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I didn’t even know what the hell she was talking about. “Thanks, I’ll make sure you get your last paycheck.”
The bathroom door opened and Dakota came out. She clearly had heard all the voices because she looked intrigued. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt.”
Mary turned and stormed out of my office.
“Who are you?” Poppy asked. “Dad, who is this?”
Dakota was wearing the team T-shirt Carson had brought her, with the blazer over top of it, and it actually looked okay. Kind of franchise cool. She’d fixed her hair and didn’t look like ten minutes earlier she had been spread out on my desk.
“This is Dakota. Dakota, these are my daughters, Willow and Poppy.” I pointed out which was which, clearing my throat, and trying not to look guilty.
“Nice to meet you both,” she said. She gave them a smile.
“Do you have a job here?” Poppy asked.
I couldn’t tell what was going on in my daughter’s head. But then again, that’s how it was with Poppy the majority of the time. Was she suspicious? I had no idea. But she was eight. What would she be suspicious of?
“Sort of. I’m a team cheerleader part-time.”
“That’s so cool,” Willow said.
“I also help with the cheerleaders’ charity events, but that’s a volunteer thing. I’m looking for another paying job but so far I can’t find one. I’m a dancer. An unemployed dancer.”
The long-winded explanation made me realize Dakota was just as rattled by this unexpected encounter as I was, even though she looked outwardly co
mposed. She was overexplaining herself to children.
“A ballet dancer?” Poppy asked.
Dakota shook her head. “No. I’m too tall for ballet. And my boobs are too big.”
I coughed. I could attest to that fact but I wasn’t sure I wanted it discussed in front of my kids.
“I do hip hop, modern, jazz.”
“Dakota has been in music videos,” I said, to get my thoughts off Dakota’s chest. And her everything else.
“What?” Willow gasped. “That’s, like, so amazing. I wish I could dance.”
“Do you take classes?” Dakota asked, looking more and more comfortable. She put her hands in the pockets of her blazer and stood with her legs slightly apart.
It did nothing for my self-control and sanity.
“No.” Willow shot me a dirty look.
I laughed. “Why are you looking at me like that? When have you ever asked to take dance classes and when have I ever told you no for anything?” Which might explain why Mary, the nanny, thought my kids were the devil. “By the way, what did you two do to Mary? Dabbling in the black arts?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Willow said. “She’s mad because I got a deck of tarot cards. All the girls have them.”
Tarot was the new denim jacket? Whatever. “That’s it?”
“Oh, I’m making a bomb,” Poppy said. “But it’s a small bomb. More like a burp. It’s not like this.” She threw her arms up high and all around her. “Kaboom. It’s more like this.” She put her hands together and made a mouth. “Boop.”
Jesus. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. No bomb making, Poppy. We’ve talked about this. You could get seriously hurt. And the FBI is going to storm our apartment if you don’t knock it off. Now go sit down over there.” I pointed to the chair in the corner. “I don’t even know how the hell I’m going to find another nanny if you insist on being the Minibomber.” The thought of all of it gave me heartburn.
“So you like science, huh?” Dakota asked.
My daughter nodded.
