Page 5 of The Nanny Contract
I couldn’t help but grin as she maneuvered the two of us out of the maze as if she had done it hundreds of times before.
There, soaking wet and surrounded by wet leaves and roses, I realized that—if I got the job—my time at Westbrook Meadows would be as unpredictable as Betsy herself.
“I think you’ll fit in fine here,” she said, obviously trying to ease my embarrassment.
Now I just needed to figure out how to get along with Logan as swimmingly as his mother. Henry would be a breeze; I could tell that from the start.
We finally emerged from the maze and Betsy gave me a sly smile and a wink.
“Consider this your first lesson at Westbrook Meadows,” she said.
Quite a lesson, I thought.
“This place has a way of testing people,” she added. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Chapter 2
Logan
Having a new nanny around the house was oddly disorienting. Casey had been around for a couple of days so far and I was trying to get used to his presence.
It was as if the air had subtly shifted at the estate, and I was the only one who’d noticed. In fact, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Casey.
Fixing my tie in the mirror, I glanced out over Westbrook Meadows and took in the morning sunlight. Normally I woke up fairly relaxed, but there was an unease that accompanied me today.
When my mother first mentioned the idea of hiring a nanny a few weeks ago, I’d thought she was joking. But I knew that, realistically, I could no longer place the burden of Henry’s care on his grandmother. She needed to live her own life, and she was right that Henry needed more supervision. In a few days he’d turn sixteen and get his first car—along with his first real taste of independence. Since I typically worked seventy to eighty hours a week at the hospital, it was time for something new.
With no regard for my privacy, Betsy had taken it upon herself to place Casey in the guest suite located very close to my own bedroom. When I asked about the detached guesthouse on the property, she’d politely informed me that it was currently being used to house gnomes while she looked for their permanent home on the grounds.
I hadn’t asked any follow-up questions.
Betsy Westbrook ran a tight ship, and I was just along for the ride. After my wife passed, Henry and I had tried to stay in our family home but eventually he’d begged for us to move. My mother welcomed us with open arms, and there was certainly plenty of space.
If only I could get used to the antics.
A sudden, sharp knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts.
Martin opened the door and shuffled in with a gleaming silver tray, presenting a porcelain coffee pot and fine china plates filled with assorted pastries and danishes.
I would call Martin the family butler, but the truth was he was Betsy’s butler and catered to her every quirky whim.
“Coffee, sir?” he asked, pouring a cup before I could answer.
“Thank you.”
He glanced up at me while pouring. “Your mother has requested your presence at a photoshoot here at the house this morning, sir.”
A photoshoot?
Martin shared the information as if it were completely normal. For him, it probably was. Dressed in his perfectly pressed, wrinkle-free black suit and white vest, he donned white gloves for most tasks, including scraping butter onto bread.
“A photoshoot for what?”
He glanced up, trying to mask the unspoken truth that he hadn’t dared ask my mother any further questions. Our eyes met in a silent but profound exchange that spoke volumes. In many ways, I couldn’t help but feel bad for the man who had spent years mastering the delicate art of bending to my mother’s will.Then again, rumor had it that mother paid Martin almost double the industry standard, so it was impossible to feel too sorry for him.
He poured a drop of cream in my cup. “Jean Pierre Duval, the world-renowned photographer, has been flown in by your mother to photograph important family heirlooms.”
World-renowned? That sounds expensive.