by Olivia Chase
I shut my eyes hard to try and force these unwanted visions from my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about—her. Why?
Why can’t I get Penelope Wallach off my mind? The memory of her standing in her room, bathed in moonlight, when I walked in after finding her door unlocked, is burned in my brain. Emblazoned. Imprinted. Even though she was in a shirt and undies, I could see right through her. If I narrowed my eyes, I could practically see the center of heat coming off her body between her legs. Her nipples betrayed her frightened exterior. Her aura radiated desire.
She was gorgeous, mortified, and full of need all rolled into one. I should’ve fought the urge and left, but I couldn’t resist the look in her eyes, like she was begging me to stay and fuck her, put her out of her misery. And I did twice. No matter how much I wanted to pull away, I couldn’t. Our bodies melded together, a recipe for beautiful wreckage.
Even terrified of seeing me there, she pushed through the awkwardness and confusion and let me in. Let her carnal desires take over. Let her body and heart win. Then, this morning, she came downstairs to speak to me, even though she could’ve stayed upstairs all day avoiding me, and I wouldn’t have seen her. Coming down to face me took courage, but that’s what I like about her. No embarrassment. No regrets, none that I know of. Just readiness to call truce and move on.
Still, I saw that tiny spark of warmth some women have the next morning, the one that gives away what they’re feeling, the hint of overinvestment in sentiment. She was wondering if there’d be more to this quick affair.
There isn’t. There can’t ever be.
I was cold to her. I had to be.
This is who I am and what I’ve learned in my life. Warmth and emotion were banished from my existence early on, weaknesses that I extinguished long ago.
When it came to my mother, the less I felt the better. My sister was never as cold and indifferent to it all as I was, and she suffered for it.
Despite everything that she put us through, I wanted to love my own mother…
This is why feelings are irrational. Feelings hamper productivity, which is the last thing I need. Feelings cloud clear thinking.
The speaker on my desk clicks on. “Sir, they’re waiting for you in the conference room.”
“Be right there.”
I won’t. I’ll be there when I damned feel like it, and since those assholes nearly fucked up last quarter, they can wait for me. I don’t care what else is on their schedules. I’ll get up when I feel like it.
“Sir?” The gentle voice buzzes into my office again.
“I got caught up with something, Bianca. I’ll be right there. Tell Bryn to start without me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Suddenly, I’m wondering all sorts of things about the nanny, the things I didn’t learn from fucking her succulent body last night. Where did she grow up? Is she outgoing and sociable? Did she ever have a serious boyfriend?
I hate myself for giving a shit.
Swiveling toward my laptop and opening up social media, I search her name. My eye catches her right away, out of all the others that pop up. She’s the one with the radiant smile and reddish hair in the profile pic. I would know it anywhere. There are those dimples that come out whenever she smiles at Lilly Belle.
Her hometown is Sleepy Hollow, New York, and apparently, she has a small PR startup—barely even a company. Everyone can have a business and a webpage these days—the notion has lost all meaning.
Still, I’ll have to check into that later. Scrolling through her profile pics, I see she has three—the smiling one, one of her looking out across a mountain view, and another of her standing on top of a hill in workout gear like she just conquered Mount Vesuvius. Strength, determination.
Sass.
Those are the only three photos I’m allowed to see because her account is private and I’m not a friend of hers. I switch to Photo Album to see if more pics of her are there. What does she do in her spare time? Does she paint, does she cook, play tennis? I scan the few available photos for clues with such intense focus that I almost completely forget about the meeting. The last photo is a field of sunflowers.
I’ll have to look through this later, and I find myself wishing the meeting would be over quick just so I can continue checking her profile out.
I try to push the positive emotions away by imagining her acting like my mother would. The rages, the accusations, the slaps, kicks and punches. The hysterical shrieks followed by crying and the same old apologies about how it would never happen again.
But for some reason, when I look at Penelope’s pics, I can’t see it. I can’t really imagine her screaming at anyone—certainly not at Lilly Belle. She’s too gentle, of pure heart.
When I click off “Photo Album” and try checking out her “About” page, I accidentally hit “Add Friend.” Augh, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Quickly, I hit “Cancel Request” but it won’t matter. The fact that I was stalking her page will soon be known to her. I slide the cursor off but the damage is done. Fuck—that’s what I get for being curious.
Time to get back to work and put my mind where it needs to be. Where it should’ve been in the first place.
Penelope
Central Park is alive. With children, nannies, mothers, joggers, pigeons, pigeons, and more pigeons still. It’s another blustery September day and Lilly Belle and I love being outside. Her azure eyes are wide, alert, taking it all in. I swear this child is an old soul. Lilly Belle is my spirit animal.
