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I’m grateful for the cash tips we split each day at this place but it’s still minimum wage and I won’t get my first paycheck for another week.
I walk over to the neon open sign in the window and turn it off before locking the door. Because we’re a café, we open early so I’ve been able to work a twelve-hour shift every day this week—four a.m. to four p.m.
“Have a great night, Shelly.” I wave as we both walk our separate ways.
My phone rings and I jump, then dig my hand into my pocket and pull it out. I don’t recognize the number but as someone who has just applied to dozens of jobs, I know it could be a possible employer.
“Hello, this is Margot.”
“Miss Silver?” A deep, syrupy voice says my name on the other end.
“Yes, this is Margot Silver.” I try to sound chipper and upbeat, as if that will help them determine if they want to hire me.
“This is Graham Hayes,” the man’s voice says. “The nanny position.”
“Oh!” I say, surprised. Who is this calling me? It’s certainly not Miss Uptight Perry. “Yes, how can I help you, Mr. Hayes?”
He clears his throat before speaking again, his voice doing weird things to my insides.
“I realize this is very unorthodox, but I’m kind of in a bind here. My housekeeper, Fiona Perry, who you interviewed with, is on vacation and didn’t hire anyone yet. I found your resume in a pile and thought maybe you could help me?”
“Yeah, absolutely. What can I do for you?”
“I need a nanny to start right away.”
“Okay, like how soon?”
“Tonight. Right now, actually. I’ll pay cash.”
I don’t think twice. I accept the job, jump in my car, and rush to the Hayes’ residence. I’m once again reminded just how imposing his residence is when I ring the buzzer at the front gate that is adorned with a massiveH, for Hayes I assume.
“A little pretentious for my taste,” I say as the gate opens and I zip up the driveway.
The moment I pull up to the house, I realize that if he’s needing me to stay the night, I didn’t bring anything other than the clothes I’m wearing and my wallet. I walk to the front porch and raise my hand to ring the bell when the door swings open and a tall, raven-haired man greets me. I jump back, startled.
Holy shit.Is this him?
I feel my mouth fall open and I instinctively bring my fingers to my lips to make sure I haven’t actually just drooled on myself.
If James Bond and Henry Cavill had a baby, it would be Graham Hayes. His long, lean body is wrapped perfectly in what I can only assume is a custom-made tuxedo. He adjusts the cuff link on one of his wrists, his tanned fingers long enough they could probably encircle my waist if he put his hands together.
Suddenly my mouth feels dry and I’m very aware of my scuffed-up Converse and torn jeans, remembering that I just worked a twelve-hour shift and I look every bit the part. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear that has fallen loose from my braid and try to stand up a little taller, like that’s going to cover anything up.
“Miss Silver? Graham Hayes,” he says curtly as he extends his hand toward me.
“I thought for sure you were gonna say Bruce Wayne.” I laugh but his expression stays stoic. I reach my hand out to shake his and it’s completely engulfed.
“Like Batman—never mind. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Please, come inside.”
He gestures with his right hand, his left still holding the door. I step inside. The woodsy scent of his very expensive cologne envelops me and I have to remind myself to breathe.
But just as I’m almost clear of the doorway, my toe catches the lip and I catapult myself forward. I throw my hands out dramatically to catch myself, somehow making it worse and ending up doing a half somersault while falling into a crumpled pile of embarrassment at his feet.
In all those books and movies I’ve seen and read, this is the meet cute. This is the part where the handsome stranger gallantly thrusts his arms out and catches the heroine before she falls, their eyes drawn to each other’s as her breasts smash against his body and he suddenly realizes she’s everything he’s been looking for.
But not in my case. Instead, Mr. Hayes makes zero effort to catch me and instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at me with exasperation, like I’m a bug that he’s considering squishing.
