3. Olivia
3
OLIVIA
O ne day after the most unpleasant flight of my life—including the flight where a child threw up on me—I was lying on my couch, re-watching You’ve Got Mail for the millionth time. I was still feeling like crap after being fired for the fifth time in two years, and I needed a comfort movie. And this was the ultimate comfort movie. Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, and the cutest children’s bookstore in the whole world.
But today as I watched Tom Hanks flirt with Meg Ryan, introducing her to the adorable kids playing his aunt and his brother, I sat straight up, suddenly realizing I never sent @DBCoder the picture book recommendations he’d asked for. I’d gotten his message when I was stuck on that hellish flight, but had completely forgotten about it, distracted by the rudest seat mate ever.
Imagine trying to give career advice to a complete stranger, then telling her to shut up when she gently pushed back.
Sure, his accent had been hot. Okay, all of him had been hot. He’d worn an expensive cable-knit sweater that made him look cuddly and strong at the same time, and brought out the piercing blue of his eyes. His jawline was strong. His hair was thick and dark. His skin was flawless. He looked, frankly, a little photoshopped.
But no amount of hotness could make up for bad manners, as far as I was concerned. Lusting after a hot, rude guy was a mistake I would have made at 21. Not 28.
No, at 28 I preferred to focus on fictional men played by Tom Hanks who understood that the way to a woman’s heart was discussing books—and buying books for kids. That was what had brought @DBCoder and me together in the first place.
I crossed the room to inspect my bookshelf, looking for something new I could recommend to him. There wasn’t much of a room to cross. Since I spent most of my time living with the families I nannied for, my own “apartment” was just the spare room over my friend’s garage that I rented at a deep discount. It had a bed, a toaster oven, and almost enough room for all of my books. I’d amassed quite a collection of titles for kids of all ages, but picture books were definitely my favorite, and I prided myself on being something of a connoisseur. Occupational hazard of being a nanny—if you’re going to read the same book to a toddler fifteen times in a row, you want to stack the deck in your favor by making sure you have books on hand that won’t make you lose your mind. I’d started the @1000words blog on the suggestion of a friend, and it had blossomed into a really fun hobby—which had, in turn, led to some great virtual friendships.
I was trying to remember if I’d recommended Tacky the Penguin on my book blog yet, when my phone started buzzing. I glanced at the screen and my stomach knotted painfully.
Sunny Days Childcare. They were probably calling to tell me they were going to drop my nanny profile from their app. They’d threatened to before, but the mom of the first family I’d nannied for had the wealth and influence to convince them to give me another chance.
Apparently, I’d run out of second chances.
I took a deep breath, sat down on the rug, and answered my phone. “Hello?”
“Olivia. This is Vanessa from Sunny Days Childcare. We need some additional information not included on your profile.”
Wait , I thought. They’re not getting rid of me?
“Are you right or left-handed?” she asked briskly.
“Left,” I answered.
“Which is Eric Carle’s best book?” she asked.
I blinked. That was a highly specific question. Most people would have said The Very Hungry Caterpillar , which was certainly a good one. But I liked the writing in one of his less popular ones better. “I like Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? ”
“Hmm,” Vanessa said. She didn’t sound happy. I wondered if that had been the wrong answer.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
This was such a weird conversation. How could any of this possibly speak to my qualifications as a nanny? “I love all colors,” I said diplomatically. “It’s important to enjoy colors the child likes.”
“ Your favorite color ,” she demanded.
“Purple,” I said.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
I let my head thunk back against my bookshelf. It would be just my luck if I got kicked off of their bougie platform because I had the wrong favorite color.
On the other end of the line, Vanessa gave a long-suffering sigh. “We were going to dismiss you after the feedback from your last clients. But due to the highly detailed mandatory requirements of a new client, you are our only viable option.”
My heart sped up. I was getting one more chance.
“If you can get to the airport by 4 p.m. today, the job is yours. But it’s a trial basis only?—”
“Yes!” I interrupted, scrambling to my feet. “Yes, I can be at the airport.”
“I’ll email you the relevant information,” Vanessa said.
“Thank you, thank you,” I said. “I won’t let you down.”
Vanessa’s silence was telling. “This is your last chance, Olivia. So for the love of God, just do what the client asks.”
She hung up before I could explain that I wasn’t trying to be difficult. The clients just kept asking for dumb things.
This time will be different , I told myself, as I opened my suitcase and started tossing things in. This time I’d be lucky enough to get a good client, and a great kid, and everything would work out.
I was waiting in baggage check area, near the Delta sign, where I was supposed to meet my new boss: an uncle who would be taking care of his niece for two months in Ireland, and needed some extra help. But they weren’t here yet. I checked my watch, worried I’d gotten the time wrong.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” a man’s deep voice said behind me. Except he had an Irish accent, so it sounded more like feckin’ . A sexy accent that sounded alarmingly familiar.
“Uncle Declan! That’s a bad word,” a kid’s voice scolded.
I turned around, my stomach sinking. Sure enough, it was the rude stranger from the plane. He looked about as thrilled to see me as I was to see him.
