Nanny

9

Kate

For a few minutes, all I could think about was the dashing billionaire upstairs. Braxton Nash. I was here, in his penthouse.

This was really happening.

"Kate?" Allie chirped. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

She frowned at me with all the focus of a four-year-old. "You've been standing there for a while."

"Sorry, I'm just getting situated."

"Sit-chew-ated?" Barry said, sounding out every syllable.

"It means I'm getting used to being here," I explained. "Where's Adam..."

He emerged from the hallway. "I was putting your bag in your room. Shall we go over the normal routine for the twins?"

"I'm grateful for the help," I said with a chuckle, "but shouldn't you be doing more important stuff? You're Braxton's personal assistant, after all..."

He smiled. "Mr. Nash's children are important. I would argue they're his most important investment. Come, let me show you the kitchen. I bet these two are ready for breakfast."

"Breakfast!" they both squealed excitedly.

They sprinted down the hall and around the corner. The kitchen was sleek and modern, with granite countertops and an island in the middle of the room with a second sink and stove burners. A grey-haired woman was hunched over the counter whisking something in a metal bowl.

"Good morning my lovelies!" she said to the twins in a thick French accent.

"Claudette is Mr. Nash's private chef," Adam explained. "She's here from five in the morning until late at night. She can make anything you want, at any time."

"Bonjour madame!" I said. "Je suis Kate."

Her wrinkled eyes lit up. "C'est merveilleux d'entendre ma langue dans cette cuisine!" It's wonderful to hear my language in this kitchen!"

She gave me a grandmotherly hug, then returned to English for the benefit of the twins. "This morning I have made for you French toast and bowls of fruit."

"The children have breakfast every morning at eight," Adam told me. "Claudette makes the menu for the children, so you don't need to worry about anything except herding them in here at the right time."

"That's wonderful," I said. "My friend Miranda has to cook the meals for the children she nannies."

Claudette dipped a thick piece of bread into the bowl of batter, then placed it into a frying pan with a sizzle. The kids climbed into the chairs at the breakfast table and quietly waited for their food.

"While they're eating, let's go sign all the paperwork," Adam said.

I followed him to the dining table which was in a nook next to the living room. A thick stack of papers waited for us.

"I thought everything went through the nanny agency," I said. "I already signed all the forms with them..."

"We have additional requirements," Adam replied.

"Should I have a lawyer read these?" I asked as I sat down. "This is more complex than I expected."

"If you want. I can help explain them as we go. They're all fairly boilerplate for someone like Mr. Nash."

The first few documents had nothing to do with my nannying duties: they were non-disclosure forms. By signing them I agreed not to disclose any information about Mr. Nash, the children, or anything else that occurs while in their employ. That covered anything to the press, radio or TV interviews, book deals, and all social media posts.