Natalie's expression had completely changed. She looked like she smelled something terrible.
"Does this... little one belong to you, Chris?" she asked coldly.
My cheeks heated up an embarrassment. I felt like I had done something wrong, even though I didn't.
"Yes, this is my daughter, Zoey," I said.
Zoey waved, oblivious to the tension. "Hi!"
Natalie ignored her. She wasn't exactly glaring at me, but any warmth in her face had disappeared. "She won't be joining you while you're working, I hope?"
My stomach twisted anxiously. The correct answer was obviouslyno, but until I actually began working at this position and got paid, I couldn’t afford a babysitter. And after seeing Natalie's 180 in mood, I doubted she was gracious enough to give me an advance.
"N-no, of course not," I said. "I’m sorry, I just couldn't find anyone to watch her on such short notice today."
Zoey frowned at me but didn't say anything. I knew I probably hurt her feelings, which felt way worse than being glared at by my new boss.
"Good," Natalie said in a clipped voice. "Then I'll see you in two days. Forest, sanitize that glass, will you?"
Forest ducked their head. "Yes, ma'am."
When she left, we exchanged glances.
"I'm sorry Zoey gave you trouble,” I said.
"Nah, I should apologize. I'm usually better at wrangling kids. But even so, I still have to pay a babysitter to watch my younger siblings when I'm at work."
I wanted to ask Forest how much it cost, but even though we had newfound kinship as co-workers, I didn't want to embarrass myself further.
"It's hard to find a good one, isn't it?" I said instead.
"Yup. Especially when there's ones out there who won't even take your business."
"Wait, what do you mean?"
Forest rolled their eyes. "See that bulletin board over there? There's a regular who comes here every few days to check his advertisement. Technically, we don't allow ads at all, but because he's such a good customer, Natalie let it slide. Anyway, this regular is apparently an 'affordable' manny. I even called him myself to see if his rates were better than the one I use."
My spirits lifted at the sound of an affordable manny. "Really?" I asked excitedly.
Forest scoffed. "Yeah, except when we met up, this guy told me I wasn't 'the right one.' What the hell does that mean?"
"That is a weird thing to say," I agreed.
I glanced over at the advertisement, which was a flyer printed on thick, expensive paper. All the tear off strips for his phone number were gone.
"Is he really that popular?" I asked.
"Seems like it. But I don't think he takes just any job. Every time he comes in here, he buys hundreds of dollars worth of baked goods, sighs wistfully at his flyer, then leaves."
I choked. "Hundreds of dollars?"
Forest grinned. "Oh yeah, did I mention he's rich?"
If this guy was so wealthy, what was the point in advertising himself as a manny? He clearly didn't need the money.
Forest crossed their arms. "The worst part? He spends thousands on cupcakes and macarons and stuff, yet every time I see him, he's fitter than a model on a magazine. Sometimes I wonder if he flushes them all down the toilet or something."
The more I heard about this weird man, the more confused and intrigued I became.