He knows I just got fired , I realized, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Why would he want to hire me?
The kid looked sweet, though. She had her hand in her uncle’s, and she was bouncing on her toes, looking nervously around at the airport.
Focus on the kid , I reminded myself. I might be bad at pleasing temperamental parents, but I was really, really good at taking care of children.
I gave the girl a big smile. “Are you Catie Byrne?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Because I’m your new nanny, Miss Olivia. It’s very nice to meet you.” I squatted down to her level and held out my hand for her to shake. She did.
“You’re left-handed like me,” she told me. “And from the same city as me. And we have the same favorite color.”
The eccentric questionnaire suddenly made a bit more sense. I snuck a glance up at Declan.
“Catie helped come up with the job requirements,” Declan confirmed. He still didn’t look happy to see me. Actually, that was an understatement. He looked as if we were in an apocalypse scenario where he and I were the last two humans on earth and he would rather do a U-turn and walk all the way to Asia than risk crossing paths with me again.
Still, he’d listened to his niece’s opinions on an important decision. So maybe he wasn’t so bad. I stood up, determined to feel optimistic.
Declan didn’t say much as we checked our luggage and he bought my plane ticket. Catie was shy at first, but with a few questions I managed to get her talking. In a half hour, we’d made it through security and were weaving our way through the airport to our gate.
Catie’s eyes lit up when we walked past a café with giant, frosting-covered cookies in the display case. “Can I have one of those?” she asked me.
Declan was checking his phone, barely listening. That didn’t bode well. All signs pointed to another parental figure who paid more attention to the urgent issue on their phone than the child in front of them. If possible, my opinion of Declan sank even lower.
I didn’t get people like that. Here was this bright, curious kid, who clearly loved her uncle, and he couldn’t give her the time of day.
What a bastard.
“We have to check with your uncle,” I said, fighting the urge to glare at said uncle. “I don’t know what your healthy eating rules are yet, or if you have any allergies. Plus, it’s almost dinnertime.” Also pouring tons of sugar into a child right before a transatlantic flight seemed like a bad idea.
I looked at Declan pointedly.
“She can have anything she wants,” Declan answered distractedly. He dug out his wallet and passed me a glossy black credit card like it was spare change.
I opened my mouth to gently suggest a less sugary alternative, but then I remembered I was supposed to try to do exactly what the client asked.
I blew out a sigh and headed over to the cookie display case, Catie’s hand in mine.
S ixteen hours later I found myself in Ireland, dragging my and Catie’s suitcases behind me.
We’d flown in a private plane this time. It wasn’t my first time flying private—one of the hazards of nannying for the rich and rude. But it was the first time the flight crew had ever been that deferential and eager to please. Apparently, Declan was a bigger deal than I’d realized. That didn’t help my nerves much—flying was definitely not one of my favorites things—and the knowledge had made my stomach twist uneasily. In my experience, the more “important” the people I worked for were, the worse they were at being a decent boss and a present parent.
I’d done my best to shove my nerves aside for the rest of the trip. Now that we’d finally landed in Shannon, I noticed something else weird about the airport.
No one was rushing. The place was calm and quiet, which I found highly unnatural for an airport.
At least this didn’t seem to have anything to do with Declan.
Welcome to Ireland , I thought.
Declan walked next to me, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. A sleeping Catie had her head nestled on his other shoulder as he carried her like she weighed nothing at all. Even in her sleep, she held on tight to him.
Either she was naturally cautious, or something had happened in her life to make her feel insecure, even in her sleep. I thought of the note Sunny Days Childcare had sent me, letting me know the mom was in rehab, and that I wasn’t supposed to mention it to either Declan or Catie.
I cleared my throat. “So, are all Irish airports this calm or?—”
“I appreciate your willingness to take this job. But you should know this is temporary,” he interrupted.
Right. I’d forgotten how much he hated small talk, aka being a normal human being.
“Yes.” I gave him my best cheery professional smile. “The job description mentioned this was only for a few months.”
“No,” he said gruffly. “I mean your agency offered to send me another candidate as soon as they find someone else who meets all of my requirements. And given our…interaction…on the plane, I’m inclined to accept their offer. If I believe whoever they find is a better for Catie than you…” His tone said he imagined they would be.
My mouth felt dry. If I lost this job, I’d lose my spot at Sunny Days. And while there were other live-in nannying agencies in Minnesota, they paid a lot less and didn’t vet the nannies or the clients, which meant you’d spend a lot more time hunting for jobs, and a lot less time working.
What if I had to stop nannying entirely, and find some soul-sucking office job? Or leave Minnesota, and start over somewhere new, where I didn’t have any friends or connections?
I clamped down on the panic-inducing thought.
That wouldn’t happen. All I had to do was win Catie and Declan over.
I realized Declan was still waiting for my response.
I tipped my chin up and gave him my most dazzling, confident smile. “Good idea. Catie deserves the best possible nanny.”
I just had to show a rich, grumpy asshole that that was me.
Easy, right?