Falling For Her Manny Page 4

  “So, you like kids. Lots of people like kids. Are you out of work? Why do you want a job as a nanny? The work is hard, and the pay is crap.”

  He laughed at her candidness, then paused.

  He bit his lip, and in that split second of hesitation, Mel sensed he was hiding something. After a moment, he sighed and leaned forward, forearms resting on his jeans. “You want the truth?”

  “Always.”

  “In your ad, you mentioned this was a temporary position, right?”

  Mel nodded. “Right. It’s a long story, but one of my kids had a few accidents at his childcare center and got booted. There’s supposed to be an opening coming up in a little over a month.”

  “He had one accident and they kicked him out?”

  Mel bit the inside of her cheek. “Several accidents.” Then after a second, added, “At several places, and good childcare centers are hard to come by, so we just need to bide our time, fix the little problem, and re-enroll once they have room for us.” Calling it a “little problem” was an understatement. Mel had hoped the shock of being thrown into daycare fulltime would ease over time, but no such luck. Even being back at home with a nanny hadn’t proven to help.

  Blake eyed her warily, then said, “Well, temporary is what I need.”

  “Go on,” Mel said.

  “My girlfriends’ parents are . . . particular,” he said, and Mel could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I come from a very different background from them. If I’m to get their blessing and propose to their daughter, they suggested I needed to prove I can be a good father, a family man.”

  Mel’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” He nodded, and his jaw tightened.

  Wow. This guy was for real.

  Mel snorted. “It’s the twenty-first century. Why do you need their blessing anyway?”

  “They’re a traditional family with old values.”

  Mel grunted. “How long is temporary for you?”

  “A month.”

  Mel pursed her lips, and he must’ve sensed her hesitation because he reached out as if to grab her hand, then thought better of it and dropped his hands between his bent legs. “Please. I really need this. I can work for really cheap. I don’t need the money since I have my own business. But I need this if I’m to propose come summer, which is the plan, so—”

  “I need six weeks.”

  “Done.”

  “If I’m satisfied with the answers to my other questions,” she added.

  His eyes lit up, and to his credit, he answered all of the questions she flung at him over the next fifteen minutes and passed with flying colors. “Okay, now for the logistics. You’ve seen my kids. They’re maniacs.”

  Blake chortled. “They certainly look like a handful. Are all three yours? I was kind of hoping that was a playdate gone wrong.”

  “Nope. All mine,” Mel said, smacking her lips. “They’re triplets. I call them The Triple Threat, and you will be the fifth nanny in the last two weeks. They got booted from daycare, and everyone has quit on me.”

  “Er . . . “ Blake’s mouth opened and closed. Doubt clouded his expression.

  “They will test you,” Mel continued. “They’ll push you to your limits. They didn’t used to be so awful, but since my parents moved, they’ve been particularly spirited. I need to know you can handle them.”

  He lifted one shoulder, and she sensed he was trying to appear more confident than he was. “How hard could it be?”

  Mel laughed. How hard could it be? Men were the cutest, weren’t they? So clueless, kind of like kids themselves. “What form of discipline do you plan on using when they act out?”

  Blake grunted. “Discipline?”

  “Yeah, you know, time out, being sent to their room, taking away toys for poor behavior, that sort of thing.”

  Blake shrugged. “I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy.”

  “Oh, cheese and rice.” Mel rubbed her eyes. “We’re in trouble.”

  “Cheese and what?”

  “I don’t allow swears. The Triple Threat repeats everything, but sometimes . . . Never mind.” Mel waved him away. “I hope I don’t regret this,” she muttered under her breath. Then she shook her head and said, “This will likely be a disaster of epic proportions, but I have little choice, so . . .” She shrugged.

