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Reese doesn’t seem to mind. He snorts, resting his chin on his fist. The way he looks at me makes me feel like I did in my dream.
Naked.
“Be cool if it did. But nah. Just straight cash. So is that a yes to more money, or do I have to find another way to bribe you?”
It’s tempting to say yes. I think about Mom. My shameful drawer full of medical bills I haven’t been able to pay. Student loan collectors I’ve been dodging. Hell, loans I took out to help Mom pay her mortgage without her knowing…
Reese is already paying me an arm, a leg, and a firstborn child. Asking for any more would just be plain greedy.
“The price is fine. But I want at least one full weekend out of the month. Personal time.”
He leans closer, suddenly intrigued. “Oh? What’s this? Did Miss Stick-in-the-Mud get a boyfriend in the time since our interview?”
“It’s to spend time with my mother,” I answer succinctly.
That seems to take him off-guard. He pulls back like I’ve slapped him, and for a moment, I swear a shadow of something strange passes over his face.
Then it’s gone, and that arrogant smirk is back in place. “Right. People have moms.”
What a weird thing to say. “Yeah. I look after mine, and would like at least one weekend with her a month.”
“Deal.”
Him giving in that easily is unexpected, but I’m not going to argue it. With his temperament, he’d probably be like, Psych! Fooled you. You have to work Monday through Sunday until you drop dead.
He jerks his chin at the paperwork again. He does everything with that chin, like talking is just too much effort sometimes. It’d be annoying if it wasn’t also kinda hot.
With a grimace, I start looking through it. It's a ton of legalese, but the parts I can parse out include lots of stipulations about remaining within the house or the backyard with Violet and limiting public time, that sort of thing, mostly designed to keep the hounds of the paparazzi at bay.
Fine by me. I scribble my name and initials in all the blank spaces and then flip the page. First section down.
The next one is a little more involved.
“Another NDA?” I ask.
“Keep reading.”
I thumb through, brows furrowed, and read aloud under my breath as I go. “‘Don’t tell anyone who you’re nannying for.’ ‘Don’t speak of anything inside the house to anyone.’ ‘Don’t talk about Reese Dalton’s schedule with anyone.’ ‘Don’t talk about Violet with anyone…’ ‘Failure to adhere to these rules will result in immediate termination and return of all monies earned?!”
“I’m very protective.”
I scoff. “This is… a lot, to be this protective. She’s your niece, not the Hope Diamond. I’m not allowed to speak of any aspect of my job? C’mon. I mean, my mom and my best friend already know that I’m nannying for you anyway?—”
“What?”
I shrug. “I got a job, so we were celebrating. They were curious about who I was nannying for. I told them you have a niece you’re looking after. That’s all.”
His jaw tenses up so tight that I start to worry about the integrity of his teeth. “You can’t tell them anymore. You’ll be breaking the NDA. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
His sudden, fierce intensity takes me by surprise. “Yeah,” I mumble. “Okay. I understand.”
“Good.” He leans back in his chair and eases, though it takes a second for him to fully unclench. He seems relieved by my answers, but he’s still serious. “There’s one last thing you’ll sign. It’s about Violet. You’d find out eventually, so it’s easy to just get it out of the way now. Violet’s not my niece. She’s my daughter.”
It takes everything I have not to let my mouth fall wide open. Suddenly, all the secrecy falls perfectly into place. All those scattered puzzle pieces come together to form the whole picture.
He’d hedged around the questions when I asked about her parents before. Now, all these extra NDA conditions… I’d bet half my new shiny salary that’s why he wants to keep me in the house 24/7, too.
Is this just more rich people doing rich people shit, or did I accidentally stumble into some fucked-up familial drama with a baby at the center?
