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I’m speechless. She thinks that everything I’m doing for Violet is to get to Reese?
“I… I?—”
“You seem smart,” she continues. “But plenty of smart girls get caught up in Reese’s bullshit. I’ll be generous and say you’d have… one, maybe two months. And that’s if he likes fucking you repetitively. He gets bored pretty easy.”
I’ve never heard Paula speak like this. It’s a side of her I never expected to see. Where is all this coming from? Did she?—
“To answer that question plastered all over your face, no, I’ve never fucked Reese. I don’t want to. I’ve just worked for him long enough to know what kind of man he is. You’re an adult; you can make your own choices. But your little homemaking adventures should really be carried out with the understanding that where you are is where you should stay on Reese’s totem pole of women. Just some food for thought.”
Like she hadn’t just boldly inserted her completely unasked-for opinion into my life, she leaves the nursery.
I don’t know if I should feel insulted or hurt or angry. All three? I hadn’t done anything to imply that I wanted Reese!
Well, aside from those private thoughts and that dream… all of which are things that Paula has no clue about. But was it obvious that I was attracted to him in some way?
Although, what woman isn’t attracted to Reese in some way? It doesn’t mean that I was going to act on it.
I’m beyond flustered. If she’s his personal assistant, does it mean that she’s going to tell him about this conversation? Did she already talk to him about it? Maybe she gave him the same “pep talk.”
You know you’re always getting involved with all these girls. Don’t waste your time on the nanny, Reese. You should know better.
She even called him Reese this time. She always calls him Mr. Dalton, but when the gloves come off, suddenly he’s Reese. Are they closer than they appear?
My mind races. What was just a project to give a little girl something nice has turned into a serious worry about my place here. It’s barely been a month and it already feels like things are starting to fray at the seams.
If I mess up once, if I step out of line once, that’s my job straight down the toilet. Judy’s warning hasn’t left me since that call with her after the Harrisons fired me.
“Okay, Olivia,” I mumble under my breath. “Pull it together.”
I push myself off the floor. I need to occupy my mind with something, so I start cleaning. Toys off the floor. Organizing and reorganizing the shelves I bought for her baby books.
Suddenly, there’s a flicker of light. A pop resounds and then the room goes dim.
Oh, goddammit.
In a vacuum, it’s not a big deal at all. Just change the light, right? The old pack of bulbs I found in the back of a closet was probably expired or whatever anyway. But in the wake of Paula’s “advice,” on top of my own recurring dreams and intrusive thoughts, it’s enough to send me right up to the edge of meltdown. Like karma or the universe itself is telling me my doom is fast approaching.
I rein it in. Action steps, baby, action steps. What do I do?
Step one: find a new lightbulb.
I hook the baby monitor to my hip. Violet is asleep, but she could wake at a moment’s notice. The last thing I want after Paula telling me to my face that I need to stop trying to sleep with her boss is for her or anyone to think that I’m not taking care of Violet on top of it.
Ugh. The whole vibe of the evening’s been thrown off.
I have no idea where Reese keeps things like spare bulbs, and after Paula’s conversation, I really don’t want to have to go talk to him.
So I do the next best thing: I explore the house.
It isn’t my first time through the Dalton domicile, but when your main priority is a twelve-pound human that can’t even walk on their own, you don’t do much adventuring. I haven’t had to chase Violet through the halls, pull her away from stair ledges, or hunt for her only to find her hiding in a closet.
All in good time, I’m sure.
It doesn’t take me long to get frustrated. For a place belonging to a perpetual bachelor, Reese’s home has a lot of cabinets. He’s only one person. Why does he need so much storage? I’d kill for this much space in my apartment.
I find spare towels. Cleaning supplies. Hockey gear, hockey gear, and then more hockey gear.
But no bulbs.