Immediately after talking to Ethan the other morning, she took to patting my face, cooing, as if saying, “Listen, Penelope, it’s all going to be okay. You made a mistaken. Fuck it. Get over it. You can do this.” She agreed her uncle is a dickhead and we should both move on.
We’re thick as thieves, Lilly Belle and me. Sometimes when I look at her, my heart wells up with so much love that I feel scared. I shouldn’t get too attached.
Maybe because she doesn’t have a real mother and father, I’m growing closer than I should. This is just a job, after all. I could be fired any day, especially with a boss like Ethan.
When we reach the playground, I stop the stroller in front of a bench and take a seat on the edge. Four other mothers or nannies sit crowded on it, chatting. I smile at them, hoping one of them might say something encouraging. I could use some non-babbling adult conversation. But they all smile at me with those forged, upper East Side smiles, like they know I’m not Lilly Belle’s mother.
“Are you Ethan’s new nanny?” One of them with big, bright teeth asks me.
I’m taken aback. It’s not like I’m wearing a name tag or T-shirt. Then, I realize I’m being stupid. It’s Lilly Belle they recognize. She’s probably come to the park many times before me, as other nannies vied for the job. “Townsend?” I ask, just to make sure. Stupid, since I guess everyone knows him around here. Especially these hot yoga mommies who make it their business to know everyone else’s.
“Yes, Townsend,” toothy woman laughs. “You’ve survived a whole week? Amazing.”
How she knows exactly how many days I’ve been in the Townsend house, I don’t know, but it shouldn’t surprise me. These women learn everything about everyone. “Yes, I’m Penelope. Nice to meet you.” I nod quickly then bend to fuss over Lilly Belle’s toys, making sure they’re all secured to the stroller and nothing’s going to fall out.
An eerie quietude falls over the bench. I don’t want to look at them, but I just know they’re exchanging looks. I’m fresh meat, even though I’ve been to this park a million times. Though never with Lilly Belle.
Ethan’s surprise child is surely big news around these parts.
It’s faint, definitely not meant for me to hear it, but I do—a whisper from the end of the bench. “She must be good at what she does.” Cackles titter across the row of women. It’s clear that she means I must be having sex with Ethan Townsend, and for a moment, I’m appalled.
Then, I remember that I am having sex w
ith Ethan Townsend.
Even if it was only one night. One incredible, mind-blowing night that I still think about constantly.
My cheeks redden. I’m mortified, because they’re right. These catty bitches are right. I’m probably still employed because I was good at what I did in the bedroom that night. Suddenly, I’m pissed at myself again, as a myriad of questions flit through my mind. Did he “audition” the other nannies? Did I have sex with a man who’d just “interviewed” several others in the same week? Were any of these women on the park bench part of his auditions? Have any of them seen him naked the way I have, laid eyes upon his chiseled form and massive cock as I have? Suddenly, I feel so small. So stupid. A notch on his wall. Of course there’s nothing special about me.
And ever since it happened, I’ve kept my door unlocked intentionally, in the hopes that he would come see me, but he hasn’t. In fact, he’s barely been home. It’s like he’s purposely avoiding me, and again.
I should be grateful not to see his heartless face. I should be glad he’s not there to tell me how to do my job. I wonder if he micromanages his people at work the way he micromanages me. I should be happy I only have Wilson to watch over me for a few hours each day. He says he doesn’t come every day anymore, but he has, simply because he likes watching me and Lilly Belle interact.
Wilson makes me smile.
Ethan Townsend does not.
Ethan Townsend can kiss my ass for making me wish he’d slip into my room again, take my into his arms, and lay a soul-wrenching kiss onto me. A heart-stopping, breathless kiss that weakens my legs like I’m some baby giraffe standing for the first time.
The evil bitch moms are still tittering, and that’s my cue to go. I stand, nod at them, because unlike them, I am polite, refined, and un-full of shit. I push the stroller along the route. Lilly Belle bangs her little hands on the stroller tray over and over, going, “Ba, ba, ba, ba…” loving the sounds of children playing on the jungle gym.
“Yes, Lilly Belle, those mommies were bad, bad, bad girls. You and I are not. You and I rise above. We’re survivors. Especially you, sweet pea. You’re the bee’s knees.” I laugh to myself. The bee’s knees, like my mom always says.
I love my job. Despite it all, I really do.
