Page 1 of The Nanny Contract
Chapter 1
Casey
The gate at Westbrook Meadows opened like a portal to another world.
I’d made sure to be right on time, ready to interview for a nanny position that could change my life.
The Westbrook family were legends among Charleston’s elite. They were often featured in the local tabloids and whispered about in the pews of historic churches. Stories about their lives were too wild to believe but too ostentatious to ignore. The Westbrooks were more than just a family—they were an entity whose names had practically been etched into the city’s cobblestone streets.
By some stroke of luck, it appeared I was about to step into their lives as the new nanny.
And into more chaos than I could have ever imagined.
That was, if I could land the job.
My financial situation had become bleak. After my previous employer’s son went off to college, they no longer needed my services.
Three months.
No job.
Almost broke.
Today wasn’t just important; I needed it to be my lucky day.
As I drove down the winding driveway, my heart skipped a beat. I realized I was filled with a little more anxiety than I’d originally anticipated. The position of live-in nanny had recently become available and, much to my surprise Betsy Westbrook, the matriarch of the family, had reached out to me.
Hopefully today I’d finally meet the mysterious Logan Westbrook, my boss, if hired. Logan, a thirty-six-year-old cardiac surgeon, was a single father to Henry, his fifteen-year-old son. From what I’d read in the society gossip tabloids, Logan’s wife Gloria had passed away two years ago.
Maybe, if hired, I could be a positive presence in their lives.
Entering Westbrook Meadows, I was impressed if not a bit bewildered by the property.
Over five-hundred acres, the estate was magnificent.
The grounds impressed with massive oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, picket fences, and vast, open meadows. It was the type of place where I could spend hours doing everything and nothing all at once. Westbrook Meadows had a magical, enchanting atmosphere that both beckoned and intrigued. To live here would be an absolute dream.
Before long, Betsy’s eccentric choices caught my eye. First, I noticed a pond with a large ten-foot-tall gold statue of a duck standing in the middle.
How charming, I thought.
During my phone interview with Betsy the previous day, she had referred to it as her reflecting pond and told me that I’d simply love it.
Up next, I noticed the sculpture garden with trimmed hedges and rose bushes. Inside I saw oversized, surreal forms, all varying objects, and sizes. There was a twelve-foot-tall pair of ballet slippers and a giant teacup.
It was as if I had stepped intoAlice in Wonderlandwith a hint of southern charm.
The dream—or nightmare—continued as my car meandered down the private road. Just outside one of the gardens was an army of gnomes, at least fifty in number. They each had hand-painted custom outfits; some held lanterns.
Finally, the house came into view.
My jaw dropped as I contemplated the possibility that I might live here.
The French Provincial mansion was bigger than any home I’d ever seen in my life. It more closely resembled a castle than a mere house. The manor exuded a stately appearance with creamy stucco walls and subtle stone accents.
Before I could grasp the full enormity of the house, the doors flew open, and out glided the one and only Betsy Westbrook. Her face was instantly recognizable because I’d seen it printed across the local newspapers dozens of times. The Charleston press loved talking about the Westbrooks, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the Westbrooks enjoyed the attention.
Part of me was disappointed as I’d wanted to meet her son Logan first, especially considering that I’d be spending the better part of my days with him and his son Henry.