“Miss Silver?” A deep, syrupy voice says my name on the other end.
“Yes, this is Margot Silver.” I try to sound chipper and upbeat, as if that will help them determine if they want to hire me.
“This is Graham Hayes,” the man’s voice says. “The nanny position.”
“Oh!” I say, surprised. Who is this calling me? It’s certainly not Miss Uptight Perry. “Yes, how can I help you, Mr. Hayes?”
He clears his throat before speaking again, his voice doing weird things to my insides.
“I realize this is very unorthodox, but I’m kind of in a bind here. My housekeeper, Fiona Perry, who you interviewed with, is on vacation and didn’t hire anyone yet. I found your resume in a pile and thought maybe you could help me?”
“Yeah, absolutely. What can I do for you?”
“I need a nanny to start right away.”
“Okay, like how soon?”
“Tonight. Right now, actually. I’ll pay cash.”
I don’t think twice. I accept the job, jump in my car, and rush to the Hayes’ residence. I’m once again reminded just how imposing his residence is when I ring the buzzer at the front gate that is adorned with a massive H, for Hayes I assume.
“A little pretentious for my taste,” I say as the gate opens and I zip up the driveway.
The moment I pull up to the house, I realize that if he’s needing me to stay the night, I didn’t bring anything other than the clothes I’m wearing and my wallet. I walk to the front porch and raise my hand to ring the bell when the door swings open and a tall, raven-haired man greets me. I jump back, startled.
Holy shit. Is this him?
I feel my mouth fall open and I instinctively bring my fingers to my lips to make sure I haven’t actually just drooled on myself.
If James Bond and Henry Cavill had a baby, it would be Grant Hayes. His long, lean body is wrapped perfectly in what I can only assume is a custom-made tuxedo. He adjusts the cuff link on one of his wrists, his tanned fingers long enough they could probably encircle my waist if he put his hands together.
Suddenly my mouth feels dry and I’m very aware of my scuffed-up Converse and torn jeans, remembering that I just worked a twelve-hour shift and I look every bit the part. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear that has fallen loose from my braid and try to stand up a little taller, like that’s going to cover anything up.
“Miss Silver? Graham Hayes,” he says curtly as he extends his hand toward me.
“I thought for sure you were gonna say Bruce Wayne.” I laugh but his expression stays stoic. I reach my hand out to shake his and it’s completely engulfed.
“Like Batman—never mind. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Please, come inside.”
He gestures with his right hand, his left still holding the door. I step inside. The woodsy scent of his very expensive cologne envelops me and I have to remind myself to breathe.
But just as I’m almost clear of the doorway, my toe catches the lip and I catapult myself forward. I throw my hands out dramatically to catch myself, somehow making it worse and ending up doing a half somersault while falling into a crumpled pile of embarrassment at his feet.
In all those books and movies I’ve seen and read, this is the meet cute. This is the part where the handsome stranger gallantly thrusts his arms out and catches the heroine before she falls, their eyes drawn to each other’s as her breasts smash against his body and he suddenly realizes she’s everything he’s been looking for.
But not in my case. Instead, Mr. Hayes makes zero effort to catch me and instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at me with exasperation, like I’m a bug that he’s considering squishing.
2
GRAHAM
I catch myself staring a little too long at the small, impish woman standing on my front porch.
Is this the nanny?
She looks like she’s barely bigger than a child herself.
Her strawberry-blond hair is swept up haphazardly in some sort of braid that has fallen, a few stray tendrils clinging to her slender neck. She thrusts her small hand into mine, a smile stretching across her face to her eyes. I feel the warmth of her fingers against the inside of my palm and instantly release it when my mind questions if the rest of her body is this soft and inviting.
I hold back a smile at her Bruce Wayne comment. It was certainly not the first time someone called me that.
I’m completely distracted by the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that come into view once she steps over the threshold and into the entryway. Then suddenly she tumbles forward, landing in a heap at my feet.
“Are you alright, Miss Silver?”
I keep my hands in my pockets, too scared to reach out and touch her again.
“Yup.” She stands, adjusting her shirt. “Only my pride is hurt.”
I close the door behind her. “Please.” I gesture for her to step into the parlor to the right of the entrance. I pick up her resume from the table where I placed it and we both take a seat opposite one another.
She looks nervous, her fingers knotting together in her lap as she sits up board straight.
“You can relax,” I say, but she just offers a tight-lipped smile.
“I apologize for the out-of-the-blue call and fire drill request to have you work this evening, but my housekeeper, Miss Perry, is unfortunately on vacation and she failed to procure a new nanny before she left.”
“I had assumed that the position had been filled when I didn’t hear back from her.”
I give her a questioning look and she continues. “Well, after I interviewed a week or so ago, I followed up with two phone calls and left her a voicemail, but I didn’t hear anything back.” She shrugs.
“Hmm.” That is strange considering Miss Silver’s impeccable background in education and her relevant work experience with young children. I’m not sure what Miss Perry’s angle is recently; it’s been like pulling teeth to get her to hire a new nanny ever since my last one had to return home to attend to some family business. I don’t express any of this out loud; instead, I read over her resume again.
“Is there a reason you’re not returning to teach music education at Jefferson Elementary? Or are you only looking for a summer position since you’re a teacher?”
“I, uh, the position was downsized unfortunately. I was told that our funding wasn’t renewed so they had to cut the program. Which is such a shame because I don’t think people truly realize how important introducing music and teaching children to read music and play instruments really is. Such a transferable life skill if you ask me.”
I didn’t. I think it myself, but I can appreciate someone who is passionate about their career.
“Have you ever been a nanny or live-in caretaker before?” I lean back in my chair and watch as she shakes her head vigorously. She’s young. Based on her graduation date, I’d guess she’s barely over twenty-five.
“I haven’t but I have spent my entire professional career wrangling children of all ages for several hours a day.” She lets out another nervous laugh that wrinkles her nose and it’s fucking adorable.
Nope. Get that thought out of your head.
“I love kids. I’m such a believer in enriching not only their lives with skills but also their day-to-day experiences, ya know? They’re like little sponges; they just soak everything up so it’s a waste to just stick them in front of a screen all day.”