Page 7 of Big Trouble

So as soon as I step inside the house, I head for the stairs that lead to the bonus bedroom. This is where I’ve put all of the nannies. I’m fully prepared to find a weeping twenty-something in said room. Instead I find a curvy ass shaking to some song about getting married with a ring made of paper while she drops folded stacks of clothing into the dresser drawers.

There’s a row of colorful shirts hung—in what I believe is rainbow order—in the closet. There are two zipped-up rolling suitcases lying on the closet floor.

“You unpacked,” I say, stating the obvious.

She squeals and jumps to face me, hand over her ample chest. “You scared the snot out of me.”

“I hope not,” I manage.

She taps her phone, and the music stops. “What did you say?”

“Why did you unpack? I fired you,” I say.

She waves her hand dismissively. “Not really. You just expressed your desire TO fire me because of my lack of penis.”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to need you to stop saying that.”

“What? Penis?” She pauses a moment. “Are you one of those guys who isn’t comfortable with the correct terms for genitalia? Tell me you don’t call yours a tally-whacker or something equally ridiculous.”

“We are not talking about what I call my—” I stop talking and shake my head. Then I blow out a breath. “We’re not discussing that anymore. What I want to know is why you unpacked. I told you to be gone by the time I returned.”

She pops her fists on her hips. “I know what you said, but you had no legal grounds to dismiss me. Not only that, there was absolutely no way I was going to let you fire me when Clementine so clearly needs me. After you roared at me, she came crying to me, begging me not to leave.

“I don’t know what kinds of issues you’ve had with previous nannies, and you being able to scare them off. But you do not scare me, Mr. Broody-Brody. Not even a little bit. I know what your daughter needs and I’ll be damned if you prevent me from providing that to her.”

I cross my arms over my chest and scowl. “You don’t know a fucking thing about my daughter.”

“Oh really? I know she loves Mercy Watson books. That she loves to draw, especially mermaids. That her favorite color is yellow and she adores all of her pets, but has a particular fondness for a chicken named Dr. Seuss.”

“You’re just giving me random facts that anyone could collect with mere observation. Not to mention the fact that Clem likes to talk. A lot.” I take a step further into the room. “That tells me nothing.”

Winnie’s pretty face scrunches in a frown, and she takes a step toward me. “Fair enough. How about this? Your daughter is already reading at a fifth-grade level and can do basic math equations in her head. She needs structured stimuli and intellectual challenges.

But more than that, she needs stability. She needs to know that she can try something and not be good at it, and that everything will still be okay. She needs to know that people aside from her father and uncles won’t leave.”

I just stare at her.

She waves her hands again. “Also, I got a text within twenty minutes of you leaving from your lawyer saying I wasn’t actually fired.”

Still, I just stare at this beautiful fiery woman because I know in this moment I am so fucked.

A beautiful nanny? I could have handled that. Curves for miles? Yeah, I’m good. I’ve been dealing with that from women since I was fifteen. A sassy smile that hits me like a gut punch? Yeah, that’s even rarer. Still, I could have handled that.

But a woman who’s willing to go to the mat for my kid? A woman who gets in my face and refuses to back down over my kid?

Fuck me.

This guts me.

I have no defenses against this woman. None at all. How can I when she looks like a dream and fights for my kid like a goddamn Valkyrie?

chapter

four

Official Rules for Wind from the East Nanny Service

Rule #4: Nannies shall do everything in their power to respect the client’s privacy.