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He wandered back out into the living room, to the kitchen, and settled himself against the counter by the coffee pot. His eyes landed on the stack of mail by chance. It was a pure coincidence the top letter was a bill stamped in one red, glaring word, SECOND NOTICE.
Blake’s stomach sunk. His fingers itched to touch it, so he ran a hand hastily through his hair. He contemplated slipping it off the top of the pile, pocketing it, and settling the payment for her anonymously.
With a grunt, he turned away and padded back into the living room. It was none of his business. He was there for a job, nothing more. But as he hovered next to the loveseat, his eyes wandered over the tiny apartment, this time really looking. The afternoon of his interview, he hadn’t been particularly observant. He had been too shocked by her presence—the fact that the woman from the coffee shop the day before had been the same one hiring—to take in his surroundings. And now, he saw things he hadn’t noticed the first time around.
The paint on the walls was slightly yellowed and in need of a fresh coat. There was a tiny tear in the upholstery on the upper right-hand side of the sofa, and the recliner looked like it had seen better days. The entertainment stand was one of those inexpensive units made out of cheap particle board. It leaned slightly to the right. A stiff breeze from an open window could probably knock it over, and the coffee table wasn’t much better. The handle of the coat closet hung at a sad angle, and sure enough, when Blake stepped forward and gave it a little turn, it came off in his hand. Clearly, this was a single mom, struggling to stay afloat. One who had little time for things like apartment maintenance, and too little cash for updated furniture. Blake was no expert, but by the looks of things, she was merely doing the best she could to get by.
Something tugged in the center of his chest. He wanted to help her. Maybe his finding her again after their first encounter wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe there was a sort of serendipity to their meeting. Blake needed the Garwoods to accept him into the fold. Mel and her brood, oddly enough, would help him accomplish that. Maybe Blake could help Mel, too. Although he had no idea how. But there had to be something. . .
Just then, a door creaked open, and Mel appeared. She wore a pair of slightly faded black slacks and a black blazer. She tugged on the hem, then she placed the heels she held in her hand on the ground and settled into them as she glanced up at him with a smile. “So, are you ready for this?”
MEL
“AM I INSANE?” MEL ASKED, gripping her coffee cup. “Because I’ve felt like I’ve been going insane for years, so it would make total sense. Just give it to me straight.” She curled her fingers, gesturing to herself and waiting for an answer.
She sat in the freebie closet at PopNewz. Though it was the place she, Marti, and Caroline tended to convene, she wasn’t entirely sure how it would fly with their new boss. Over a month ago, PopNewz got a complete overhaul after the previous owner and CEO got busted for backed taxes as well as some other illegal activity and fled the country. The company was in the throes of reconstruction. Thus far, no one had been fired, which they took as a good sign. Only some minor restructuring had occurred, but the office buzzed with speculation. Word was promotions for a few were on the horizon. The new owner had been making changes remotely while his chief operating officer handled everything on-site. That’s right, she said “he.” The former all-female staff now had a male owner, and Mel couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until they were booted from the freebie room—their interoffice hangout—altogether.
Marti took a sip of her coffee, and her blue eyes blazed. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “You hired a male nanny out of desperation, and now you’re worried about him being a creep?”
“Yep. Pretty much sums it up.”
Caroline and Marti exchanged looks.
Mel covered her face with her hands. “I knew I was an idiot.”
“Well, it’s not that you’re an idiot,” Marti started.
“But no woman in their right mind hires a man to take care of her kids unless he comes personally recommended, or they already know them personally,” Caroline finished for her. “I know that’s not very progressive of us, but there are just too many creepers out there.”
“What do I do?” Mel worried her lip with her teeth. She’d been obsessing about leaving her children with Blake all morning. “I can’t quit my job, or we’ll be homeless. I can’t take them to work.” She tried that once. It did not end well. “I can’t beg my parents to come home when they just barely moved. I mean, women my age should be able to take care of themselves. I’m out of options.”
“Worrying isn’t like you.” Marti reached across the table and grasped Mel’s hand, her brows knitting in concern. She gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, plus, your kids are indestructible, remember?” Caroline popped a chunk of granola in her mouth. “They can hold their own. At the company picnic last year, a little boy pushed Kinsley down by the swings, and I watched as all three descended on that poor kid like a pack of mini-raptors. I swear, when they piled off of him, I expected to see blood.”
Mel snorted.
“You looked into him, right?” Marti asked.
Mel nodded. Somehow this conversation wasn’t easing her nerves like she had hoped. “I did every check imaginable. I even interviewed an old neighbor after he left. Even the girl at The Burnt Bean knew him. I asked her about him on the way in,” she said, nodding toward her paper cup. “Apparently, he’s a regular. He takes his coffee with cream, no sugar, and habitually orders a blueberry muffin.”
“Pfft. Who can’t trust a guy who eats blueberry muffins? Am I right?” Marti said.
“That’s what I thought. Blueberry muffins a
re a breakfast for teddy bears, not child predators,” Mel added. Though this theory was complete BS, it made her feel better for a moment.
“Okay.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “But in the meantime, if you want, I can have my uncle Lorenzo look into him. He has connections.”
Mel raised a brow, while Marti leaned across the table. “Lorenzo? Is that the one that’s in the mafi—”
“Shhhhh! Keep it down. You don’t just say that out loud,” Caroline scolded.
Marti’s eyes widened. “But we’re alone,” she said, glancing around at the clothing and shoe racks.
“These walls have ears.”
Marti turned to Mel and mouthed, She’s crazy.
