CHAPTER 6
Jason
I move to the patio’s far end, unprepared for yet another run-in with Valentina. She stands across from me, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the fading sunset. Her fluttery teal dress contrasts with yesterday’s sharp professional attire. With her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, her face is more visible. Pert bow lips tinted with subtle lipstick blend into her olive skin. She’s a heartbreaker masquerading as the girl next door.
Seeing her laughing and carefree with the boys, her bare feet sinking into the grass, was a far cry from the stern know-it-all I remembered from her TV persona. I shake my head and stifle a mirthless laugh. How, of all people in New York, did Mom find Valentina to be the kids’ nanny? Naturally, she’s charmed the boys, wheedling into their games like she’s known them forever.
Mom’s voice had lilted over the phone, raving about the “exceptional nanny” she’d found. Surely, she couldn’t have meant this woman. The universe wouldn’t send the woman responsible for tearing my family apart here to care for my kids. No way. Not happening.
And I now have to break the boys’ hearts and tell them she can’t be their nanny. I exhale. Chirping birds and distant lawn mowers underplay our tense silence.
Time to rip off the bandage. I step toward her, stop a safe distance away, hands resting on the railing, and clear my throat to announce my presence. She ignores me as if the air itself conspires to separate us. Her scent—summer flowers and fresh rain—drifts over, tempting yet unreachable.
“You’re a nanny and a TV host?” I keep my voice steady.
She huffs and faces me. I tower over her by thirteen inches.
“Some of us don’t have the luxury of a single career path.”
I hate to say it, but I admire her resilience. She’s right. I know little about her, except my ex-wife admired her on-air poise.
“You’re not stalking me because you didn’t get the job, are you?” She’s nothing more than a gossip columnist after all. But there’s got to be an explanation for how she ended up here.
“If I’d known who the father was, I wouldn’t have agreed to the job.” She squares her shoulders, confidence masking an underlying uncertainty. “Now that I know, I quit.”
Her flawless English, tinged with a Latino accent, might have been charming under different circumstances. But her grievances with me could end up extending to my children. “Glad we agree on something.”
“I need to work where trust and respect are mutual.” She steps past me to slip on her shoes. “People like you think the world bends at your whim, making the rest of us feel inferior.”
“What do you mean, ‘people like me’?”
“Do you really want to know?” She stands, her confidence unwavering. The slight upturn of her lips draws attention to a smirk accentuated by a faint trace of lipstick. “Never mind. I don’t owe you an explanation. You’re not my boss, Grumps.”
“What did you just call me?”
Without a word, she spins on her heel and strides toward the door, her dress swaying with each step. She slides the door open with a flourish, steps inside, and shuts it behind her, even as I trail her.
People like me? Does she see me as one of those egomaniacs in the media industry? I’ve poured my soul into building my company from nothing, always lifting others alongside me. How disturbing to have someone’s perception of me skewed by misunderstandings.
Inside, the playroom to the left of the staircase buzzes. The boys’ laughter, usually comforting, now taunts me over the impending awkward conversation—another nanny gone, another explanation due.
I enter the kitchen and pick up a fidget spinner from the island. The handy kids toy helps when I need a distraction, like now as I walk toward the living room where Valentina is addressing my mom.
Eden is still curled up with a book on the sofa. Valentina retrieves her handbag from the bookshelf. Mom is looking up from reading her medical magazine.
“It was very nice to meet you, Judy.” Valentina’s poised tone and smile remain unwavering as if our earlier exchange hadn’t soured the air. “And nice to meet you, Eden.”
“My husband is bringing us dinner soon. You should stay and join us,” Mom offers, clearly having already embraced the nanny.
The glow of the living room lights enhances Valentina’s warm smile. “My family will be disappointed if I don’t join them for dinner tonight.”
Does she have kids? A husband? I cringe at those intrusive thoughts. If she’s a single mother, I just robbed her of a job opportunity— two job opportunities. Blood whooshes in my head, and I twist the spinner faster.
“I signed up to bring snacks for the boys’ soccer game this Friday.” She holds up a hand in apology. “I hadn’t anticipated you’d be the one shopping, but I can still take care of it if you need help.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Mom waves, dismissing any snack crisis—an area where I lag. Where was Mom when Valentina signed up for the snacks, anyway?
“Let Matthew drive you,” Mom suggests, but Valentina declines.
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Mom must’ve missed—or perhaps dismissed—Valentina’s subtle hint she wouldn’t be around on Friday or tomorrow.
Valentina exits past me with a polite nod, and Eden’s voice floats after her, wishing her luck with an undertone that suggests she, too, sensed the nanny’s employment would be brief.
The lock clicks through the hallway. Then the door opens and closes, and a pang tightens my chest. I hadn’t given Valentina a fair chance for the TV show, let alone shown I might need her for my kids. We hired a host yesterday, though Valentina had the best credentials. I couldn’t put up with her at the office stirring memories of Daisy and all the ways I’d fallen short as a husband and father. Having her close to my family is more than I’m prepared to handle.
