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Once we’re back in the bedroom, Sophie gives a cursory look over everything to see what really needs to be done. “Okay,” she says, giving everyone including me a wipe. “We're going to have a competition. In ten minutes’ time, whoever can show me the dirtiest cloth wins a bar of chocolate.”
“But I don’t have a—”
Sophie shushes me before I can finish my sentence. “Ready… set… go!” She claps her hands like a starting pistol and the kids race off, any camaraderie lost in the face of a battle. Ava runs to the wall, plops herself down, and starts rubbing at the wall at random. Noah and Chloe run to the bathroom, bickering unintelligibly about who gets to do what.
“Off you go,” Sophie shoos me, flapping her hands. “Or are you going to let three kids beat you?”
Ava giggles manically at that, continuing to scrub at the wall with complete abandon. “Can’t I just supervise?” I say in despair.
Sophie considers this and then nods. “All right. But that means, technically, Ava beats you.” The little girl giggles again. I wonder where she got this competitive streak from. It certainly wasn't my brother.
“Fine,” I huff. Before Sophie can be smug at me again, I head for the bathroom. I'm not sure how I feel about this new side of her. I'm so used to her just doing everything I tell her to. It’s kind of nice to be challenged by someone with a brain, though.
To my surprise, in the bathroom Chloe and Noah are just getting on with their task. Noah is giving the floor a comprehensive sweep while Chloe stands on her tiptoes, wiping down the counter. They both look at me for a second when I come in, then go back to their jobs. “Aren't you going to help, Uncle Lucas?” asks Chloe.
“No,” is all I say. She hums with curious discontent but doesn't ask any further questions.
We stand in absolute silence until Sophie claps her hands together again to signal that time is up. Chloe and Noah rush back to Sophie, desperate to show her their hard work. I follow more slowly but still feel a strange rush of… I don’t know what — pride? — at the way the kids hold out their dirty cloths. Sophie inspects all of them carefully. I’m disappointed to see that my wall still has great black streaks on it, but at least it's better than it was before. I'll give Yolanda a bonus to clean it properly.
“Good job, guys,” Sophie says, taking the supplies away from them. “Now, how about we go back to the kitchen to see if breakfast is here yet?”
With a chorus of cheers, the kids scamper back off. “Thank you,” I say, noting her surprise, “for settling them.”
“It’s no worries,” she shrugs.
“Stay. I mean, to babysit. You can stay in the other spare room. It can be yours for the month. I need you to look after them.”
“Sir, I…” She trails off, uncertain. Sure, it’s a big ask, but it’s not really much more than I ask of her already. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”
“I’ll give you double whatever you were already going to ask for. I’m willing to negotiate for triple.”
“Double would be fine,” she says, biting her lip in uncertainty.
“So, you’ll do it?”
She sighs, squeezing her eyes shut. “Yes, okay, fine. I’ll do it.”
For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to smile at the relief that washes through me. With Sophie here, everything is going to be okay.
CHAPTER 7
SOPHIE
Ihave a split second of fear when I wake up, the morning kind of fear when you aren’t in your own bed and you can’t quite remember where you are, the kind of confusion that comes with bed sheets that don’t quite smell or feel right. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m sleeping in my boss’s bed. Well, the spare one. Which is bad enough.
It is comfortable, though. I didn’t think I was a soft-pillow fan, but these luxurious, down feather, hypoallergenic, silk pillow-cased things are starting to convince me otherwise. I’m pretty sure the mattress is made of memory foam as well. Every inch of it seems to conform to my body, cocooning me in a nest that I don’t want to get up from. Fortunately, I don’t have to. I might have agreed to babysit for the next month, but I haven’t been set any hours.
Still, I shouldn’t lie about here all day. I take an extra ten minutes luxuriating in the king-size bed, and then another ten scrolling mindlessly on my phone before I finally summon the will to get up. I’m also glad I have my own bathroom. I wouldn’trelish the idea of bumping into Lucas in the middle of the night in our pajamas.
Now,thatwould just be weird.
As I wander into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I have a moment of shooting doubt. Have I really agreed to this? Do I even know what I’m getting myself into? Doesn’t this violate so many rules about employees and workplace conduct?
Guess it’s a good job I’m not going to be his employee for much longer. A twist of guilt that I can’t quite explain turns in my stomach, and I try my best to push it away. I have nothing to feel guilty about. Everyone’s allowed to advance their career however they want. Why should I be any different?
But here I am, and I’ve just signed on for a whole extra month of service with Lucas. I don’t particularly relish the idea of having to do my full-time job as well as full-time looking after children in his house. He makes me do enough menial tasks as it is in the office, let alone in his home.
I can’t afford to think like this. Ambitions come with a cost, and the price of my ambition is going to be looking after three adorable children for one more month and raking in an absolute fortune. I’ve done worse jobs for less. And anyway, my salary is about to get slashed, so I could do with saving all I can while I’m still making it.
