Page 3 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

So, let’s have it. What do you need? A makeup artist? My rate is $125 an hour.

I’m starting to regret texting you.

Only now?

I have a pretty good memory of his house’s layout, so I try to visualize where he is. Is he sitting in his music room, at his drums? Nah. He wouldn’t want to keep Ollie up with the music. The soundproofing in that place is the best that money can buy, but Travis is the cautious type.

So he’s probably in his bedroom, maybe even lying in his bed. Would he be wearing a T-shirt ?

It’s my imagination, so no T-shirt. Just his toned arms and chest…

My phone buzzes, and I stop salivating for long enough to pick it up.

I have that show tomorrow night.

Boom, there it is.

Everyone at Big Catch is probably still pissed at me for quitting. They won’t do you any favors on my account, unless you want free beer. My brother can hook you up with that.

This isn’t about Big Catch.

My mouth puckers, because suddenly I know what he’s going to say next, but I can barely believe it.

Our nanny quit, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to sit for Ollie tomorrow night.

Look, I know what you’re going to say.

I was a little harsh about the game, but I’d like to keep things age-appropriate.

I can pay you fifty an hour. It’s not makeup, but I hope it’s still worth your time.

I drop my phone.

Fifty dollars an hour to watch cartoons with Ollie?

Most babysitting or nannying jobs offer about half that.

Hot damn. He must be wealthier than I realized and very desperate. Suspiciously desperate, which automatically makes me curious.

Still...I’m a woman of principles.

And, by that, I mean I’m stubborn .

So I respond:

Nope, sorry. Wouldn’t want to poison young minds.

You’re going to make me grovel, aren’t you?

You might want to start by apologizing.

Five seconds later, my phone rings.

My grin spreads wider. Yup, no denying it. I’m enjoying myself.

“Yes, hello,” I say, “Hannah’s babysitting services. Nothing but the best neglect for your kids.”

“Hannah,” he says, his voice gruff and very tired. “I’m exhausted.”

“That definitely sucks, but I fail to see how it’s my problem.”

“Ollie likes you. He’s…he doesn’t like everyone.”

“Then he’s the rare man who has excellent judgement.”

“Please, Hannah. Will you do this for me? I need you to do this for me.”

I pause, letting him sweat, though I’ve already decided I’ll do it.

Truth is, I’ve been worried about Ollie and want to see how he’s faring.

But while I’m doing it more for Ollie, I’d be lying if I said the bone-deep exhaustion in Travis’s voice didn’t move me—or the gravelly purr of his voice saying please.

I’m not immune to the appeal of making a big, strong man beg.

“Yeah, okay,” I say after another couple of seconds. “But I’m really bummed to be missing Garbage Fire’s fourth show this month. It’s going to hurt my psyche not to get to hear the same songs over and over again.”

“We always play a different setlist,” he says with a touch of annoyance, and I nearly burst out laughing .

He’s right, they do. They’re good, too. And Travis is so touchy right now that a puff of wind against his skin would set him off.

“Oh, my bad,” I say. “But yeah, I’ll do it. Do you need me to bring some fun stuff with me?”

“No,” he replies quickly. “Not necessary. We’ll have everything you need.”

“You’re going to hide all the fun stuff in the house, aren’t you?” I ask, leaning against the sink. “Say, what are you doing awake at two a.m.? Sophie said you didn’t have a show tonight.”

“Ollie hasn’t been sleeping well.”

I think of that little boy from last month, so small against Travis’s massive sofa.

When my mom left, I was Ollie’s age, and my little brother Connor was a baby. Just three months old. I never forgave her, and I’ll never forgive Ollie’s mom either.

“What a cunt,” I mutter.

“Excuse me?” he says.

I roll my eyes at my reflection in the mirror.

Travis isn’t as much of a prude as he likes to pretend. He’s a sexy guy in a band. He plays the drums, for goodness’ sake, a sensual instrument if ever there was one. All that banging around. All the sweating he does under those hot lights after moving his arms for an hour…

Sweat’s sexy when you know a man’s worked for it.

I really have attended a lot of Garbage Fire shows over the last month, so I can honestly say I’m not the only person who’s noticed the allure of Travis.

He’s a tall, fit man with hair that’s too long up top and shorter on the sides, and dark eyes that remind me of black holes.

Even more intense when he’s lost in his music.

Sophie, obviously, only has eyes for her boyfriend, who’s the lead singer.

Briar claims she’s disinterested in all men at the moment, but the band is popular, and there’s a group of women who show up for every single show.

Admittedly, so do we, so I’m not judging.

Just…noticing. Partly for Sophie’s sake, because if any of those women try to make a run on her man, I’m gonna cut a bitch. Metaphorically.

There’s this one woman who’s always front and center, though, and she seems fixated on Travis. All the guys in the band know her, but I haven’t asked who she is…I don’t want them to misinterpret my question and think I’m interested.

“Hannah? Did you just call Ollie?—”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t talking about Ollie, obviously. He rocks. I was talking about his mother.”

“I’m not sure that’s much better,” he says, firmly back on his high horse.

“I didn’t call her a cunt in front of him,” I say, annoyed. “And I wouldn’t. But I think you and I can solidly agree that she’s a cunt.”

“I don’t think I should answer that,” he says, but I can hear a thread of humor in his voice.

“Plausible deniability. I got you. So what time do you need me tomorrow night?”

“From seven until ten thirty, maybe eleven? Is that okay?”

“Yup. Great. It’ll help make up for doing makeup in exchange for goat cheese and soap tonight. Do you like goat cheese?”

“I’m suspicious of anyone who’d give you goat cheese in exchange for doing makeup, so I’m going with no.”

“All right, you barrel of laughs, I’m going to go see if I can convince someone to give me a ride home. If not, I’ll have to find a goat to snuggle up with so I can sleep off this hard kombucha.”

He groans, and I can practically feel his judgment radiating over the phone.

I’m not gonna lie .

It’s energetically feeding me.

“Good night, Hannah,” he says.

“Good night, Travis. Don’t be a hero. Take a few Benadryl if you need them.”

“They’re for?—”

“I know what they’re for. I can read instructions. I just choose not to follow them.”

“Delighted you’ll be working for me,” he says, his voice all husky, and there it is again—that trace of humor that saves him from being intolerable. And then he’s gone.

I stare at myself in the mirror. “This is probably a terrible mistake.”

“Are you still talking to yourself in there?” asks a guy from behind the door. “I need to pee.”

“Oh, come on. Isn’t the whole point of being a man that you don’t have to wait?”