“Look after him,” I tell Igor. “I’m going to find someone to help. We can’t look after a baby by ourselves.” And in a moment of pure desperation, I grab Igor’s phone from him and look upAgencyin his contacts. Igor gets in tradesmen and extra staff when we need people, and this agency is known for being super discreet.
I see the men heave out a collective sigh of relief as I hit the call button as fast as my fingers will let me.
“Angels Agency,” a voice trills down the line.
“I need someone!” I bark into the phone, pure panic racing through my veins now.
“Of course, sir. Any specific requirements?”
“Just someone with a brain who knows what she’s doing!” Because none of my men seem to have a single brain cell between them, judging by the last five minutes.
“Of course, sir. All our ladies are superbly qualified and experienced. Do you have any preferences? Required physical attributes?”
“I don’t care what she goddamn looks like,” I snarl.
“Noted, sir. And what skills do you require?”
“Skills?” I don’t know. Because I never had to hire a nanny before.
“You know,” she replies. “Like deep throating, anal, double or triple penetration?—”
“What the fuck, Igor?!” I roar, slamming down the phone as I end the call with a stab of my finger.
Igor looks over my shoulder. “Boss, that’s the agency I get whores from. The next one in my contacts list is the one you need.”
I glare at him as I hit the contact calledAgency 2.
Holding my breath, I hear someone answer. “Helping Hands Agency! How can I help?”
“Um, hello? In what way, er, do your hands help people…?” I can’t help the suspicion lacing my voice. What if she means they do hand jobs, erotic massages, and that sort of stuff?
“We have gardeners, electricians, maids?—”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “You’re what I need. Send a woman. Right now!”
“What sort of employee are you looking for?”
“A woman. Just for today and some of tomorrow. She should, er, have a hat. And an umbrella thing…”
“A hat and an umbrella, sir?” Her voice hitches with confusion.
I sigh in exasperation. “Yes, an umbrellaso that she can fly.”
“Ahhh,” she hums. “You’re a man in need of ananny. Someone like Mary Poppins, right?”
“Yes, that’s what I just said,” I snarl. “Just send three candidates for me to interview. They must be competent. And not, er, incompetent.”
“Yes, we’ll send three candidates immediately.”Thank the fucking Lord.
I end the call, grimacing as I watch Igor clutching Leon under one arm like a squirming football.
Forty-five minutes, the first candidate arrives.
She sweeps into the room in a red crop top and flesh-coloredshorts that could be mistaken for bikini bottoms. She looks barely adult.
My eyes narrow. “Where is therestof your shirt?”
She looks at me like I’m ancient and a complete moron. “This isfashion.”
