Page 3 of Big Trouble

Now that Clementine is begging me to stay? Hell yes, I’m keeping this job.

Mr. Grouchy-Pants-Brooding-Brody will have to pry this job out of my cold, dead hands.

She pulls back enough to blink her tear-laden lashes at me. “Promise?”

I hold out my hand, little finger extended. “Even better. I pinkie promise.”

She gives me the side-eye. “What’s that mean?”

I take her hand in mine and fold in her fingers so that her pinkie is extended, then give her pinkie a shake with my own. “It’s a special promise just between girls that says I’m not leaving, I’m not quitting, and I’m definitely not …” I trail off, racking my brain for a third thing before latching on to what Clementine said earlier. “... going to steal your father’s pickles.”

I’m still thinking about that an hour later, when Mr. Broody-Brody still hasn’t returned, and I’m unpacking my things in the guest quarters that are located directly above the master suite of the house. Mrs. Billingsly assured me that this is where I’ll be staying. And I’ve even gotten a text from the lawyer who sent the original paperwork, assuring me that I am not fired.

What exactly did all those other nannies do to get fired? Sure, buying pets without a parent’s permission is clearly problematic.

With a man that looks like that? I’m sure that’s how one of the nannies “accidentally” fell asleep in his bed.

But stealing his pickles? What is that about?

Not that it’s any of my business.

I just need to do my job. Focus on Clementine. Keep my head down and my hands off his pickles. Whatever the hell that means.

diary entry 1

Dear Diary,

Today my new nanny started. I wasn’t excited at first. I’ve had a lot of nannies. I’ve told daddy that I don’t even need one. Ms. Billingsly is at the house most days, and daddy and my uncles are in and out too. I’m smart enough to stay out of trouble. Besides, most of the time, all I want to do is read books or draw pictures.

I spend time with my chickens and my dog, Banana-Noodle, and I would spend time with Snickerdoodle, the cat, but she doesn’t seem to like anyone. It seems like a waste of everyone’s time for me to have to meet a new nanny every week. Most of the time, they only want to ask me questions about my daddy. Except for that one that brought Snickerdoodle to the house. She was old and smelled like salad dressing.

But today my nanny is Winnie. She doesn’t smell like salad dressing at all. She smells like oranges. And she kinda has red hair like me. She likes the same books as I do and said I am so smart and pretty. So if my daddy insists on me having a nanny, it has to be Winnie. Daddy says she won’t be here long, but I’m gonna make sure she stays forever.

Love,

Clementine

chapter

two

Official Rules for Wind from the East Nanny Service

Rule #2: Nannies and clients shall treat one another with respect at all times.

Brody’s take away: Don’t stare at the nanny’s ass. Even if it looks like her yoga pants were spray-painted on.

Brody

“I think he’s on a call—” my brother, Bryant’s assistant, tries to tell me.

I ignore her and barge directly into his office. Bryant Callahan, Esquire, the brother who is closest to my age. He’s been a family-law attorney in our small Tennessee town for nearly a decade now.

“I’m going to have to call you later,” he says into the phone receiver, then hangs it up. “What crawled up your ass today?”

“I need you to fire the new nanny,” I say.

He stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head, then slow blinks. “I’m still finishing the paperwork from firing your last nanny.”