Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
TWO WEEKS LATER
ARLO
The fan turns lazily above me as I stare up without truly seeing it.
My days are incredible and full of excitement with Cali.
She has no fear, loves to go to the park, for long walks, and she keeps me busy.
Seeing things through her eyes is really special, and it helps me feel lighter.
I’ve seen too much bad shit for how young I am, but she reminds me of the good in the world.
Spending the daylight hours doing things all day long helps time pass quickly, but the apartment is too quiet once she goes to bed. That’s when I retreat to my room to lie in bed until sleep finally pulls at me once Mr. March gets home.
Her ankle has fully healed after she rolled it while running, but my heart raced when I had to call her father. He sounded pissed, yet what did he expect me to do? I have a responsibility to care for Calista and keep him updated on her health.
Of course I fucking called him! It took everything inside of me not to yell at him for his cold, angry tone as he spoke to me. I am beginning to realize I have a problem with authority. It itches at me, because I know I’m a damn good nanny.
I’m extending Calista’s palate by introducing her to new snacks, I make her meals for her, and I prep things for Mr. March so he can easily reheat them.
I eat whatever is leftover from what I make so there’s no waste, and my stomach is always full.
There’s no more worries about where my next meal is coming from or trying to figure out how I’ll make it to the soup kitchen before it closes.
The public spaces of the apartment are always clean, and Calista will often help me clean up after she’s done playing.
This is the best job I’ve ever had if I’m truly being honest with myself.
I share the bathroom with a six year old, but that’s better than my previous roommates.
I could only shower when it was really early in the morning or very late at night because my ex-roommates would make nasty comments about how long I was in the bathroom.
While I am an omega, I’m not particularly fussy. I like clean spaces, but rarely get to enjoy them because of how often I’ve found myself homeless. Even now, I’m unsure how long my position as Calista’s nanny will last.
It feels too good to be true. The mattress is the perfect firmness, the window doesn’t have bars over it, and the blanket I keep in my backpack keeps me warm. While Mr. March told me I was welcome to use anything in the linen closet, I don’t feel comfortable using anything that smells like him.
It’s not that he doesn’t smell amazing. It’s because he does.
His peppermint mocha scent clings to the apartment long after he’s gone, and I can’t handle my sheets smelling like that too.
I would never stop touching myself, and my dick doesn’t need to be permanently chafed, despite how well I self lubricate with my slick.
I think I would die if my scent could be smelled past the walls of my bedroom because of how much I masturbated.
I still haven’t figured out what to do about my heats, but that’s an issue for another day.
I’m on heat blockers that’ll keep them locked down until I’m in a situation where I can afford to go to a heat clinic.
I don’t even know if I get time off for my heat, especially when my boss is going to begin going out of town for work soon.
Turning onto my stomach, I groan into my mattress in frustration.
No, I don’t have a pillow yet. I haven’t gotten paid yet because I haven’t had a chance to get to the bank.
For some reason, I can’t find my account information, and I don’t remember my login information.
Without these things, Mr. March can’t pay me.
I am a fucking mess. If it wasn’t for my government assisted cell phone, I would be completely out of touch with the world.
A loud knock at my bedroom door makes me stiffen, and I can’t unlock my muscles to move. Mr. March never comes by my bedroom. In the three weeks I’ve lived here, he typically grunts his responses to me, gives Calista his sweet words, and then stalks away to his very important FBI job.
I only know as much as I do about the omega because his daughter enjoys spilling tea. She’s told me all about how many nannies her father has gone through, and how “difficult” people think he is. However, she almost sounds amused by it, which is interesting.
If he was as terrible as others say he is, then Calista would agree with them, right? Instead, she acts as if it’s because everyone else is the problem.
Pushing myself up off the bed, I walk over to the door and open it. Mr. March already has his fist up to knock his knuckles on the door again and I raise my brows at him. While I’m wearing a t-shirt with my sweatpants, he has a lot of skin showing.
His button down shirt is hanging open over his dress pants, and he’s barefoot. His phone is in his other hand as it always is unless he’s speaking to Calista, and he seems distracted as I raise my brow.
“Can I help you?” I ask, before immediately feeling dumb. This is his apartment, of course I can fucking help him.
“Yeah…” Mr. March looks over my shoulder before he immediately begins to frown. “Are my linens not up to your standards, Arlo?”
