It’s done.
Jess Riley is officially Ben’s nanny.
And I’m officially the idiot who hired the woman he can’t stop wanting to take care of the daughter who needs him to have his shit together.
“Start date is Monday,” Elena says, all business. “Standard onboarding. I’ll send the employee handbook and safety briefing materials by end of day.”
Safety briefing. Right. Because Jess will need to know about the security protocols. The cameras. The movement plans. The fact that my five year old has a protective detail because I’m too paranoid to function without multiple layers between her and the world.
That’s going to be fun to explain.
“I’ll be there,” Jess says. She’s packing up her notebook and pen. Professional to the end.
She stands. I stand. So does everyone else.
Handshakes. Amara and Elena exchange cards like opposing generals after a ceasefire. Rahul disconnects from the call. The room empties until it’s just me and Jess standing on opposite sides of the table.
She’s looking at me like she wants to say something.
“Monday,” she says finally.
“Monday,” I echo.
She turns to leave. Her hips sway when she walks. Not exaggerated. Just natural feminine grace. The kind that makes my hands itch to grab and hold and claim.
She only gets three steps in toward the door.
I can’t help myself. “Jess.”
She stops. Doesn’t turn around. Just waits. The curve of her spine. The fall of her hair against her collar. I want to wrap it around my fist and tilt her head back while I mark that neck.
“This is going to work,” I tell her. Trying to convince us both.
She looks back over her shoulder. Those warm brown eyes that saw me at my most unguarded meet mine with something that might be hope. Or resignation.
“Yeah,” she says softly.
Then she’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind her and I’m alone in the conference room with a signed contract and the memory of her lavender scent.
I sit back down. Pull the contract toward me.
No fraternization. Ninety day buffer. Exit clause.
All the rules we need to keep this from becoming the catastrophe it’s destined to be.
I think about Isotta. About the mixing bowl still sitting on my shelf and the lemon tree on the roof I keep alive out of guilt. About how when she died, some dark corner of my brain thought of Jess and I hated myself for it.
I think about Ben. About her anxiety and her need for routine and the way she asks every morning if I’ll be there at pickup because she can’t quite believe I won’t disappear like mommy.
I think about Jess walking into my house on Monday. Sitting at my kitchen table. Learning Ben’s breakfast preferences and bedtime rituals. Becoming part of the infrastructure that holds my daughter together.
I think about seeing her every day. About watching her move through my space.About the torture of being close enough to touch but bound by rules I agreed to. About her curves in my peripheral vision while I try to focus on Ben. About night after night of going to bed alone knowing she’s gone home. Knowing I can’t follow. Knowing that wanting her at all makes me the worst kind of bastard.
This is the right decision.
It has to be.
