Page 33 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“I’ve reviewed the candidates,” I continue. “I’d like to offer you the position.”

There’s a moment of silence on the line.

“Wait.” A beat. “What?”

Despite myself, I allow the faintest shift in expression before it settles again.

“The position,” I repeat. “I'm offering it to you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

The exhale that follows is quiet, but unmistakable. “Oh my goodness.”

“Yes,” I say. “The position is live-in. I expect consistency, discretion, and a high level of professionalism at all times. You’ll be responsible for maintaining structure within the household, particularly where Oliver is concerned.”

“Of course,” she replies quickly. “Yes. I can do that.”

I don’t doubt it.

“There’ll be clear boundaries in place,” I add. “Your role will be defined, and those expectations will be adhered to.”

She understands the implication. There’s a slight shift in her tone when she responds. “Right. Yes. Boundaries. Very important.”

“Good.”

I make a note on the desk. “When can you begin?”

“Tomorrow,” she says. “I can be ready tomorrow.”

“That’s acceptable.

“This will require adjustment,” I say. “From both sides.”

“I figured,” she replies.

“And you’re prepared for that.”

“Yes.”

I close the file in front of me. “Then we're agreed.”

“We are.”

I end the call shortly after.

The decision is in motion, and while the variables remain, they’re, for now, under control.

What's she doing here?

I stare at Addy, unable to quite wrap my head around what I’m looking at, even if I know it isn’t real. I must have finally drifted into sleep after hours of tossing and turning.

She’s wearing the same white blouse from the interview. A crisp, innocent thing that manages, through the geometry of its tailoring, to suggest something lascivious. A hint of skin at the wrist, the curve of a ribcage every time she inhales.

Her mouth is a little open. Her hands are in her lap, twisting a pen between long, lacquered fingers. I feel the heat of humiliation before any other sensation, this sick awareness of wanting, of the possibility of being seen wanting.

But she keeps her eyes on mine and waits.