“What, no? I mean, I’m sleeping fine, thank you,” I say, stumbling over my words. “I doubt that’s why you’re knocking on my door, sir.”
“No, no it isn’t. I just realized I haven’t paid you yet,” he says. “Where is your banking information so I can transfer your last three weeks of pay?”
“I’m locked out of my account,” I sigh. “I have to get to the bank, and the nearest branch is a forty minute bus ride.”
The frown pinches between his eyebrows as he tries to understand my predicament. Mr. March has a car and I’ve noticed he doesn’t like to walk anywhere unless Calista suggests it. He enjoys his air conditioning and the ease of travel.
“Why can’t you take a ride share?” he asks slowly.
“I’m at work,” I snort. “I’m not taking Calista to the bank and I don’t have money for a ride share because I haven’t been paid yet.”
“Shit. I can see the problem,” he mutters. “We’re opening a new bank account for you that’s online to pay you immediately. They’ll issue you a card through the app and then mail the physical one here. What have you been eating?”
“Whatever is left over after I make meals for you or Calista.” My shoulders are tightening up and I can feel them rising toward my ears. I’m starting to get embarrassed that he solved the issue I’ve been agonizing over so easily.
“Arlo.” I take a deep breath as I stare resolutely over his shoulder. “You need to eat.”
“I do eat. I just told you that.”
“Why aren’t you looking at me?” he asks.
“Is that a requirement for this conversation? What do you need from me to open this account?” I plan to be stubborn as fuck about this.
I didn’t exactly tell Mr. March I was homeless before taking this job, and I don't want to have to confess to it. People get odd about it, and the last thing I want is for him to think I’m going to steal from him.
I only use what I absolutely need, and then I make up for it by making myself useful.
“I’m not done with the other thing we’re discussing. I need you to look at me when I say this. I do not enjoy repeating myself. It pisses me the fuck off.”
“You’re always pissed off,” I grumble under my breath before freezing. “Shit.”
“No, you’re right. Don’t backpeddle about it. Now look at me.”
I no longer feel the warmth behind my eyes that tells me I’m dangerously close to crying. I think I would need to crawl under a rock and die if Mr. Sylvester Fucking March saw me cry.
“Happy now?” I ask, lips twisting as I glare at him.
“Not even a tiny bit,” he growls. “While you’re in my employ, you are part of this family. Eat the food in the fridge, or have a fucking snack. Calista has you running all over the place with activities. Don’t you think it’ll scare her if you pass out because you’re not eating?”
“I…umm… what?” I ask, trying to process why he’s upset.
“I’m not a frat kid who is going to bitch about who drank the last of the milk. If you finish something, add it to the list on the fridge.”
“There’s a list?” I am really having a hard time with this.
“I’ll have one there in the morning. My point is that I didn’t think I’d need to spell out the etiquette of sharing food!”
“Well you fucking do!” I hiss. The last thing either of us need is for Cali to wake up because we’re screaming over why I haven’t eaten. “I need shit spelled out, okay? I’m never going to assume anything. That’s how I could end up getting fired.”
“Fired? Funny. My daughter adores you. I’m pretty sure she’d have my hide if I fired you. The apartment is the cleanest it’s ever been, and I noticed you wiped down all of the shelves in the fridge. I noticed, and I’m paying you more for it.”
He turns away while I gape at him and even gets halfway to the living room before he realizes I’m not following him. “Let’s go, Arlo. We need to get money in your account since my linens clearly aren’t on your mattress and you don’t have a goddamned pillow. My patience is wilting quickly.”
“Since you’re not lettuce, I think you’ll be just fine,” I mutter, getting my ass moving.
I don’t miss his snort of amusement, even as I roll my eyes. My boss thinks I’m funny? He’s one of the scariest men I’ve ever worked for, because I never know if I’m doing enough. After his tirade, I guess I just might need to chill the fuck out.
Mr. March sits in front of his laptop, looking like a fucking snack with all of his tanned skin and tattoos. They seem to crawl across his chest, and I have to squeeze my asshole tightly to keep from perfuming. I’ve already embarrassed myself once tonight, I would prefer not to do it again.
Besides, Calista also mentioned some things that make me believe his past nannies haven’t understood the boundaries between employee and employer. He may have called me family, but that’s just to get me to eat his food.