AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Speaking of Teddy, I watch as he squirms in his father’s arms, trying to get down. Ignoring his son’s desires, Colton shifts his weight to his other hip then spears me with a look.
“This interview is over.”
And then he spins on his heels and stalks into the house.
That’s when everything clicks into place. Roger and Sharon are hiring someone to nanny Teddy because Colton’s wife died. The job would be working for the guy who was an asshole to me at the bar, not the sweet, elderly couple I’ve been speaking with this morning.
Roger and Sharon watch him go, their mouths agape, and part of me wants to tell them it’s okay for this to not work out and it can take a few tries before a family dealing with grief finds the right person to enter their dynamic and care for their most precious commodity—a child.
But the other part of me that doesn’t want to leave Sandalwood isn’t ready to give up so easily. Isn’t prepared to go down without a fight.
I need this job, or everything in my life is going to change into something I don’t want it to be.
So with my head held high and my shoulders back, I hop up the stairs and stride past Colton’s parents.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell them, before pulling open the door to the kitchen and following quickly in Colton’s wake.
***
When I find him, he’s upstairs on the floor of Teddy’s room, the two of them playing with a puzzle.
Well, Colton is absentmindedly playing with the puzzle. Teddy is wandering the room, tugging things off the bookshelves and talking loudly to the closet doors.
“Excuse me, wall,” he says, pushing his closet door open.
As I watch the two of them from the doorway, I realize Colton isn’t paying attention to Teddy at all. Instead, he’s moving the pieces around on the puzzle, his face shrouded in something dark as his son zips around the room.
“I’m really good at my job.”
I expect Colton to spin around, startled that I’ve followed him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look back at me. Instead, he just sits there, his attention remaining on that damn puzzle a literal three-year-old can solve.
Instead, he just says, “Really? Because you aren’t very good at your other one. I’m pretty sure it’s not in the job description for a bartender to be a bitch to her customers.”
At first, I’m shocked he’s using foul language in front of his son. But then the actual meaning of the words registers and I cross my arms, glaring at the back of his head and wishing I could light his hair on fire.
Any consideration I had for taking a soft approach goes completely out the window, and I know I’m essentially sabotaging any chance I have left by opening my mouth. But I knew this man would only get one chance at a free pass, and he used that up last weekend at the bar.
“Newsflash, Mr. Palmer—it doesn’t matter what job I have. If a man is going to direct his anger at me, unwarranted, I’m going to chop him down at the knees to remind him I’m not a whipping post for his piles of personal baggage.”
His body visibly locks up, but he still doesn’t turn to look at me.
“I don’t know if you’ve read anything in my file, but I’m an incredible nanny who would be amazing with your son.”
I glance at Teddy, who has finally zeroed in on one toy and crouched in the corner to play with it.
“But I guess you’ll never get to know that version of me, just like I’m assuming I’ll never get to know the version of you that is anything more than an asshole with enormous anger issues. I hope for your son’s sake you learn to get that shit under control before he’s old enough to start imitating it.”
At my final words, Colton finally spins around to look at me, our eyes holding for a long second before I turn my back on him and head down the hallway, down the stairs, and out the front door.
***
Two hours later, I’m sitting in the front seat of my car, wishing I didn’t have to make the walk of shame.
It’s so much easier to have the last fiery words before taking off, leaving the person who wronged me in a cloud of dust as I flee the scene with a smile on my face and retribution in my pocket.
It’s not so easy to have to return to the scene of the crime because I left my damn purse on the kitchen counter. And I can’t even call Roger or Sharon because my phone is in the purse.
Shaking my hands out, I make the same walk up to the front door that I did earlier this morning, though this time with way less hope and positivity and way more dread and trepidation. When I finally knock on the door, I hope and pray it’s Sharon or Roger who answers it instead of…
