Falling For Her Manny Page 5

  With a grunt, she wiggled the mouse on her computer, waiting on the screen to come to life when Hillary popped by her desk.

  “Melody?” she asked.

  “Yes?” Mel’s gaze whipped up to her. Even though Hillary didn’t have the same commanding presence as their old boss, she was a hard read, which made Mel nervous.

  “Come,” Hillary said, tapping a finger on her desk. “Walk with me.”

  Hillary turned and waited for Mel to follow as she headed down the hallway. Mel wondered if maybe she should ask for the afternoon off so she could check on her kids, then thought better of it. It was fine, she reminded herself. Instead, she tried to focus on the steady rhythm of their heels clicking down the hallway and the way Hillary’s dark bob jiggled as she walked. When she paused by a door to an old storage room with a slow-spreading smile, Mel’s stomach dropped.

  Oh, crap. She’d been demoted to janitor. Or worse, Hillary was firing her and stopped by the storage room to grab Mel a box of tissues as a parting gift. It’s something their old boss would’ve done, and just the thought had her stomach tangling in knots and scrambling to fix the situation.

  “I know that I’ve taken a lot of time off lately, but I can assure you it won’t continue.” Liar. “I’m one hundred percent committed to this job.” Liar. “And I’ve resolved all my personal issues at home so that there will be no more disruptions with my job.” Liar. “I promise I’m—”

  “Melody.” Hillary snapped her fingers in front of her face, causing Mel to flinch. Despite the sharp tone to her voice, she stared at Mel with a bemused expression. She had been nothing but nice to all of them in the month she had been there. Maybe Mel was overreacting. “What on earth are you prattling on about?” she asked.

  Mel blinked. “Aren’t you demoting me or firing me?”

  Hillary laughed. “Demoting you? No. Melody, you’re getting a promotion. You’ll be the new executive editor of the digital column.”

  Executive editor?

  Mel’s jaw dropped. The words rung in her ears. The earth tilted on its axis.

  Hillary swung open the door to the storage room to reveal a freshly remodeled office. It was gorgeous. Complete with a large mahogany desk and endless bookshelves. The scent of fresh paint drifted toward her. It took everything in Mel not to drop to her knees and weep at the sight.

  “Is this a joke?” Mel had been the brunt of many in her life, but this one was a doozy.

  Hillary chuckled kindly and placed a hand on Mel’s back, guiding her further into the office. “It’s not a joke, Mel.”

  Oh my gosh, she called me Mel—the COO—like we’re best buds now.

  “Mr. McConnell gave me a position to fill, and I’ll admit that I had Marti in mind originally, but then I looked at all the writers who have been with PopNewz over the last few years, and I decided you needed this. You may not be the youngest, the most career hungry, or even the best writer, but you’re a family woman. Despite having three young kids at home, you come in and get the job done. You’ve proven yourself here. And I think that counts for something.”

  Hillary’s explanation and demeanor were so opposite of her old boss, Mel thought she might cry. Her thoughts scattered in a million directions of what this could mean for her. Having more money for childcare after Blake left. No more cheap bologna sandwiches for lunch. She could move out of her tiny apartment, away from Diego with his obnoxious music, and the Costas with that creepy dog that looked part wolf and never blinked its eyes. She could buy a house.

  Mel placed a shaky hand over her mouth and glanced around her in disbelief. She wasn’t a particularly emotional person. Her ex, Craig, had wrung her dry of tears long ago, but as she stepped further into the office, the backs of her eyes pricked anyway. This couldn’t possibly be real.

  She trailed a finger over the gleaming mahogany desk, glancing back at Hillary, who gave her an encouraging smile. “Go ahead. Check it all out.”

  Mel stepped toward the huge glass window that perfectly showcased the city below. “This was hidden in the storage closet?” she asked, astonished.

  In the distance, Central Park stood out in a swath of green among the buildings. Skyscrapers burst into the sky in gleaming towers of silver and chrome, while people bustled across the streets and sidewalks below. New York City had never looked so good, midtown Manhattan never more beautiful.

