Jesus Christ.
I glance down at my watch and frown. “Our last interviewee is officially late.”
“Might as well scratch her off the list now,” Everly drones. “You flip your lid whenever we’re running late.”
“I do not flip my lid.” Those words feel strange coming out of my mouth.
The small smile on the corner of Everly’s lips shows me she thinks I’m full of shit. God, she really makes me wonder who the parent is sometimes.
A loud bang thunders from behind us, turning both Everly’s and my focus to the bank of glass windows that separates us from the rest of my office. My eyes widen when a blur of orange comes streaking by, running straight for the boardroom entrance. The person flings it open so fast that it thuds against the wall with a thunderous crack and has both Everly and me flinching.
Wide eyes swerve our direction. “Hey girl heyyy!” the woman says as she waves animatedly in our direction like she didn’t just cause a scene.
A sputtered giggle erupts from my kid.
The woman bustles over to us, breathing loudly as she struggles to say, “My sister told me you were a stickler for punctuality.” She pauses to take a deep breath, tugging on the chest of her top to cool herself down. “I literally ran down that long hallway for you. For the record, I do not run.” She gestures toward where she just came from.
My brows pinch together as I glance down at what I can now discern as an orange tie-dyed sweatsuit the woman is wearing. “Who is your sister?” I ask, glancing at the strip of pale skin revealed below the cropped sweatshirt.
“Rebecca Barlow! She owns the nanny agency.” The woman pulls out the seat right next to me and flops noisily down into it. She quickly runs her fingers through her cropped black hair, getting hung up on several tangles.
I glance over at the seats across the table where every other candidate we’ve interviewed for the past two weeks has sat. But not this one. I adjust my tie and grind out, “Ah…Rebecca.”
The woman covers her grimace. “Yeah, I think the feeling is mutual.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, angling my head toward her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing!” She holds her hands up defensively. “I’ve just heard you two have butted heads a few times.”
I twist my jaw and shove the list of nanny rejects away from her prying eyes. “So I take it she sent you here to let me go as a client? We still have one more nanny to interview. A Cassandra…” My voice trails off when I see the last name.
She holds her hand out to me. “Cassandra Barlow. So nice to meet you, Max.”
I reach out and take her offered hand, noticing the slight clamminess from her run while cursing myself for not putting two and two together earlier. “I prefer to be called Mr. Fletcher.”
Her plump lips twitch with poorly concealed amusement. “My apologies, Mr. Fletcher,” she says in a mock British accent. “That’s a great name to say with a British accent.” I open my mouth to reply as she adds, “And for the record, I was early, but your receptionist out there wanted to see my ID before I came back here, and I left it in my car, so I had to run back down to get it, and well…that was the two-minute delay. I’m a very slow runner. And I was really bummed I didn’t get to hang in your waiting area. It’s aces! Did I see kombucha in that mini fridge?” She leans close to me, and the smell of coconut wafts over me as she winks. “Very nice touch caring about your staff’s gut health.”
“It’s not for the staff. It’s for clients,” I announce. My eyes blink as I try to figure out why the fuck we’re talking about gut health. “And most people bring their identification to interviews. And most dress—”
“Dress for the job they want!” Cassandra interrupts, puffing her rather large chest out proudly. “Nothing says number-one nanny like homemade tie-dye.”
She looks past me and smiles warmly. “You must be Everly. Love that top, by the way.”
Everly tugs on her bright pink tee. “I love yours more. You made that yourself?” Everly presses up against my arm as she struggles to look around me. “That’s so cool. I love tie-dye.”
“Who doesn’t!” Cassandra barks back. “This was actually a reject. You should see some of my masterpieces.”
“Didn’t think a masterpiece would be good for a job interview?” I grumble under my breath, fully intending for Cassandra to hear me.