Page 1 of The Last Thing (Baker Girls #4)

CHAPTER ONE

HALLIE

“I got what I deserve! What I should’ve had! What I would have had if you hadn’t slept with that whore of a nanny and destroyed our relationship.”

Rule number one of being a nanny: never get involved with the client.

Unfortunately for her, the quivering girl a few feet from me with tears in her eyes did not get the memo.

To a degree, I feel sorry for her. She obviously knew she was getting in the middle of a marriage, but I don’t think she’s a whore or a gold digger.

She’s got a soft heart and fell for the smooth words of a man who was desperate to relive his twenties with the night nanny taking care of his five and three-year-old daughters.

Not a concern for me. Before I started babysitting in high school, my mom had a long talk with me about what behavior was appropriate and inappropriate with the parents, and told me to come to her right away if they ever made me feel uncomfortable.

She also plainly told me, no matter what words they say, never get involved with the parents of the children I babysit—or nanny—for.

When I was young, she said it to protect me from predatory men.

Now, as an adult, I use that as my hard and fast rule.

Not that I need to worry about it, anyway. My heart is far too locked up to fall for some sweet words and longing looks. But my rule extends beyond matters of the heart, to matters of the body, which I’m happy to partake in.

But never with a client.

As the jilted ex-wife continues screaming at her ex-husband and the nanny-turned-lover, I make my exit, stage right.

These people have taken enough of my time and sanity.

When their affair came to light and everything blew up, my job as their daytime nanny was blown to pieces too.

I had to say goodbye to two little girls I adored.

I cried. They cried. The Brazilian manny the ex-wife revenge hired cried. But the fun didn’t stop there.

Since they’re high-profile people in New York, the press has followed it all, which means no one has wanted to touch me with a ten-foot pole. So, now I have the joyous task of finding another job when my name has been dragged through the trenches with those idiots.

My sister Frannie’s boyfriend, Mark, is the quarterback for the New York Bandits, and though he put my name out to everyone in the Bandits organization, most people already had nannies. Though I’m a backup or babysitter for a few, it’s not full-time income.

I have to come up with some kind of plan, but right now, I’m too exhausted to think of anything.

Theoretically, I could finish my teaching certification and do that, but I got two weeks into my student teaching and realized I hated it.

Running a whole classroom brought out my chaotic side in the worst way.

Turns out I’m not great with a room full of kids.

I like having only a couple of kids at a time.

I can bond with them in a different way, and really get to know them.

So, I went back to nannying, which I’d done throughout high school and college.

Now I’m here.

Whatever. At least I’m free of all that family drama I didn’t ask to be a part of.

I take a deep breath as I walk down the courthouse steps and pull out my phone.

I laugh at the text I see.

Gran: How did it end? Spill the tea.

I take a right and aim for the nearest subway entrance while typing a text back to my grandmother.

She’s eighty-three going on twenty-eight. She lives her life wild and free and loves a good dramatic story—fiction or reality—and always has a sarcastic quip in response.

Gran is one of my favorite people. She’s off traveling the world, so I don’t get to see her as often as I did when I was young, but it’s the way she’s chosen to spend the rest of her life.

She had a beautiful love story with my grandpa. He died unexpectedly when I was fourteen, and she struggled for years before she found some great widowed friends and started traveling the world with them—living their best lives.

Me: Long story short… it was a lot of drama. The wife got more than the husband wanted her to, and they were in the middle of a screaming match when I left.

Gran: Good for her. She should make him pay. Glad you’re finally free, even though I’ll miss the regular updates.

Me: I’ll try to find some new drama to update you on. Preferably further removed from me. What about you? How’s Greece? What trouble are you getting into?

Rather than a text, my phone buzzes with a call from her. I answer, weaving through the people on the street, and let Gran distract me from my career uncertainty and general cranky attitude.

It’s time to let it all go.

I’m going home and getting changed, because most of my favorite people are in the city for the day.