  Blake laughed. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  Clapping her hands, she smiled over at him, suppressing her doubt. “So, when can you start?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BLAKE

  When he woke Monday morning, it was with the partial disbelief that today he would start his new adventure as a manny. He had no idea what the day would hold, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t entirely apprehensive about the whole thing. On the one hand, he was certain he could handle a few four-year-olds. I mean, how hard could it be? On the other hand, it was like diving into the great unknown. Not only did he have zero experience with children, but he was entirely too attracted to Mel. So much so, he had debated turning around and leaving the moment she opened the door and he realized she was the one hiring a nanny. He could’ve cut his losses and searched for another gig. Nothing good could come of a taken man working for a woman he couldn’t take his eyes off of.

  But in the end, his better senses prevailed. The sooner he started, the sooner he could prove himself to Jen and move on with his life. Besides, he was a grown man. If he couldn’t control himself around an attractive woman, then he had no business even thinking of getting married.

  Still, his stomach tightened with nerves as he arrived on time. He’d brought his latest custom ride, which allowed him to weave with a little more ease in and out of traffic. What would’ve taken more than thirty minutes by cab took him just over twenty.

  He removed his helmet and knocked on her door, exhaling in a rush when she whipped it open, and she stood in front of him, looking soft and warm like she just rolled out of bed. Her face was makeup free, and she wore a pair of ratty, old sweats and a t-shirt. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was disheveled and her eyes half-mast as she sleepily gulped at a giant cup of coffee and waved him inside. The sight caught him off guard. He only ever saw Jen decked to the nines and fully done-up. Even her idea of workout attire was a carefully paired ensemble purchased at Nordstrom for more than some people’s monthly grocery bill. And pajamas? They were usually imported silk and fancier than some cocktail dress. Forget a clean face. Blake wasn’t even sure on the nights he’d stayed over that he’d ever seen her without makeup on. He was pretty sure even her natural look consisted of some doctoring.

  Blake sighed and stepped inside, annoyed with himself. Why was he comparing them?

  “Sorry. I’m running late,” Mel said in a rush. “I didn’t get much sleep. The Triple T’s kept me up half the night,” she said, rambling on about nightmares—something about a giant dinosaur—while he tried not to notice the butterflies rioting in his stomach.

  “I just need a five-minute shower, and then I’m out of your hair. Help yourself to coffee in the kitchen,” she hollered as she slammed the bathroom door behind her.

  Not a second later, Blake heard the telltale sound of water running through squeaky pipes. He stepped into the modest kitchen, plucked a mug off the drying rack by the sink, and poured himself a cup of the piping hot brew, then took a sip.

  He leaned back against the counter. The apartment was quiet, so he assumed the kids were still asleep. What a piece of cake. Peace and quiet now, maybe some Legos and a movie later. This whole manny thing would be a cakewalk, and Mel would sing his praises to Jen in no time. Then he’d get down on one knee, and the rest would be history.

  As he sipped his coffee, he decided he may as well have a look around. He wasn’t snooping or being nosy. He was merely surveying his workplace. Seeing as how he’d be spending the majority of his waking hours there, he may as well get the lay of the land.

  He wandered around the small living roo
m, taking in the pile of folded laundry on the little kitchen table, the toys haphazardly thrown into bins by the couch, and the array of DVDs half spilling out of the cases, spewed in front of the entertainment center.

  He glanced at the framed photos propped up on the shelves and scattered over the walls. There wasn’t a ton of décor to speak of, but there were pictures in abundance. One was of an older couple standing with their arms wrapped around the triplets. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were all related. The resemblance between the older woman and Mel was striking with their dark hair and amber eyes. There were pictures of Mel and the kids. Even one of Mel in a graduation cap and gown, holding a diploma from NYU and smiling into the camera. But nowhere in sight was there a picture of a man or anyone else Blake could pinpoint as the kids’ father, which made him all the more curious as to what the story was there. Not that it was any of his business, but Mel hadn’t mentioned a husband, and he hadn’t noticed a ring on her left hand in any of his interactions with her. He imagined it took a lot of energy to raise triplets, and he couldn’t fathom having to do it on your own.

