Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Paige
First days at a new job are always hard, and before today I was certain I was prepared for this challenge.
To be fair, it wasn’t the job itself that put me off-balance today.
It was my team. We’d called a morning meeting for me to say hello and get organized, but I was met with, if not resistance, definitely reluctance.
Resentment cascaded off them the minute Penelope, the global head of HR, left our offices to return to the global division elsewhere in the building.
I gathered later that global HR doesn’t often take that much of an interest in the UK office’s day-to-day operations.
At lunch, my assistant, Maryam, confided that people at the company were upset so many senior employees were passed over for the promotion in favor of bringing an American into the office, then she asked me how I liked my rental car.
I lied and then tried to find out whether people in England drove automatics.
According to Maryam, only pensioners and disabled people drive them.
Learning stick shift was my only option because there was no way I’d admit to being either old or disabled.
On top of all that, Gwen called me nonstop from noon onward, even though I kept sending her to voicemail.
She must have been up at the crack of dawn.
When I finally called her back in the taxi on the way home, she’d forgotten it was my first day.
Rather than asking me how it went, she rambled on excitedly about a safari company she’s in love with and wants to use—when she wins the bet.
So, it’s with great relief that I climb out of the cab in the laneway at the end of the day. Joey’s excitement at having me home is always a balm, and I open the door, expecting to have my son come running.
My first indication that Ashley’s day may not have gone to plan is the stench in the house. It smells like burnt potatoes, and there’s the scorched pan on the side entrance table. Joey doesn’t run to greet me, and the carpet still has marks on it from the vacuum.
When I wander into the living room, there on the couch, is Joey, watching television. I march into the room, snatch the remote off the table to power it off.
“Joey doesn’t watch TV.”
“No cheese, Gromit,” Joey says, and he glances at Ashley.
“What is he talking about?” I ask. “Has he watched so much TV that he’s actually quoting the show?”
“I’ll grab that pan.” Ashley heads to the front entrance, and I follow on his heels.
“Did you not read the list I left you?” I ask as he takes the pan to the kitchen, and it clatters into the sink. At least everything seems reasonably tidy—not clean, but tidy. “I don’t let Joey watch TV.”
Ashley picks up one of the lists from the counter and seems to be running through it. “Right. Yeah. It’s here. Didn’t see that.”
He half turns to me, and it’s clear there’s more he wants to say, but I am not justifying my parenting decisions to anyone. The whole point of solo parenting is never having to explain or justify anything to anyone.
I open the cupboard next to the sink to get a glass, and I notice one of the bowls is missing. A quick glance at the drying rack and sink confirms it’s not in either place, and I don’t remember seeing it in the living room.
“Where’s the bowl?” I take one out to show him. “We’re missing one.”
“Bit of an accident earlier. I dropped it.” He shrugs. “You can take it out of my pay if you need to replace it. Do you want a cuppa or a glass of wine? You seem a bit stressed.”
“You bought alcohol?” I frown.
“No, but I can pop to the off-license and get a bottle if you fancy it.”
“I don’t drink,” I say. “And a cup of tea this late will just keep me up all night.”
“Suit yourself,” Ashley says, and he flicks on the kettle.
His easygoing, relaxed attitude grates on my nerves, but I’m enough of an adult to realize it’s partly because it mirrors the laissez-faire mindset I also got at the office, as though everything is someone else’s problem.
Back home, the burnt pan, the broken bowl, and Joey being parked in front of the television would have been sufficient for me to either fire my nanny or get into an argument with enough bite that she’d quit.
If I keep going at him for his mistakes today, one way or another, I’ll regret it, and neither of us can afford that.
“I never claimed to be a professional,” Ashley says in a gruff voice. “Two weeks ago, I was laying bricks on a job site. You’ve taken a chance on me, and I appreciate it. I need this job. No telly tomorrow.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and I press my hands into the counter so hard they turn white. “I had a shitty first day, and I’m taking it out on you. I apologize, Ashley.”
My apology likely sounds sincere, but my brain, not my heart, is driving it.
At least for now, keeping the peace is more important than my strict, normally unbending, standards.