We’re going to spend the afternoon at the New York Metros game, and if I’m lucky, we’ll spend the night at our favorite bar, where hopefully I can find a hookup to fuck all the bad energy right out of me.

“Love is not coming for me,” I say pointedly, looking around the booth at our favorite little bar, McGills Tavern. It’s a safe space, it’s never overcrowded, the drinks are good, and the burgers are amazing.

Unfortunately, I’m surrounded by hopeless romantics.

The game this afternoon was fun. Frannie, who now lives upstate in a tiny little town called Ida, came down for the weekend—though she and Mark went back to their apartment here to bone as soon as dinner was over.

I can’t blame them. If I had someone to give me regular phenomenal orgasms, that’s where I’d want to be too.

Though I’m happy for her, I miss her. It sucked when she moved upstate, but at least when she visited, it was our time together. Her, me, and our cousin, Kennedy—who is more like our sister since our moms are sisters and our dads are brothers—the Baker girls.

We grew up together until Kennedy’s family moved to California when she was eleven and I was six.

She moved back here after college, but a couple of months ago, she went back to California for her high school reunion and decided to stay since she and her best friend Devon finally admitted they were in love after denying it for years.

I miss them, but I’m happy for them. They deserve to live their best lives—and love stories.

Just because I don’t want one doesn’t mean I’m not happy for them.

With me tonight are two of Mark’s teammates—wide receiver Ryan Hardison a.k.a.

Hardy, and Brian Ackley, a giant lineman with the softest of hearts—and my brother from another mother, Justin Ayers.

He met Kennedy and Devon ten years ago at college in Chicago and moved back here with them when college was over.

From the first time I met him, we had big sibling energy, and he’s always acted like my brother, giving me shit and protecting me.

He’s moved around a bit, and now lives upstate in a neighboring town to where Frannie lives.

With his wife, Jade, who is also here. Because the man got married six weeks ago to someone he’d only known for two weeks because she needed health insurance.

Yet, with the way he looks at her, it’s obvious that has nothing to do with why he married her.

He’s stupidly in love. Just like Frannie and Mark. And Kennedy and Devon. The love bug is chomping its way through our friend group.

But. Not. Me.

I don’t do love.

I love seeing the people I love happy in their relationships. I believe love can last. But I also know it can catastrophically destroy you. And that’s not a risk I’ve ever been willing to take.

But Hardy just pats my hand. “Baby girl, I don’t think you get to choose that.”

“He’s right,” Brian says. His voice is soft, filled with longing, and there’s a deep ache in his eyes.

A look that only increases when Hardy gives him a gentle look and squeezes his arm. “You will find it when the time is right. When the person is right.”

And if the love bug is looking for its next victims, it needs to open its eyes because they’re sitting right there.

I’ve known Brian is bisexual for a while.

He told me soon after we met, though I’m not sure he’s told anyone else.

We both have an emo-kid side and we bonded over that.

He’s never admitted his feelings for Hardy to me, but I see them.

I have no idea how Hardy identifies or if he has any feelings for Brian, but with the tenderness in his eyes when he speaks, it’s impossible to believe he doesn’t feel something .

So, crossing my fingers those two figure it out, because I hate seeing that hurt and desperation in Brian’s eyes.

But as quickly as all that angst filtered into his eyes, it disappears again.

“Yeah. You’re right. And I don’t need to mope, so let’s go grab another drink.”

I slide out of the booth to let them go to the bar, and as I’m slipping back in, the bell over the door goes off.

And hello .

Walking in is a deliciously hot man with dark hair and a face full of dark stubble. His jaw is set tightly, and he’s loosening his tie like it’s the most restrictive thing in the world. He’s a little older than me for sure—not hard since I’m only twenty-three—but he looks like exactly my type.

Smiling, I sit down in the booth, watching him as he walks to the bar and orders a drink.

Target acquired .