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Mel stepped toward the huge glass window that perfectly showcased the city below. “This was hidden in the storage closet?” she asked, astonished.
In the distance, Central Park stood out in a swath of green among the buildings. Skyscrapers burst into the sky in gleaming towers of silver and chrome, while people bustled across the streets and sidewalks below. New York City had never looked so good, midtown Manhattan never more beautiful.
“I know, right? Some boss of yours. I swear she just wanted the only decent office to herself. That woman was as power-hungry as they come,” Hillary muttered.
Mel grinned. That sounded about right.
Her gaze shifted from the windows to the wall across from her desk. An expansive row of bookshelves showcased years of old PopNewz volumes. Framed posters of candid shots from past issues hung over the creamy walls. It was sophisticated, light, airy, and perfect. And it was hers.
She turned back to face Hillary. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“Well, don’t go thanking me yet.” Hillary headed toward the door and tapped the empty plaque with a polished nail. “This is empty. There’s no name here yet. The job is yours, but you’ll need to prove yourself. Consider this a probational period. As long as the next few weeks go smoothly, it’s yours. There’s a lot more responsibility that comes with this position. We’ll set up an appointment with HR if all goes well to sign your new contract in a few weeks.”
Her words were a pinprick to Mel’s bubble, thrusting her back into reality. The position was right at her fingertips, but she could still screw up. And the way her life had been going, she was on a fast track to never getting a nameplate. “I won’t disappoint,” Mel said, mustering all the confidence she didn’t feel at that moment.
“Good.” Hillary smiled and glanced at her watch. “I have a conference call with Mr. McConnell. In the meantime,” she said, motioning toward Mel’s desk, “I left a packet with the job description, expectations, salary, and everything else you’ll need to know on your desk. I’ll be back to go over any questions you might have. Until then, feel free to move any personal mementos from your cubicle in here.”
Mel nodded, refraining from the urge to pinch herself. This was really happening.
She glanced at her desk. Looks like she’d have to shove her fears of the creeper manny to her periphery. Then again, maybe she could just take a couple hours, run home, and check on them. . .
“Hey, Hillary?” she asked, taking a step forward.
“Yeah?” Hillary paused outside the doorway, head cocked, waiting.
She opened her mouth to ask when the faces of her three children popped into her head. In a few years’ time, they’d be twice the size and need twice the room. Her boys would turn from toddlers to teenagers in the blink of an eye. They already ate her out of house and home. She couldn’t even imagine her grocery bill ten years from now. She thought about how they’d asked for a puppy last week, but Mel told them no. Not because she didn’t want one. In fact, a dog might provide enough entertainment for the triplets that she might actually have a moment to herself. She told them no because she couldn’t afford it. Not on her salary with three children. Pets meant vet bills and flea medicine and toys—money she didn’t have. Not to mention time spent walking them in the city to find a place to do their business. It’s not like she had a yard just outside.
“Were you going to say something?” Hillary asked.
Mel cleared her throat, pushing aside her worry. “Um, no, I just uh . . .” She swallowed. “I was wondering . . . would you ever personally consider hiring a male nanny?”
Hillary scrunched her nose. “Oh, heck, no. Who would do that?”
CHAPTER FIVE
BLAKE
Blake came crashing into the bed
room. Toys were strewn everywhere. Blankets covered the floor, and somewhere beneath the mess was a bag of potato chips that got launched underneath the rubble. He had managed to wrangle the three kids into the living room for most of the morning, but somewhere between Peter discovering a bag of chocolate chips in the pantry and Brady deciding to lather his dry hair in half a bottle of shampoo he lost all control.
Now the three of them ran rampant around the tiny apartment like animals caged at the zoo. They pulled at the drapes, threw bins of toys on the floor like they were in a particularly intense episode of Supermarket Sweep, and climbed the pantry shelves like a bunch of monkeys.
It was around the time Brady found a marker and started drawing on Kinsley’s face that Blake started to question his sanity. Maybe his brother had been right. This had been a bad idea. Being a nanny was possibly the worst idea he had ever had, in fact. At this rate, he wouldn’t last the afternoon, let alone any length of time with these kids. Maybe the Garwoods concerns were justified. He wasn’t father material.
The fear from that single thought gnawed away at the remaining edges of his sanity like acid. He was tired, covered in some kind of mystery goo from Kinsley’s fingers, and in desperate need of a drink. Even his scalp hurt from pulling on his hair out of frustration. He’d be lucky to end the day with any left. Soon, he’d be bald.
“Poopy pants. Poopy pants. Peter’s got poopy pants.” Brady flew past Blake in the living room, arms out like an airplane, knocking a vase off a shelf with a thunderous crash.
Blake covered his face with his hands. Maybe if he couldn’t see them, they’d disappear.
A tiny hand tugged at the hem of his shirt.
Or not.
Blake glanced down to see Kinsley, her brown curls a halo around her head. She almost looked angelic. How deceiving.
“Mr. Blake, I have to go potty and Peter’s blocking the bathroom,” she whined.