  He sauntered over to the closed door of the bathroom and cocked his head, checking to make sure the shower was still running, then peeked into the room beside it. The door was cracked, so he managed to get a glimpse inside. A queen-sized bed sat in the center of the room. One kid lay, sprawled across the blankets, while two others slept together on a twin wedged in the corner. All four of them shared a bedroom?

  Blake swallowed. Straightening, he moved away from the door with his coffee and backtracked into the living room, feeling the slightest bit guilty. Clearly, Mel, like a lot of New Yorkers, was tight on cash. Otherwise, why share a one-bedroom apartment in a questionable apartment complex with three young children. It reminded Blake of some of his temporary foster placements. Kids upon kids. Sometimes he and his brother were packed like sardines in a tiny house or small apartment until they could find him and Grant someplace else to go.

  He wandered back out into the living room, to the kitchen, and settled himself against the counter by the coffee pot. His eyes landed on the stack of mail by chance. It was a pure coincidence the top letter was a bill stamped in one red, glaring word, SECOND NOTICE.

  Blake’s stomach sunk. His fingers itched to touch it, so he ran a hand hastily through his hair. He contemplated slipping it off the top of the pile, pocketing it, and settling the payment for her anonymously.

  With a grunt, he turned away and padded back into the living room. It was none of his business. He was there for a job, nothing more. But as he hovered next to the loveseat, his eyes wandered over the tiny apartment, this time really looking. The afternoon of his interview, he hadn’t been particularly observant. He had been too shocked by her presence—the fact that the woman from the coffee shop the day before had been the same one hiring—to take in his surroundings. And now, he saw things he hadn’t noticed the first time around.

  The paint on the walls was slightly yellowed and in need of a fresh coat. There was a tiny tear in the upholstery on the upper right-hand side of the sofa, and the recliner looked like it had seen better days. The entertainment stand was one of those inexpensive units made out of cheap particle board. It leaned slightly to the right. A stiff breeze from an open window could probably knock it over, and the coffee table wasn’t much better. The handle of the coat closet hung at a sad angle, and sure enough, when Blake stepped forward and gave it a little turn, it came off in his hand. Clearly, this was a single mom, struggling to stay afloat. One who had little time for things like apartment maintenance, and too little cash for updated furniture. Blake was no expert, but by the looks of things, she was merely doing the best she could to get by.

  Something tugged in the center of his chest. He wanted to help her. Maybe his finding her again after their first encounter wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe there was a sort of serendipity to their meeting. Blake needed the Garwoods to accept him into the fold. Mel and her brood, oddly enough, would help him accomplish that. Maybe Blake could help Mel, too. Although he had no idea how. But there had to be something. . .

  Just then, a door creaked open, and Mel appeared. She wore a pair of slightly faded black slacks and a black blazer. She tugged on the hem, then she placed the heels she held in her hand on the ground and settled into them as she glanced up at him with a smile. “So, are you ready for this?”

  MEL

  “AM I INSANE?” MEL ASKED, gripping her coffee cup. “Because I’ve felt like I’ve been going insane for years, so it would make total sense. Just give it to me straight.” She curled her fingers, gesturing to herself and waiting for an answer.

  She sat in the freebie closet at PopNewz. Though it was the place she, Marti, and Caroline tended to convene, she wasn’t entirely sure how it would fly with their new boss. Over a month ago, PopNewz got a complete overhaul after the previous owner and CEO got busted for backed taxes as well as some other illegal activity and fled the country. The company was in the throes of reconstruction. Thus far, no one had been fired, which they took as a good sign. Only some minor restructuring had occurred, but the office buzzed with speculation. Word was promotions for a few were on the horizon. The new owner had been making changes remotely while his chief operating officer handled everything on-site. That’s right, she said “he.” The former all-female staff now had a male owner, and Mel couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until they were booted from the freebie room—their interoffice hangout—altogether.

