Chapter 2
JESS
Present Day
“Don’t you dare pull your sister’s hair, Charlie!”
“Christ alive.” Savannah sighs, plonking down on the couch beside me. “I commend you for being a mother to three. I can barely do it with one.”
“You quickly adjust,” I say, steering my head back to the chaos.
My kids take after me, that’s for sure, always wanting to have their own way. It was the same for me when I was in care growing up.
These three menaces should be lucky they actually have family. Real siblings to get into arguments with. I’d have killed for that, back in the day.
“Willow’s got an ass that doesn’t quit,” observes Savannah, watching her knee Charlie in the leg as consequence for the hair-pulling.
“Yeah. Always determined to get her own way.”
“Who does that remind you of?” Savannah hitches her eyebrow up at me.
She’s implying me, but their father was honestly the same way. Those blue eyes had the potential to manipulate anyone. They manipulated me. Yes, champagne was involved, but it was mostly him who caused me to make the biggest mistake of my life.
That was my first thought when I took the pregnancy test in the beachside restroom.
Two pink lines.
Three children, all depending on me.
Of course, I didn’t know about the triplets until I was back in Boston, freaking out at the ultrasound.
So much for moving to Miami.
“Hopefully the nannying gigs won’t be for much longer,” I say to Savannah, still watching my kids.
My two girls are friendly with Savanah’s girl—Rosie, so it’s easy for us all to hang out.
Savannah helps with childcare when she’s not busy in the office designing new lines for her athletic-wear business. But what I need is money, a lot of it, so I can actually start making a dime around here and afford a nanny.
Ironic, considering I am one myself.
Not like I ever make good money from it.
The money I do make goes to feeding mouths, and paying bills. It’s winter in Boston and I have three five-year-old kids who are always complaining they’re cold.
“Have you heard back after you had that interview?” Savannah asks. “It seemed to run for a while, since you asked me to pick up the kiddos from kindergarten.”
“I know, and I’m really sorry about that—”
“No apology needed.”
“The interviewer seemed interested, but I probably won’t hear back. What well-respected private equity firm is gonna want an inexperienced woman working for them?”
“Don’t be so downbeat,” assures Savannah. “Trust me, when I’m looking to hire, online course certificates grab my attention a lot more than college degrees. I want people to be innovative, not follow the crowd.”
“I know, but you’re in fashion and these people are—”
“Finance bros with egos way bigger than their dicks.” Savannah narrows her eyes. “Why did you waste six weeks studying investment banking again?”
“Because that’s where the big bucks are.”
“Hm,” Savannah says. “That’s not what my new Pilates range says.” She gestures to the new four-inch shorts we’re both wearing. Seventy dollars is steep for clothing that only just covers your ass, but I get everything for free, so no complaints there.
Savannah has always done well for herself. She’s the only rich parent I nanny for who’s not up her own ass. The only thing that is, are these damn shorts.
“Booty cheek separators,” she reminds me, watching me adjust the seam.
“They make your butt look amazing, and I don’t say that from a marketing perspective.
These babies sell themselves.” She glances at me, her eyes zeroing in.
“Wear them when you’re walking through the park. I guarantee you’ll pull.”
“Pull who exactly? A creep?”
“A morning jogger, if you go at the right time.” Her eyes glimmer. “Come on, Jessy, God knows you could use a little help. You can’t expect to parent triplets alone forever.”
“Watch me.”
“I am watching.” Her gaze deepens. “I’m watching those eye bags under your eyes get darker. When was the last time you slept?”
“I don’t need a man. All I need is enough money to afford a nanny on the weekend.”
“If it’s rest you need, I can guarantee you’re not going to feel any better by working in private equity chasing after your boss and his high expectations all day.”
“The CEO of the company is quite laid-back, apparently.”
“Says who? The interviewer? He was probably paid to say that.”
“Mommy?” interrupts Isla, perching herself on my lap. She’s the calmest out of my three, happy playing with her Barbies all day. She yanks hair still, but I have no problem with that when it’s synthetic.
“I’m getting tired,” she says, yawning—a fake one, judging from how wide she opens her mouth. She tends to do this when she’s spent from too much social interaction.
“We only just got here, baby. Why don’t you ask Rosie if you can go play with the Barbies in her room?”
Isla nods, dragging herself off my lap like it’s such a big challenge to stand. And speak.
