Page 98 of Nine Week Nanny

"No, of course not! It's just early." I wince at how high and squeaky that comes out.

Angela laughs softly. "Listen, I'm not going to pry. But I will say this. We're leaving here at nine. The Children's Museum has that new dinosaur exhibit Micah's been begging to see. I was going to turn it into our lesson for the day. Come on."

I hesitate, glancing toward my door, imagining Pope downstairs on his calls, moving through his day like nothing happened. Like I wasn't crumbling upstairs.

"I'd like that. I'm going by Citrine first. What can I bring you?"

"Oh, that sounds divine. I'll have the Green Goddess juice, please."

The kindness in her voice nearly breaks me. No questions. No judgment. Just an outstretched hand when I need it most.

"You bet. I'll see you there around nine-fifteen."

"Yay. And Sloane? Whatever's going on, it'll be okay. Maybe not today, but eventually."

I swallow hard. "Thanks, Angela."

I hang up and exhale slowly. My shoulders drop as the tension eases just slightly. Turning toward the mirror on my dresser, I study the woman staring back at me. She looks exhausted. Raw. Like she's already grieving something she never really had.

My reflection doesn't offer any answers, just confirms what I already know: I'm fucked.

TWENTY-SIX

Pope

I grip the phone tighter as Caleb’s voice crackles through the speaker. My free hand hovers over the hospital staffing projections, numbers that are now meaningless after forty-two nurses walked out.

"The travel nurses are arriving tonight, but we're paying triple the standard rate." His voice is strained, even through the phone. "It's bleeding us dry, Pope."

"Better than bleeding out patients." I rub my temples, pacing the length of my office window. "What's legal saying about the breach of contract?"

"They're drafting rehire terms now. PR is pushing a patient safety campaign to counter the media narrative."

My jaw clenches so tight I think something just popped in my temple. "Tell Sanders I want those drafts by noon."

I hear the faint sound of the front door opening, then closing. Not the heavy thud of the main door, but the lighter click of the side entrance. Frowning, I step to the window just in time to see Sloane's Toyota RAV4 pulling out of the driveway instead of the Tahoe I'd given her to use.

"Fuck." The word escapes before I can catch it.

"What? What happened?" Caleb’s voice sharpens.

"Nothing. Not you." I press my forehead into my hand and sit back down at my desk. "Keep going."

He drones on about contingency staffing, but I'm barely listening.

I never circled back to Sloane after Warren called. Never even said goodbye this morning before diving into crisis mode. I'd planned to slip back upstairs, wake her properly, maybe even?—

But now she's gone without a word.

My chest tightens. It looks like I didn't bother, when the truth is I got swallowed by one fire after another. First Warren with Chris's wild accusations about me sleeping with the nanny, then this ongoing nightmare at the hospital, and now Sloane slipping away while I was putting out flames.

"Pope? Are you still there?"

"Yes." I straighten my shoulders and force my mind back to the call. "If we cave to these demands, we'll never get the model off the ground."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"That's all for now."