  “I know, right? Some boss of yours. I swear she just wanted the only decent office to herself. That woman was as power-hungry as they come,” Hillary muttered.

  Mel grinned. That sounded about right.

  Her gaze shifted from the windows to the wall across from her desk. An expansive row of bookshelves showcased years of old PopNewz volumes. Framed posters of candid shots from past issues hung over the creamy walls. It was sophisticated, light, airy, and perfect. And it was hers.

  She turned back to face Hillary. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “Well, don’t go thanking me yet.” Hillary headed toward the door and tapped the empty plaque with a polished nail. “This is empty. There’s no name here yet. The job is yours, but you’ll need to prove yourself. Consider this a probational period. As long as the next few weeks go smoothly, it’s yours. There’s a lot more responsibility that comes with this position. We’ll set up an appointment with HR if all goes well to sign your new contract in a few weeks.”

  Her words were a pinprick to Mel’s bubble, thrusting her back into reality. The position was right at her fingertips, but she could still screw up. And the way her life had been going, she was on a fast track to never getting a nameplate. “I won’t disappoint,” Mel said, mustering all the confidence she didn’t feel at that moment.

  “Good.” Hillary smiled and glanced at her watch. “I have a conference call with Mr. McConnell. In the meantime,” she said, motioning toward Mel’s desk, “I left a packet with the job description, expectations, salary, and everything else you’ll need to know on your desk. I’ll be back to go over any questions you might have. Until then, feel free to move any personal mementos from your cubicle in here.”

  Mel nodded, refraining from the urge to pinch herself. This was really happening.

  She glanced at her desk. Looks like she’d have to shove her fears of the creeper manny to her periphery. Then again, maybe she could just take a couple hours, run home, and check on them. . .

  “Hey, Hillary?” she asked, taking a step forward.

  “Yeah?” Hillary paused outside the doorway, head cocked, waiting.

  She opened her mouth to ask when the faces of her three children popped into her head. In a few years’ time, they’d be twice the size and need twice the room. Her boys would turn from toddlers to teenagers in the blink of an eye. They already ate her out of house and home. She couldn’t even imagine her grocery bill ten years from now. She thought about how they’d asked for a puppy last week, but Mel told them no. Not because she didn’t want one. In fact, a dog might provide enough entertainment for the triplets that she might actually have a moment to herself. She told them no because she couldn’t afford it. Not on her salary with three children. Pets meant vet bills and flea medicine and toys—money she didn’t have. Not to mention time spent walking them in the city to find a place to do their business. It’s not like she had a yard just outside.

  “Were you going to say something?” Hillary asked.

  Mel cleared her throat, pushing aside her worry. “Um, no, I just uh . . .” She swallowed. “I was wondering . . . would you ever personally consider hiring a male nanny?”

  Hillary scrunched her nose. “Oh, heck, no. Who would do that?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BLAKE

  Blake came crashing into the bedroom. Toys were strewn everywhere. Blankets covered the floor, and somewhere beneath the mess was a bag of potato chips that got launched underneath the rubble. He had managed to wrangle the three kids into the living room for most of the morning, but somewhere between Peter discovering a bag of chocolat
e chips in the pantry and Brady deciding to lather his dry hair in half a bottle of shampoo he lost all control.

  Now the three of them ran rampant around the tiny apartment like animals caged at the zoo. They pulled at the drapes, threw bins of toys on the floor like they were in a particularly intense episode of Supermarket Sweep, and climbed the pantry shelves like a bunch of monkeys.

  It was around the time Brady found a marker and started drawing on Kinsley’s face that Blake started to question his sanity. Maybe his brother had been right. This had been a bad idea. Being a nanny was possibly the worst idea he had ever had, in fact. At this rate, he wouldn’t last the afternoon, let alone any length of time with these kids. Maybe the Garwoods concerns were justified. He wasn’t father material.

  The fear from that single thought gnawed away at the remaining edges of his sanity like acid. He was tired, covered in some kind of mystery goo from Kinsley’s fingers, and in desperate need of a drink. Even his scalp hurt from pulling on his hair out of frustration. He’d be lucky to end the day with any left. Soon, he’d be bald.

