Page 106 of Nine Week Nanny

Lennon presses closer instead of answering.

"He likes both," I say, forcing my voice steady. "Half and half on the same pancake."

"Lennon, I brought a puzzle," Tasha adds gently, bending down to meet him at my legs. "Maybe you and I can try it while you eat breakfast."

He looks up at me, a silent question in his eyes.

"It's okay," I whisper.

Slowly, reluctantly, he lets go, each finger slipping from mine like a goodbye.

I grab my purse, keys jangling too brightly. "I'll see you Monday, Lennon. Have fun."

The house is suddenly foreign as I step toward the door. Behind me, Tasha steers him toward the kitchen table, her tone calm, practiced, but missing the softness he’s used to.

I pause at the threshold, watching his small shoulders slump as he sits. Neither of them looks back.

The weekend yawns open ahead of me, two days of silence and a sparse apartment.

Replaceable. Temporary. Just the nanny.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Pope

The patio chair is hard under me, the night air too still. I check my phone again. 10:38 PM. No messages. No sign of Sloane's car in the drive.

She's not coming back here tonight. It's Saturday, so I guess she figures I can handle when Tasha isn't here.

I swirl the sparkling water in my glass. The ice is long melted. A text sits half-composed on my screen:Are you coming back tonight? I'd like to talk.My thumb hovers over send before I delete it entirely.

What right do I have to ask her to talk to me at this point after letting her walk away this morning, after keeping her at arm's length all week?

I drop my head into my hands. Warren's voice echoes in my skull.If Chris's photos are allowed in of you with the nanny, he will likely get Lennon.

Images of Chris's smug face as he threatened to release them flood back.I'm not the one fucking the help.

I stand abruptly, chair scraping against stone.

Grabbing my glass, I head for the door. Maybe a shower. Maybe work. Anything to drown out the silence.

I close the patio door behind me, and suddenly she's there. Sloane, backlit by the kitchen lights, her face unreadable.

"Oh." Her voice is flat. "I didn't realize you were out here."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "You came back."

"I always come back at night." Her shoulders straighten. "That was the agreement. But if you'd rather I didn't?—"

"No, no. That's not what I meant. I didn't know if you would."

"Why wouldn't I?" She crosses her arms. "I'm thenanny, right? I sleep here."

The word nanny cuts like glass. Somehow, that word, that title, is a weapon.

"Sloane—"

"Look, I get it." She steps back, reaching for her purse on the counter. "This was... whatever this was. But I should go. I'll come back Monday morning, and I won't skip a beat. I'll make it very easy, you won't have to tiptoe around."