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That wasn't my style. I never lost my temper. I gritted my teeth and looked away. I hated myself for scaring her, but this kind of behavior wouldn't fly if she was taking care of my kids. The kids! "Where are Leon and Brady?"
She didn't meet my eyes. “Upstairs. Asleep.”
"Did anything else happen tonight?" I asked. Maybe something caused her to be this anxious. We lived in a very safe part of the city, and the building was well guarded, but stranger things have been known to happen.
Violet shook her head slowly, folding her arms across her center like she was protecting herself. God, I terrified her. Whether it was from my coming in, which I shouldn't have to apologize for, or my raised voice, I didn't know.
I sighed heavily. This was only her first day, and it shouldn't be a bad experience. I took a measured breath and said gently, “Violet, I'm sorry. I shouldn't yell. I didn't mean to scare you.”
“Oh, it's fine.” She laughed lightly, but it sounded hollow. Her hands still shook, and she clasped them in front of her. “I'm sorry I almost..." She waved her hand in the general direction of my face. "It's a new place, and I'm a bit jumpy. That's all. Goodnight." She tore past me and raced toward the living room without giving me a chance to respond.
The TV clicked off, and I listened as her feet padded up the stairs. I cringed as her room door opened and shut.
“Well, good going.” I groaned, rubbing an aching spot on my forehead.
I gave the kitchen a once over and spotted what caused the initial clatter that piqued my curiosity. A couple of spoons had dislodged from their spot as Violet went for the pan. I replaced them and the pan to their storage places and turned off the light.
I wasn't much of a drinker, preferring to bury myself in work, but tonight I needed something to ease my nerves. I made my way to the wet bar, poured myself a tumbler of bourbon, and threw it back. Settling on a stool, I topped off the glass and sipped more slowly. I should probably be grateful Violet was cautious enough to be worried about who was coming into the house but to pick up a frying pan in self-defense? That was overreacting. Except maybe someone hurt her before...I spun toward the winding staircase like she might have left clues on her way up. Nothing came to mind. Was that the reason she left her teaching job? On paper, she was an intelligent, competent woman and her references were excellent. I paid well, but she had studied to be a teacher.
I tipped my head back and drained the glass. All these questions led me nowhere. It was best to ask the people who knew. Maybe that would explain her actions tonight. I didn't need a troubled woman for a nanny. I started to reach for the bottle again but decided against it. I didn't want my head to be fuzzy tomorrow.
I headed upstairs and paused by Violet's bedroom door. Maybe I should reassure her that her little display didn't ruin her chances of working here. Whatever drove her to be that uneasy must be genuinely terrifying. I started to raise my hand to knock but stopped myself. I'd rather just ask Troy and Layla so I’d know exactly what I was dealing with before I dove in to give assurances. Who knows whether her story might change my mind?
I pulled back my fist and walked on until I reached my bedroom. Shaking my head, I walked in and shut the door behind me.
Chapter3
Violet
Shawn announced last night he was leaving on a work trip for the weekend and wouldn't be back until Sunday. After embarrassing myself a total of two times in one day in front of him, I did everything short of squealing with delight. On Friday morning, the kids hugged him goodbye, and I waved him farewell. He didn't spare me more than a sideways glance, but it didn't matter. He was gone, and I could stop vacating rooms just because I got a whiff of his woodsy cologne. Yep, I had my boss's scent tattooed on my brain. And if that wasn't weird enough, the smell calmed me.
After that first night, when I was so worked up I nearly gave him a concussion, I learned one thing about my boss. His physique was not merely eye candy. The man handled my adrenaline-fueled strength like it was inconsequential. I'd gone at him with all my energy, but he handled my pan-wielding swing like it was nothing. Maybe that was why I wasn't totally ecstatic as I shut the door behind him. I was alone with the kids; what if—
“Violet, come see!” Brady called from the living room.
I shook off my reverie and leaned behind the couch where the boys sat.
“See, I'm winning,” the six-year-old squealed.
“Yeah, right. 'Cause I'm letting you,” his older brother threw back.
They trash-talked each other for the next ten minutes until Brady emerged victorious.
“In your face, Leon!” He hopped onto the chair and did a victory dance.
I laughed despite myself. A couple of days ago, I got a game Brady could play, and ever since, the winning streaks evened out between the boys.
“I let you.” Leon flicked his controller onto another chair, folding his arms across his chest.
“Ha-ha. You're a sore loser! Sore, sore loser.”
“Okay, okay,” I stepped in before it got worse. Lifting Brady under his arms, I placed him on the floor. “Be nice, Brady. And that's enough games for the morning. What do you want to have for breakfast?”
“Pancakes.” Leon perked up.
“Cake,” Brady said.
"Yeah, what if we make pancakes today and bake a cake tomorrow?"