“You’ll have to keep an eye on her,” Savannah says. “Rosie was the same when she was around Isla’s age. She perked up after moving up a grade, but her teacher still wanted me to get her tested for autism.” She sighs. “It was a lot of pressure, and I only had one kid.”
“Rosie is always fine with me,” I add.
“Yeah, she’s fine one-on-one. It’s the classroom, group stuff she struggles with.”
“Jesus.” I sink into the couch. It’s a good one that manages to relieve some of the tension in my traps, but not even a thousand-dollar couch could fix my aches and pains. I’m afraid those are with me for life. “Kids are so…complicated.”
“You can say that again,” says Savannah as we watch them play on the carpet.
Charlie and Willow are calmer now. I watch a half smile crawl onto Willow’s face as she scribbles in her drawing book, the ghost of Nadir Medvedev always present.
He smiled at me that same slanted way, six years ago in the business-class suite.
He was a real menace, like how Willow is growing up to be.
Charlie, beside her on the floor concentrating on his own book, gets wound up sometimes by her. Technically, he’s the oldest, since he was the first to come out. There’s two minutes between him and Willow, and Willow hates that she was last.
I tell Charlie to set a good example for his “younger” sisters, and he listens. Sometimes. I don’t know. I get caught up in his eyes way more than I should, and let things slide as a result. He’s a mini Nadir.
And all I knew how to do around Nadir was surrender.
My buzzing phone disrupts me from my thoughts. I wrestle it from my pocket and check the screen.
“Who is it?” Savannah asks, reading my face like it’s a book. “It’s the company, isn’t it? Oh my God.”
“We don’t know that,” I say, staring at the unknown number. I shoot off the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
I shut the door and press my back up against the other side, taking the call.
“Hello. Is this Jess Rawcliffe?”
“Speaking.”
“Hi. It’s Leon Volkov from Sterling Row Partners.”
Shiiit.
“I’m ringing to offer you the job as an investment associate, starting work immediately. You interviewed well and responded with some very thoughtful answers. I think you will be a very good asset to the company.”
Starstruck, I answer, “Yes, I’ll accept,” before the man has time to change his mind.
“Great. Can you be in tomorrow? I’ll arrange a meeting with you and the CEO. He’ll introduce you to the company and make you feel settled.”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Shall we say nine a.m.?”
“Sounds perfect.”
I hang up and exhale relief out into the world. No way have I just landed an investment associate job at the biggest private equity firm in Boston.
No. Fucking. Way.
I open the door, squealing, which wins over everyone’s undivided attention.
“You got it?” Savannah asks, mirroring my excitement.
“I start tomorrow.”
“I look like I’m attending a funeral,” I say the next day, twirling in the mirror as Savannah sorts through the rest of her blazer sets.
“Private equity firm, funeral…same thing.”
“Do you not have anything with a little more…color?”
“You don’t earn a man’s respect by wearing color,” she says, stopping to watch my reflection. “Black all the way. Trust me on this.”
She may have a point. My children’s father definitely didn’t respect the light-washed Levi’s and red tank top. If I had been wearing black that day, he may have not made his advances.
Because black is serious.
Black is what Savannah wears when she wants to take the next step in her business.
She appears behind me, straightening the hem of the blazer I’m trying on.
“Maybe something longer,” she decides, unhooking another from the rail.
I’ve lost count at this point. “Here,” she tugs the current one from me and drops the new one around my shoulders.
After assessing the length, she stands back and approves.
“Yes, this is the one. You don’t want to be showing too much ass. ”
“Good thing I’m not showing up in your four-inch booty cheek separators.”
“Totally,” she says absentmindedly, running a finger over her lip.
I glance through the mirror at her. “Are we done here? I have precisely”—I check the watch she let me borrow—“thirty-three minutes before I need to be in the financial district.”
“Yeah, and another fifty minutes after that to find the building. Relax.”
“I can’t. This is my big break.”
“It will be when you’re wearing heels. Here.” She hands over what could quite possibly be the most killer things I’ve ever seen in my life. “You’re holding Louboutins, girl, not poison. Put them on.”
“Way to make a first impression when I’m falling ass over tit in front of the CEO.”
“You’re not going to do that. Come on.” She snaps her fingers at me. “I’m not letting you leave my place wearing flats, so the choice is yours—either you put on the Louboutins, or you make yourself late on your first day.”