  “Poopy pants. Poopy pants. Peter’s got poopy pants.” Brady flew past Blake in the living room, arms out like an airplane, knocking a vase off a shelf with a thunderous crash.

  Blake covered his face with his hands. Maybe if he couldn’t see them, they’d disappear.

  A tiny hand tugged at the hem of his shirt.

  Or not.

  Blake glanced down to see Kinsley, her brown curls a halo around her head. She almost looked angelic. How deceiving.

  “Mr. Blake, I have to go potty and Peter’s blocking the bathroom,” she whined.

  “Okay. I got this,” he said, more to himself than her.

  He made his way to the bathroom, pausing at the threshold when faced with two pale butt cheeks.

  “What’s the problem, Peter?” If his naked behind and Brady’s fun little show tune were any indicators, Peter had most definitely crapped his pants.

  “I pooped,” Peter said. “In my pants.”

  Blake nodded. Yup. Of course. “When your mom mentioned accidents, I thought that was just, you know, pee.”

  “Not anymore,” Brady sang from the living room.

  “Right.” Blake nodded. “Well,” he clapped his hands together, “why don’t you go find a pair of clean clothes while I clean this up.”

  Without asking twice, Peter fled from the bathroom stark naked, leaving Blake to face the scene of the crime alone.

  Blake stared at the soiled underwear in dismay. Little nuggets nestled softly among the white cotton. Somehow, when he imagined watching three four-year-olds, he never bargained for poopy pants.

  Turning, he headed for the kitchen, jaw set in grim determination.

  He was a man on a mission as he rummaged through the drawers until he found a pair of salad tongs and an empty grocery bag, then returned to the bathroom. Plugging his nose with a chip clip, he dry-heaved as he gripped the soiled underwear with the tongs.

  “Mr. Blake’s gonna puke.” Kinsley giggled.

  Blake weaseled the underwear into the empty shopping bag with his free hand while he gagged. By this time, Peter returned with Blake at his side.

  Bouncing on their toes with surprising dexterity, they chanted, “Puke. Puke. Puke.”

  When the doorbell rang, Blake’s gaze shot up. Hope momentarily surged through his veins. Mel was home early. Thank you, God!

  A quick glance at the clock burst that bubble. It was only two o’clock. How was time going so slowly?

  The doorbell rang again, this time more violently, ding-a-dong-diiiing-diiing, drilling into Blake’s brain like a jackhammer, along with the sound of the children’s screaming.

  He handed the tongs and chip clip to Kinsley. “Here,” he said and tied the poop bag shut with one final dry-wretch as he made his way toward the ringing, wondering who on earth would want to voluntarily step foot in this apartment. When he swung the door wide, a pizza delivery boy stood in front of him with a bored expression. “You ordered a cheese pizza?”

  “Oh, right.” Blake forgot in the melee that he ordered lunch after he burned the macaroni and cheese on the stove.

  The boy thrust the pizza toward him. The scent of cheese made his stomach roil after all the dry-heaving. He gagged as he took it, trying to cover his mouth with his shoulder since his hands were full. “Just a second,” he murmured, wanting to get this kid out of his face.

  He handed Pizza Boy the poop bag. “Hey, what is—” The boy’s words stopped abruptly as he turned his head away from the bag and held it out from his body. “This smells like sh—”

  Wham! A flying soccer ball nailed the kid right in the crotch.

  Pizza Boy folded like a pretzel, poopy bag extended in one hand, the other covering his groin as his face turned five shades of red.

  Blake’s eyes widened. “Er . . .” He glanced down to a proud Kinsley, who, in her innocence, saw nothing wrong with kicking objects into boy’s privates.

  “Let’s play,” she yelled.

  “Uh, not now.” Blake ushered her back around, further into the apartment, then turned to face the poor kid. “Here you go.” He whipped a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and shoved it into his chest. “Keep the change.” Then he slammed the door shut and all but flung the pizza onto the table.

  “Pizzzza!” Brady screamed with a raised fist. Then the three of them descended on it like piranhas, while Blake flopped on the couch.

