Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
"It's not the children. The children are angels." A frown crosses my face. "Wait, what are you talking about? There has been nothing but problems since I arrived," I splutter.
“It’s only been four days.”
“You fired me on the first day!”
“Because you were looking through my private things.”
I drop my head. “I know, and I don’t blame you for being upset about that. Look, you said I had eighteen days to find another job, and I just wanted to let you know that I will be doing just that.”
He stares at me for a moment. “Is this about last night?’
Regret hits me like a freight train. “Yes,” I exhale heavily. “I’m mortified that I came onto you. It’s not who I am, and every time I look at you I feel nothing but embarrassment.”
He watches me.
“I am not easy in any shape or form.”
He frowns.
“But…” I pause. “You really do make me feel inadequate.”
His face falls. “Of what?”
“Of this position. It’s like you look down on me all the time for being playful.”
His eyes search mine, and I feel like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
“It’s just…” I shrug. “For the first time in a long time… I feel cheap and stupid.”
His eyes drop to the floor and he clenches his jaw.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I know have to say this even though he won’t want to hear it. “Can I speak out of turn for a moment, please, sir?”
“You have since you started. No point in asking my permission now.” He replies flatly.
“Willow needs you.”
He swallows the lump in his throat, our eyes locked.
“I’m worried she’s going to become depressed… if she isn’t already.”
“Willow is fine.”
“No. She’s not. You need to wake up and deal with the fact that you have a teenage girl with some serious problems.”
He sits up, suddenly defensive. “In four days you have worked out that my daughter has problems?”
“No.” I stand, because obviously this conversation was a mistake. “In four days I have been a witness to everything you don’t say. Not once have you talked to her unless it’s been to reprimand her. I feel sad for her.”
He watches me intently, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. Maybe I’ve crossed the line by saying this, but I really feel it needed to be said.
He doesn’t respond.
“Anyway, I’ll work until the end of the month.” I smile sadly. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll give the position my all until I leave. I know you’re away this week. The children will be cared for as if they were my own until I leave.”
He clenches his jaw and stands abruptly. “You said you would tell me if there was a problem with the children before you resigned.”
I frown and stare up at him. Did he just hear anything that came out of my mouth?
“It’s not the children. The children are perfect.” His frown gets deeper as I pause to take a breath. “I’ve told you, I don’t like the way you make me feel.”
For some stupid reason my eyes fill with tears. I’m tired and I’m emotional. Hell, it’s been a tough afternoon. I just feel so vulnerable being here in this situation. “I’m so sorry I ran over you today. I’m so sorry about last night. Please forgive me.” I push out through tears.
He drops his chin to his chest.
“Goodnight, Mr. Masters,” I whisper, and then I turn and walk to my room.
Half an hour later, I’m in bed, facing the wall. The television is on but I’m not watching it. I think back to before I arrived in London and how excited I was at the prospect of this position. It was so different from my other job. I honestly thought ‘how hard could it be’?
Not everyone was born to be a nanny.
I’m annoyed at myself for resigning out of shame, but I can’t feel like a cheap whore every time I look at my boss. I don’t know what the hell came over me last night, and every time I think of our conversation in the garage this morning I cringe. I hate that I’m attracted to him.
Knock, knock.
I frown. “Come in.”
Mr. Masters walks in, his eyes finding mine across the room. “Can I talk to you for a minute, please?” he asks quietly.
I nod.
He clenches his hands together in front of him as he stands at the end of the bed.
“Take a seat.”
He looks around, realizing he doesn’t have any other option but to sit down on the side of the bed.
“What is it?” I ask.
“About last night.”
I scrunch my eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about last night. I’m so embarrassed about it.”
“Don’t be.”
My eyes open, and he watches me intently.
“I have to ask you a question. Why did you call me Julian last night?”