Gwen would be amazed at my adaptability and maybe appalled that her trip is flying away without her. Necessity has bred change.
“It’s Ash. You can call me Ash.”
I’ve never been one to shorten names. On Joey’s birth certificate, he’s Joey, not Joe or Joseph.
Although Ashley mentioned before I could call him Ash, it reeks of informality.
He specifically said his “mates” call him Ash, and I can’t be his friend.
Once we cross the employee and employer threshold into something murkier, it’s harder to maintain standards, and inevitably, we’ll both be frustrated.
He’ll be pissed his friend is angry with him, and I’ll be upset my employee can’t do anything right without me looking over his shoulder.
“Ash, it is,” I say with a weak smile. If I wanted to be called Deborah and everyone kept calling me Paige, that would be infuriating. He wants to be Ash, so that’s what he’ll be, despite my reservations.
He shoots me a grin over his shoulder while he fills his teacup with steaming water, and those damn dimples are out again.
He leaves the tea bag in while he goes to the living room, only to return with Chloe cuddled in his arms. My stomach swoops low, as though I’ve crested the hill of a roller coaster.
Desire threatens to run through my body, out of control.
Why did I have to hire a stupidly hot male nanny who seems to be incredibly good with kids?
Neither the nickname nor the brief spike of attraction means I can’t maintain a level of professionalism. With anyone else, professionalism comes easy. I set high expectations, and I maintain them myself.
Chloe cuddles into his neck, and he makes the rest of his cup of tea one-handed without even a whiff of inconvenience. Seeing him with his daughter is a level of attractiveness I’ve never experienced in another male. Ever. Some sort of chemical reaction.
I’ve never had a sweet tooth before, but Ash Galvin is a brand of candy I never knew existed, and I fear at some point, I’ll crave a taste.
Our early dinner is exactly like the previous night. Joey eats without complaint, and Chloe is happy with her bottle and mixed-up rice. There’s a quiet contentment at being sat around the table together, eating food we all seem to enjoy.
We dance around each other for the hour or so before the kids go to bed, as though neither of us is comfortable in our own skin or quite sure which parts of the house we should be in. I’m hyperaware of him, and I’m likely giving off serious creeper vibes.
There’s no way I’ll allow myself to develop an inappropriate fondness for my live-in nanny.
A terrible idea on so many levels. I can’t even remember the last time I was infatuated with someone, and an unrequited crush on a man I’m living with would be a disaster.
So embarrassing and unacceptable. I won’t be engaging in that insanity with Ash.
I refuse with every fiber of my being. No. I will not go there.
Once Joey is asleep, I come down the stairs, and instead of going into the living room, I decide to finish the vacuuming.
While the floor looks decent, it’s clear he didn’t do the baseboards or the corners.
A bit of cleaning will help to calm my anxiousness about having him in the house.
Next, I’ll give the kitchen another tidy.
Ash did the dishes, but they’re still in the drying rack.
I’ve been running the vacuum for a few minutes in the front entranceway, and I’m heading toward the kitchen when Ash wanders past with his teacup from earlier.
He must have taken it upstairs with him when he put Chloe to bed.
Caffeine this late would be a recipe for an all-nighter for me.
He eyes my progress, but he doesn’t say anything.
When he comes out of the kitchen again, he has another steaming mug of something.
I will have to do a search later to see whether having that much caffeine before going to sleep is detrimental to the sleep cycle or someone’s health.
My nanny can’t be dropping dead in the middle of a workday while he’s looking after two kids.
In the kitchen, I’m on the last corner, when I turn and catch Ash watching me from the doorway, the mug in his hand. I click off the vacuum, thinking he’s got a question.
“What exactly are you doing?” He takes a sip of his drink.
Seems pretty obvious what I’m doing, but I’ve never had someone living with me to see it. Before, whenever the nanny didn’t quite get something right, no one but Joey saw the evidence of my obsessive tendencies.
“Vacuuming,” I say.
He searches my face for a beat, and he seems to be considering his response. “Why?”
“I like all the corners and baseboards done when someone vacuums.” I drag the vacuum back toward the doorway to start on the other rooms.
“Is that noted in one of your lists and I missed it?”