Page 11

Chapter Eleven

Xavier

I drop my hockey bag by the door, muscles aching from practice. The house smells like brownies—probably another one of Maggie's tactics to win Finn over. And it's working.

Usually by now, a new nanny would be well on her way to quitting. Finn would have “accidentally” spilled glue in her purse, hidden her phone, or pulled his I only speak Alien routine. Instead, he’s following Maggie around like a lovesick puppy. And she’s not letting up with whatever voodoo kindergarten-whisperer shit she uses on him. Wednesday night, when he pitched a fit over practicing his name, she had him laughing and finishing it in ten minutes. It took me a goddamn hour last week.

"Xave! Come see what we made!" Finn's voice carries from the living room off the kitchen.

"Give me a sec." I stuff a brownie in my mouth then make a beeline for the fridge, grab a jug of cranberry juice, and down several gulps straight from the container as I head to the sitting room. Maggie’s on the floor with Finn, surrounded by a miniature city of cardboard, paint, and enough glitter to blind a small village.

"Whoa… Very cool." I pound knuckles with Finn. "You use a whole pack of glitter or what?" I lift the bottle and take another long sip of juice.

"Two!' He beams up at me.

And Christ, it melts my heart. Finn's smile is the freakin' bomb. My favorite thing in the world, hands down. He's so goddamn innocent. And vulnerable. Sometimes it scares the shit out of me when I think about how damn vulnerable he is. The kid's so starved for attention he'll eat it up any way he can get it. Which is why it's so easy for someone like Maggie to waltz in, play the doting caregiver for a while, and walk away the second it’s inconvenient.

And that's exactly why I don't want him pinning his hopes and snagging that vulnerability on someone like Maggie LeClair, who, sure, no doubt sees him as a fun kid, but at the end of the day, sees him more than anything as a means to an end.

So yeah, even if I’m flying solo this time, Maggie will quit. This is not my first rodeo. And for the stubborn ones who don’t scare off with a little glue in their purse or a string of five-year-old profanity, I have a strategy.

Step one: figure out what pushes their buttons. A weakness. Something that really hits a nerve.

Step two: exploit that weakness to the max. Then push some more.

Step three: tell them not to let the door hit their ass on the way out.

Maggie’s weakness is easy. She flashed it like a neon sign before she even took this job— rich guys . In her mind, we’re all entitled assholes who bulldoze over anyone to get our way. And if that’s the role it takes to make her quit, I’ll play the part. Question is—how much of an asshole do I have to be before the paycheck isn’t worth the aggravation?

Guess we'll find out. Hopefully, sooner rather than later.

"Is it the most glitter you've ever seen in your whole life?" Finn tugs on my sleeve, yanking me out of my thoughts.

"Any more and we'd have to file for a glitter zoning permit," I tell him, capping the juice jug.

His eyes go wide. "Is that real or just pretend?"

"Town hall might have to make it a real thing if they catch wind of this." I nod at the neon monstrosity in front of me.

Finn shoves my thighs, laughing. "You're beingsilly , Xave. It's not real."

I smirk. "You got me, big guy."

"So, you like our city?"

"Love it."

He beams, rocking back on his hands. "I knew you were gonna love it." He giggles. "It's the most sparkly-est city in the whole entire world! "

Not gonna argue with him on that one.

"Yeah, I see that," I say, crouching down to check out his epic masterpiece close up. "Put this bad boy on the market and I bet it sells for twice its weight in glitter."

"Cos it's so sparkly!"

"Exactly." I adjust a crooked cardboard chimney, pink glitter spilling down the milk carton roof onto the garbage bag Maggie must have put down to capture any mess.

"That's how come I used two whole packs—cos' I love love love glitter!"

Maggie leans over, brushing some out of his curls. "I think we're going to need a whole cleanup crew now," she laughs.

I ignore her, averting my gaze to the nearby coffee table, where a few bags of glitter sit beside some toilet paper rolls and a pair of scissors.

I grab the scissors and start cutting the ends off the remaining glitter bags, then crouch beside Finn and place them in front of him, keeping one for myself.

"You know what would be awesome?" I tilt the bag, my gaze finally meeting Maggie's, "A glitter parade."

I swipe my arm in a wide arc that spans well beyond the garbage bag perimeter, so glitter swirls over their cardboard city—but mostly spills all across the rug my mother had imported especially from Turkey.

Finn jumps to his feet, poised with a bag fisted in each hand, eyes lighting up like fireworks. "A glitter parade!" He squeals, bouncing on his toes. "Can I do it, too?"

"Sure can, buddy," I say just as Maggie jumps to her feet.

"Finn, no! "

But it's too late. My little brother swings his arms wildly, silver and gold raining down in a shimmering downpour over his city… the carpet, his clothes, his hair. His squeals echo off the high ceiling as he spins, arms spread, lost in the chaos. " It’s magic! "

Maggie’s expression shifts from horror to fury. Her jaw clenches, eyes narrowed at me, but she doesn’t say a word. She knows if she does, it's admitting I won .

I wink. "Bet the citizens are gonna love their sparkly new city."

More glitter cascades over my mother's prized rug.

Maggie lunges forward. "Finn, you can’t—"

But he’s already dumping the last of it. Then he flops onto his back in the middle of the mess, spreading his arms and legs like he's making a snow angel. " I’M THE KING OF GLITTER CITY! " he declares, his giggles echoing off the high ceiling.

The room looks like a disco ball exploded. Every surface within a ten-foot radius shimmers like victory. I push to my feet, biting back a grin, and head down the hall, towards the stairs.

"This is aaaaawwwesome!" Finn crows behind me. "I wanna do that again!"

Bet he’s already planning round two.

Bet Maggie’s silently cursing me. That she hates my guts.

Bring on the glitter storm.