P.S. You're Intolerable (The Harder They Fall, #3)(43)

I squeezed her biceps. “Real estate is my arena, as you know. I’ll have one of my realtors do the work.”

“I really can’t ask you to do more for me than you already have.”

“Good. You didn’t ask, so don’t worry about it anymore. It’ll be taken care of.”

She stared up at me for a long time, brown eyes darting between mine. “I’m too tired to argue with you about this, but this conversation isn’t over.”

“There’s nothing to argue about. I have resources at my disposal, and I’m choosing to use them to help my assistant so she can do her job without worrying about anything else.”

One brow popped. “So this is purely for selfish reasons.”

I inclined my chin. “Of course it is. Why else would I help you?”

Her laugh was hollow, but it was far better than tears. My mother would have never pulled herself together so quickly. A breakdown like this would have taken her days or even weeks to recover from.

Another reminder Catherine wasn’t Elaine.

The situation wasn’t the same.

The outcome would be far, far different.





Chapter Eighteen





Catherine





True to his word, Elliot took care of my salary the day after my living room breakdown, and I felt supremely stupid for not bringing it up months ago.

Not only did I receive a substantial increase in pay, but he’d deposited months’ worth of back pay he claimed I was owed. The number on my bank account was mind-bogglingly fat. Probably more than I was “owed,” but again, gift horse, mouth, wasn’t gonna happen.

To compound his generosity even further, he’d gotten me in with his mortgage broker within a week and helped me refinance as my cosigner. How he’d managed to do it so quickly, I’d never know. It was his special brand of Elliot Levy magic.

With the raise and lower mortgage payment came the realization I could afford a nanny for Joey. Once I had permission from Elliot to use his home, I set up interviews for the next week.

Other than brief conversations about mortgages, nannies, groceries, and Leafy-Daniel, along with notes every day, Elliot and I kept our distance.

I was mortified.

He was probably regretting the day we met—and especially inviting me to stay here.

I still couldn’t believe I’d sobbed all over him. His poor shirt had been soaked with my tears. At least I hadn’t leaked milk on him at the same time. I never would have recovered.

He hadn’t asked us to leave, though, so he couldn’t have been as mortified as I was. In fact, he reiterated in his daily notes that Joey and I were welcome to stay for as long as we liked.

And we did like.

Joey had become a sleeping rock star since we’d moved in, and I was…well, less of a rock star and more of a cruise ship lounge singer. Still, previously, I’d been more of a karaoke singer without a mic or the scrolling screen of lyrics.

But the sleep I got was restful, which made a massive difference in my disposition and outlook. It no longer felt like the sky was falling. My house was still a wreck, Liam had done a runner, my body wasn’t the same, and sometimes I considered what it would be like to kiss Elliot, but I was okay. Safe, with a gorgeous roof over my head and an even more beautiful little daughter.

I stroked Joey’s cheek as she nursed. “We’re going to meet some nice people today, honey. One of them might be your nanny while Mommy and Elliot go to work. Not that it matters if Elliot is here. He’s not responsible for you, which you know, of course, even though you like when he holds you in the palm of his hand. I think you got a little mixed up about that. You’re supposed to wrap him around your pinkie.”



The first of three candidates arrived right on time. Mary was young, no more than twenty-two, but according to the agency I’d contacted, she’d been taking care of babies and children most of her life.

She bustled into Elliot’s house, giving me a firm handshake, then swept her gaze over the architecture.

“You have a very beautiful home,” she said in a brusque tone.

“Oh, it isn’t mine. The baby and I are staying with a friend.”

“And the father?”

“It’s just me,” I breezed. I had to get used to saying that since I was certain I’d be asked the same question for as long as I was single—which would be a long, long time.

Mary’s thin lips flattened into a straight line, and my gut bubbled with reservation. When I’d pictured a nanny for Joey, Mrs. Doubtfire or Mary Poppins had come to mind, not a staid-looking young woman with all the warmth of an ice cube.

I was probably being too hasty in my judgment, and that was most likely due to being nervous about leaving Joey with someone else when we’d been attached at the boob for two months.

“That’s okay,” Mary said in a tone that conveyed she didn’t actually think it was. “Is the baby sleeping?”

“Yes. She has a pretty regular morning nap, so she should stay asleep while we chat.”

“Good.” Mary nodded sharply. “Schedules are vital for infants’ development. They are the backbone of my nannying philosophy.”

Thinking she was joking, I started to laugh—a nannying philosophy sounded a little ridiculous. Mary merely glanced around the foyer with a tight expression, her hands clamped tight around the strap of her shoulder bag.