  Marti took a sip of her coffee, and her blue eyes blazed. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “You hired a male nanny out of desperation, and now you’re worried about him being a creep?”

  “Yep. Pretty much sums it up.”

  Caroline and Marti exchanged looks.

  Mel covered her face with her hands. “I knew I was an idiot.”

  “Well, it’s not that you’re an idiot,” Marti started.

  “But no woman in their right mind hires a man to take care of her kids unless he comes personally recommended, or they already know them personally,” Caroline finished for her. “I know that’s not very progressive of us, but there are just too many creepers out there.”

  “What do I do?” Mel worried her lip with her teeth. She’d been obsessing about leaving her children with Blake all morning. “I can’t quit my job, or we’ll be homeless. I can’t take them to work.” She tried that once. It did not end well. “I can’t beg my parents to come home when they just barely moved. I mean, women my age should be able to take care of themselves. I’m out of options.”

  “Worrying isn’t like you.” Marti reached across the table and grasped Mel’s hand, her brows knitting in concern. She gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah, plus, your kids are indestructible, remember?” Caroline popped a chunk of granola in her mouth. “They can hold their own. At the company picnic last year, a little boy pushed Kinsley down by the swings, and I watched as all three descended on that poor kid like a pack of mini-raptors. I swear, when they piled off of him, I expected to see blood.”

  Mel snorted.

  “You looked into him, right?” Marti asked.

  Mel nodded. Somehow this conversation wasn’t easing her nerves like she had hoped. “I did every check imaginable. I even interviewed an old neighbor after he left. Even the girl at The Burnt Bean knew him. I asked her about him on the way in,” she said, nodding toward her paper cup. “Apparently, he’s a regular. He takes his coffee with cream, no sugar, and habitually orders a blueberry muffin.”

  “Pfft. Who can’t trust a guy who eats blueberry muffins? Am I right?” Marti said.

  “That’s what I thought. Blueberry muffins are a breakfast for teddy bears, not child predators,” Mel added. Though this theory was complete BS, it made her feel better for a moment.

  “Okay.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “But in the meantime, if you want, I can have my uncle Lorenzo look into him. He has conne
ctions.”

  Mel raised a brow, while Marti leaned across the table. “Lorenzo? Is that the one that’s in the mafi—”

  “Shhhhh! Keep it down. You don’t just say that out loud,” Caroline scolded.

  Marti’s eyes widened. “But we’re alone,” she said, glancing around at the clothing and shoe racks.

  “These walls have ears.”

  Marti turned to Mel and mouthed, She’s crazy.

  Stifling a grin, Mel said, “If this Lorenzo looks into him, he’s not gonna, like, rough him up or anything, right? He’s just going to ask around, see what kind of guy he is?”

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

  “But I do want the answer. That’s why I asked.”

  Caroline let out an exasperated breath. “Oh my gosh. I’m not hiring him for a hit, am I? Yes, he’ll get the scoop. If the guy’s a creep, he’ll find out.”

  “Wait. Do people seriously do that? The hit thing?” Marti asked, her eyes sparkling with interest. “I need to know more about this.”

  A knock silenced them. They exchanged glances, wondering if today would be the day they got busted and booted from their little hideout, when Karen, the receptionist, popped her head in. “Just a heads up. Hillary’s doing her rounds,” she said.

  Hillary was the new Chief Operating Officer.

  “Gotcha. Thanks,” Mel said.

  Once Karen left, they turned to each other, and Mel deflated. She felt no better about her situation than she did when she had unloaded to her friends twenty minutes ago. Regardless, they stood and made their way out of the freebie room.

  By the time she plopped down at her desk, she had all but worked herself up into a frenzy. She had to be the worst mom on the face of the planet. She left her three four-year-olds with a male nanny, a stranger. It took precisely two seconds of scrolling news headlines to see why that was a terrible idea.