Hi!” Carmen chirps, her innocence momentarily diffusing my rage. Maddie crouches down to Carmen’s eye level, flashing her a warm smile.
“Hey there, little one,” she says, her voice suddenly gentle. “I’m Maddie.”
Carmen beams at her, clearly taken. My hands clench into fists, but I force myself to take a deep breath, reigning in my temper for my daughter's sake.
Carmen’s tiny hands reach for the colorful patches on Maddie’s jean jacket; her big brown eyes are wide with fascination. Then she takes in the backpack that’s got several pins on it.
