Beck held out his hands. “I’m busy, and I have more important things to do than babysit.”
“You could try to incorporate Enola and Annie into your life,” I said sharply. “You’re their older brother. They’re desperate to get to know you.”
Beck’s mouth was a thin line. “I have other obligations,” he said brusquely.
“Yes, but I think—”
“I don’t care what you think,” he said, standing up. “You’re my assistant; you work for me. You’re not the girls’ mother. You’re not my girlfriend.” He grabbed the tablet from me. “Is this your top choice?” He pointed to the older military vet.
“I don’t like any of them,” I retorted.
“I don’t have time for this. Schedule this woman to come to the office this afternoon, and I will interview her.”
“You want Miss Trunchbull as the girls’ nanny?” I crossed my arms.
He blinked at me and looked at the tablet. “That is not her name.”
“It might as well be.”
“ScheduleMs. Larkinthen sign the girls up for private school. You can talk to Greg’s assistant about which one. Then go back to your actual job.”
The anger rose, hot and sour, as I went back down to the lobby. It was just like after my mom had died and my stepfather would berate me and dismiss me just because he could.
I hate Beck.
“Guess it didn’t work,” Enola said, face pinched.
“Your brother is probably overwhelmed,” Holly said reassuringly. “He’s used to the bachelor lifestyle.”
Annoyed at Beck, I called the nanny agency and scheduled the Miss Trunchbull look-alike to come in for a meeting. Then I registered the girls for private school. Afterward, I helped Holly with the lunch rush, and I made Beck’s tea order. As I was cutting up the lemon, Enola grabbed my arm.
“Oh my god, she does look like Miss Trunchbull!” she exclaimed.
The nanny was wearing a pantsuit, and her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She carried a large black bag slung over her shoulder.
“Is that what she hides children in?” Annie whispered to me, eyes wide.
The nanny had preternatural hearing because her head swiveled in our direction, and her lips curled back to bare yellowed teeth. We all gasped as she stomped over, her heavy, booted steps echoing on the marble lobby floors.
“I don’t want to have her as a nanny,” Enola whispered, grabbing my hand.
“Are those the little brats?” the nanny asked. She laughed like she had made a joke.
I was so not letting Beck hire her.
“You there.” She pointed to Enola. “Fetch me a water, girl.”
She looked down her nose at me. “You the assistant? You look disorganized. I run a tight ship, and it sounds like Mr. Svensson does as well. You won’t be long with us.”
Enola gingerly handed her a bottle of water, and the nanny snatched it from her.
“Move out!” the nanny barked. “Once I’m in charge, there will be no baking. You will either be in school, studying, asleep, or running drills.”
“They’re just having fun,” I said, escorting her to the elevator.
“I don’t believe in fun. I believe in discipline.”
11
