“Three times in two days,” I quipped. “Guess I’m a lucky girl.”
“You are so immature!” the HR director snapped then flounced off.
I bit back a snicker and grabbed my laptop.
“Are you hungry?” I asked Beck’s little sisters as I took them to the elevator and down to the Sparrow and Thyme cafe.
“Can we have more to eat?” they asked in wonder.
Had they come from some sort of abusive situation? Did Beck rescue them?
Don’t think about him rescuing them. You hate him, remember? You can’t start swooning over your terrible boss.
“We can always have more to eat,” I promised them solemnly. “In fact, second breakfast is my favorite meal of the day.”
Holly raised a questioning eyebrow when I appeared with the girls at the front counter of the café.
“I can’t imagine that your temp job fell through and you’re magically here to help me after two of my workers called out sick?” she asked with a strained smile.
I gave her a rundown of my firing and subsequent rehiring.
“Now I have to find them a nanny,” I said.
“So you can’t bake the lemon tarts for me?” she pleaded.
I tapped my chin. “You know I love to bake.”
“We can help too!” the girls offered, bouncing up and down in excitement.
“You’re going to be the most adorable little helpers,” Holly said, bending down to smile at them.
“I thoughtI was going to have to do a lot more supervising,” Holly whispered to me as Beck’s little sisters carefully poured the tart custard into the expertly made shells. Annie and Enola were little machines. They had washed their hands, donned aprons, read the recipe, and proceeded to skillfully bake the mini lemon tarts that Holly was famous for.
“I might need to sign on to be a nanny,” Holly joked, “and have the girls work in my café!”
“Oh my god!” Maeve slumped down in a chair next to me. “Did you find a nanny?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Because Beck and Owen and Walker are having a screaming fight in his office.” She fanned herself. “You could drown in the testosterone.”
“I think she needs a chocolate tart,” I said as Holly stood to make Maeve an espresso. “Are any ready?”
“You don’t even have to give me a finished one,” Maeve said. “I’ll just lick a bowl. I need a pick-me-up. Cressida’s been hounding me about picking up all of Ashley’s work. You need to hurry and find a nanny so you can help take some of the workload.”
“I don’t want to have a nanny,” Enola said stubbornly, looking so stinking cute with a streak of raspberry custard on her cheek.
You hate kids, remember?
But these were my kind of kids. They baked, they didn’t make random shrieking noises, and they were friendly. If I could have kids like these, shoot, I’d have a whole baker’s dozen!
“We’ll find you a nice nanny,” I assured her. “Besides, you won’t have to deal with her much because you’ll be in school.”
“I don’t want to go to school. I want to bake all day!” Annie said, pausing as she scraped dough out of the large stand mixer.
You and me both, kid.
“School is fun,” I said, trying not to make a face.