Before I drop the spinner back on the counter. Mom walks in. Her expressive face is pensive, signaling a conversation that will challenge my recent decisions.
“The kids had a good evening.” She pulls out a barstool and plops onto it, her gaze assessing. “They loved Val. I’ve never felt as sure about anyone as I do about her to take care of the kids. But you’ve sure run through a host of them.”
“The last one was too self-centered.” I snort. “Even you thought it was strange the woman asked if there were nail spas in Meadowbrook.”
“And the one before that?”
“A speeding ticket.”
“Like you’ve never had one?”
“That was before I was a father.”
“You have all the answers, don’t you?” She shakes her head, then flashes a weak smile. “Let’s focus on Val for now.”
“She’s a TV host.” I rest my arms on the cool marble island. “I don’t know how you found her.”
“Like I mentioned yesterday, recommendations. Look her up in the mommy groups in the community.”
I shift my feet. I should sit, but it’s best to remain standing if I need to flee. “Valentina’s credentials in journalism and psychology are impressive, but they hardly scream ‘nanny.’”
“Jason Carson Sterling.” Mom’s voice hardens. She only uses my full name in a command for undivided attention. “The effort I put into finding Valentina was no small feat. She comes highly recommended for a reason.”
“I get that, but...” Oh, out with it, buddy! “She was the host on that show Daisy watched, the one that tells women to leave their husbands.” Not exactly, but close enough. I then tell her about my meeting with Valentina at work, minus where I lost control and told her, head-on, I wasn’t hiring her.
Mom chuckles and drops her voice as she glances around, cautious not to let the kids overhear. “Honey, don’t tell me you’re blaming her for that . Daisy left because your marriage ended way before she watched some TV show.”
Why can’t Mom grasp how deeply this still affects me? I’m your son, and Valentina is a stranger. Hello! “Still—”
“This is about the kids, Jay.” Going no-nonsense, she wags a finger, so I have no choice but to listen. “From what I’ve heard, Valentina could be what they need right now.” She leans forward, her blue eyes softening with the earnestness she’s displayed through years of comforting and advising me. That look breaks my defenses each time. “Give her a chance, three months. If it’s still not working out when I return from my trip, then we can talk about this again.”
I would accept her proposal for anyone but Valentina.
I stand, squeezing the back of my neck, then exhale. I can barely raise my plea to meet the refrigerator’s hum. “There has to be other options. Any number of nanny services could offer us someone... not her.”
My earlier actions weigh on me. The prospect of hiring Valentina is even more daunting.
Mom’s gaze sharpens, her brow arching. My resistance is bordering on the futile. “You want to find someone better suited? Then be my guest. In less than three weeks, Phil and I are off to Europe.”
“That’s in three weeks?” Time has, indeed, slipped by faster than I expected.
“You’ll need someone to watch the kids. Their spring break is around the corner.”
The week after Mom leaves. Hmm. I rub my jaw, fingers rasping over the day’s stubble as my gaze darts to the fidget spinner. I can’t just find someone on a whim, and I definitely can’t take a week off to search. And there’s no way I can take four months off to care for the kids myself if no suitable person is found. It’s prelaunch for the new family show.
After years of raising me and working to keep a roof over our heads, Mom’s earned her break. I shouldn’t be burdening her with my children too.
“You’re on your own.” She lifts her hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I... already let Valentina go, Mom.” Maybe the difficulty of rehiring her can excuse my earlier decision. I could’ve handled this better perhaps. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to work for me either.”
Mom sighs. “Jay, you’re the problem in this situation. And giving her ‘that look’ when you first saw her, as if she’d stolen your snickerdoodles, wasn’t your finest moment.”
I laugh at the mention of my favorite cookies. “Valentina is not going to work out.” Not after I let her go again. “She hates me.”
“You’re the CEO of a family broadcast. You deal with all sorts of employees and disgruntled viewers.” Mom’s given up on me if she wants me to stick to this plan. “I have Valentina’s address, and you must have her contacts since you interviewed her yesterday. You’re going directly to her house, between now and Friday, to plead with her.”
“Mom!” I toss my head back and groan. What a ludicrous suggestion. “You mean I ask her for an apology?”
“Whatever you want to call it. If you call her, she’ll hang up as soon as she hears it’s you.”
Mom’s right, but to apologize and then plead for her help? No way!
Atticus bursts from the playroom, a soccer ball sailing past, with Felix hot on his heels, each kicking their own ball.
“Boys, what did we say about kicking balls in the house?” Mom reprimands.
They pick up colorful balls I hadn’t seen before.
“Looks like Mom got you new balls.”
“Val got us the balls.” Felix clutches his green one.
“Val, yeah.” Atticus cranes his head around. “Ready to play soccer, Val?”
I palm the back of my neck. My shoulders edge up. “Valentina’s gone for the day, kiddo.”
“She didn’t say goodbye?” Atticus’s face falls.
I’d better divert their attention. “Let’s go play soccer in the back for ten minutes.” At this point, we’ll just have to rely on the porch lights—a dim solution for a much bigger problem.