Chapter One

Aupair Despair

I sat in the waiting room in one of London's most exclusive addresses, surrounded by young women dressed to impress and instantly knew I did not belong. For a start, these girls all spoke with upper-class British accents, a lot like the Queen. Secondly, they wore pearls around their long, swan-like necks. But the one thing that set them apart from me? With their air of self-confidence and poise, these women were a lot more qualified for this job than I was.

It was with this realisation that I decided to get out before I could make a fool of myself.

Getting to my feet, I slung my purse over my shoulder and smiled politely to the group of super-nannies, quickly heading for the exit. I got as far as the door when I heard my name being called out. Another wave of embarrassment came over me when I heard the woman's voice. I'd never given my name much thought before, and for the past twenty-six years 'Summer Bennett' hadn't made me want to become invisible. But then I remember the countless Claudia's, Phoebe's and Daphne's that had entered that room before me, and suddenly I felt ridiculous.

I could sense what the women were thinking of me. American.

I turn back into the room, caught red-handed in my attempted escape, and come face to face with the most severe looking woman I've ever seen. In her early sixties with brown hair, blue eyes and more make-up trowelled onto her face than a Drag Queen, she terrified me already and the interview hadn't even started.

"Are you," she began as she looked my body up and down. She visibly recoiled at the sight of my sneaker-clad feet. "Summer Bennett?"

I clear my throat to speak, but when her eyes fall on me, I lose all ability to speak. So, I nod instead.

"Follow me," I'm instructed.

If I had thought the waiting room was impressive, then that was nothing compared to this woman's office. I guess interior designers in Kensington don't do things by half and they certainly had gone to town on this space. With the large bay windows letting light flood in, the walls were painted a bright white with lots of mirrors hanging on each wall, reflecting the light around the office. There were a few personal touched here and there, but apart from the large portrait of a child sitting above the fireplace, there wasn't much in terms of decoration.

Dominating the floor space was a large glass and steel desk with an Apple Mac resting on the surface. There were two armchairs in the centre of the room and a plush sofa opposite, separated by a glass table covered with a stack of paperwork.

The woman directed me to the sofa and indicated I sit, while she took her place in the armchair next to another woman who sat, her eyes peering up at me from under her dark-rimmed glasses. The second woman looked friendlier than the first, but her heavily made-up eyes didn't do her much justice.

"Summer," the first woman spoke to me, pulling my attention back to her. "I'm Beverly Connaught, the owner of Connaught Care. This is Addison Thorne-Bach," Beverly indicated to the second woman, "my associate."