  SIX O’CLOCK, AND HE was still alive—a miracle.

  Blake sat next to the kids on the loveseat, air wheezing through his soul-weary lungs, when he heard the sound of Mel’s key in the lock.

  His head lulled to the side. Somehow he had managed to wrangle the children for a movie. Jurassic Park played on the screen in all its HD glory, and based on their wide-eyes and unblinking gaze, he guessed this was their first introduction to a life-like, man-eating T-Rex.

  You don’t find this on the Disney channel, do ya, kids? Blake smirked. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice, but it kept their butts on the cushion. That had to count for something, right? Besides, he was most definitely having nightmares after the day he had. Call this retribution. Call it what you will. The kids were quiet, so he was happy.

  And, really, he’d done a pretty stand-up job for a first-timer. The kids were alive (as was he, albeit barely), so he’d say it was a win-win. All he needed when he got home was a handful of aspirin for his ear-splitting headache (or a fifth of whiskey), about five years of sleep, a good meal, a hot shower, and then he’d feel human again.

  Now he just had to break the news to Mel that he quit. Let’s face it, he was not cut out for childcare. He’d developed a newfound respect for those in the profession. It was brutal work. Maybe there was a different way he could prove himself to Jen and her parents. Like a class he could take or some kind of training. They could go to a relationship counselor, take one of those ridiculous compatibility tests. Surely, it was easier when it was your own kids? He had to believe that.

  The door swung open, and Mel stumbled inside. Blake immediately flicked the TV off. No need to broadcast his poor choice in cinematic entertainment. Besides, he planned on getting out as quickly as possible. But the moment Jeff Goldblum disappeared from their screen, the kids turned to him. He shot them a meaningful look. One that said, this is our little secret, and just barely resisted the urge to signal with a threatening slash across his neck.

  Mel dropped her briefcase by the door. Her hair had half fallen out of her ponytail, her pants were wrinkled, and the shirt she wore had seen better days. He was pretty sure that was a mustard stain on the hem. She was a mess. A hot mess.

  Blake cleared his throat, and those amber eyes quickly flitted from him to her children. Her full lower lip pulled into a frown as she scanned them from head-to-toe. Then finally, her feminine features flooded with relief.

  “Mommy!” the three children screamed in unison and launched off the couch, clinging to her legs at onc
e like a trio of leaches.

  How did they have so much energy?

  “Hey, babies. Let me take a look at you.” She leaned back, plucking them off her one-by-one, assessing them up close, which was crazy. If anyone needed to be examined for injuries, it was him. Her kids were soul-sucking.

  “Are you okay? Did anything happen? Are you hurt? Was the strange man nice?” she asked, rapid-fire.

  Blake frowned, but he was too tired to take offense to the “strange man” reference, especially since his sole focus was high tailing it out of there after giving his resignation. Sorry, no two weeks’ notice here.

  This whole nanny idea was a good one while it lasted.

  Seemingly satisfied her kids were all intact and unharmed, Mel straightened and met his gaze. “How were they?”

  “Uh, great. They were great,” Blake lied. For some reason, faced with her in person, he didn’t have the heart to tell her that watching her kids required a declaration of martial law.

  She nodded before her gaze flickered over the living room, to which Blake followed her line of sight. The place definitely looked like a bomb went off. It hadn’t exactly been tidy when he got there that morning, but if there was carpet somewhere underneath the layer of toys and snack wrappers under their feet, it was news to him.

  “Uh . . .” Blake scratched his head. “Yeah, sorry about the mess. It was . . . an active day,” he said, happy with himself for his creative choice of words.

  “We had fun!” Blake yelled. “We ate pizza, Mr. Blake puked, and we watched movies.” He jumped on his toes, a little ball of energy.

  Blake reached a hand out. “Uh, I didn’t puk—”

  “And T-Rex ate people,” Kinsley chimed in.

  Mel turned her perplexed expression to him. A little crease furrowed the milky skin between her brow. And just when he thought she might get upset, she laughed. “So, did you guys have fun?” she asked, but instead of looking at the children this time, her gaze was focused solely on him, assessing.