Page 30 of The Nanny Contract

Logan was obviously furious; his fists were clenched at his side.

“Again,” Helen said through clenched teeth, “our primary concern is Henry.”

Betsy broke the tension with an icy laugh. “Oh, Helen, do you really think anyone is fooled by this act? If you’re such a concerned grandparent, where were you the last two years?”

Robert’s voice cut through the room. “We’ve given you time to adjust, Logan. Time to grieve. We can’t sit back and watch anymore.”

Logan looked at them with fire in his eyes. “Henry is my son. You don’t get to come in here and question my parenting.”

“We’re not questioning,” Helen said with a dramatic sigh. “We’re preparing… for what comes next.”

Logan’s face was as hard as steel. “What exactly does that mean?”

Helen stood up and looked down at Logan, smoothing her skirt. “It means you’ll be hearing from us soon.”

Helen turned and looked at Henry with a forced sweet smile. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

Robert followed directly behind her, but first he placed the watch box on the table in front of Henry.

Robert turned and looked at Logan. “Think about it. We only want what’s best for Henry.”

The Mercers swept out of the room, leaving the rest of us sitting with the lingering tension.

“Well,” Betsy said with a sigh, “that was subtle.”

She looked at me and Casey, eyeing us both with a new fire in her eyes. “Time to prepare for war, boys.”

Chapter 8

Logan

Standing in the unattended garden known as the Heart of the Family, I surveyed the three-acre expanse and pondered the ideas that had been provided by Mother’s horticulturalist.

Now more than ever, I needed some good news.

Mother had tasked me and Henry with restoring the garden, and it was the perfect job to distract myself from our pressing problems.

More specifically, the Mercers.

My meeting with Henry’s grandparents had been contentious and tedious.

The Mercers had made themselves perfectly clear. They were obviously going to seek custody of Henry.

Through her vast web of connections, my mother had discreetly reached out to the legal circles of Charleston and learned that the Mercers hadn’t filed any paperwork yet, but they had indeed consulted with an attorney.

That meant trouble was brewing.

Betsy’s reach in Charleston never ceased to amaze me. Her network of connections wasn’t just impressive—it waslegendary. Her speed dial consisted of judges, city officials, and lawyers.

Sometimes I wondered if they were indebted to her—in some way. Beyond political donations and fundraisers. Did they owe my mother favors? Were there unspoken debts just waiting to be cashed in at a moment’s notice?

It wouldn’t surprise me. Because when Betsy Westbrook called, people jumped into action.

And they delivered. Guaranteed.

I heard a yelp escape Casey’s lips as he finally managed to pull out a few persistent weeds that didn’t want to leave the ground.

“Yes!” Casey said, but I could barely hear him because he was so far away. “Got ’em out!”