The rest of our park time goes well. I pick up an orange fall leaf and hand it to Lilly Belle, who stares at it like it’s a sparkly diamond in a dark, dark world. But then, figuring pretty things must also taste delicious, she crams it into her mouth, and I pluck the crispy pieces off her tongue. “Silly, you can’t eat that,” I say. Silly nanny, for giving it to her.
“Can’t you just get the kid a burger?” It’s a man’s voice I recognize. When I look up at the angled afternoon sun, I see Robert Ellis, a friend of my family. In running gear, he slows down, smiles, leans in for a short hug. “What’s up, Penelope? Still doing the nanny thing, I see?”
I smile. It’s nice to see a familiar, friendly face. Robert was just a skinny kid in high school the other day, but now he’s about nineteen and looking like an adult--almost.
But compared to Ethan, he looks like a goofy young boy still.
“Hey, you! Nah, I married a billionaire and gave birth to a seven-month-old since you last saw me,” I joke.
“Aww, don’t break my heart, Wallach. You know I always had a crush on you.”
We laugh and make small talk, chatting about what we’ve been up to. I tell him about the PR website and the small, freelance jobs I’ve been taking just to get things going while I save enough money for winter semester, but how being a full-time nanny is taking up most, if not all, my time.
“But you get breaks, right? Days off?” Roberts sort of jogs in place a bit.
“No, not with this family. I’m pretty much on all the time.”
“Wow, that sucks. I’m sorry. Must be hard for you.” He says this like someone who knows what my family has always gone through, my mom’s struggles to keep up, to raise five kids. “But good for you. You’ve always been diligent.”
“Diligent,” I repeat, thinking hard on that word. Yeah, I guess diligent would be correct, but I also do it out of need. I would love to relax like other women my age, but it’s just not in the cards.
“Anyway, what about you? What have you been up to?” I ask Robert. Lilly Belle stares at him, as she would like to know as well. This kid is attuned and smart, I tell you.
A deep registered voice booms out from nearby. “Yes, do tell us. We’re dying to know.”
I turn and see Ethan coming up the walk, hands in coat pocket, looking super fucking handsome as always. He’s in a suit and coat, wearing a hat. A hat, like one of those old-style bowler hats men used to wear when there was a world war going on, like he owns both Boardwalk and Park Place.
“Mr. Townsend,” I say, catching my breath before looking away. I can’t look into his eyes, or he’ll know that I think he looks amazing. Robert will know it, too, and the whole thing will be over-the-top weird.
“Excuse me?” Robert turns to him, holding out his hand, wondering if he knows this man.
Ethan doesn’t shake it. “Never mind. Miss Wallach, time to go inside now.” He swooshes me up the steps like I’m a child. I don’t appreciate it. But I’m not in the business of looking uncomfortable at work, so that Robert can blab about it, and then next thing I know my mother is calling me asking me if everything is alright.
So I smile and tell Robert, “It was great running into you. Hope to see you again soon…around here, or wherever.”
“NYU,” Robert gives me a secret look. It’s almost as if his deep brown eyes are saying, don’t listen to that guy. You can stay and talk to me all you want. “I’m at NYU, studying film, and everything is great. See you around, Penelope.”
“Not if I can help it,” Ethan mutters behind me, as I step into the brownstone and he closes the door. “Who was that?”
“A friend. Who did you think he was?”
“I ask the questions here, Miss Wallach.” He plucks off his hat and hangs it on a hook by the wall, then he takes off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack. He smells delicious, like spice and fall highlighted with masculine undertones that bring me back to the other night. I can’t believe I slept with this man.
And I want him again—damn it.
“I took Lilly Belle for a walk and just ran into him. You know, running into friends on the street. You do have friends, right?” Shit, it comes out sarcastically. I have to remember to keep quiet and just do what he says. It’s a job, and it’s for money, and if only I can get past his holier-than-thou attitude, I’ll be fine.
“Miss Wallach, you can’t bring strange men around the baby.”
“Strange men?” I gawk at him. Now, this is getting ridiculous. “How is a friend on the street a strange man? I’ve known that kid since he was in Kindergarten, and he was just being friendly, saying hello.”
“Well, I don’t know him. And I can’t have you and the baby around men I don’t know.”
“Are you serious?” I gasp. Stay calm, Penelope. Jesus. But then, I realize why he’s doing this. Maybe I’m crazy or delusional or both, but could it be that Ethan is jealous just now? Jealous of me talking to another man?
No way.
“I’m completely serious,” Ethan replies. “How do I know you’re not giving him too much information? What if he’s a common criminal looking to break into my home, putting the baby at risk. You wouldn’t want to put the baby at risk, would you, Miss Wallach?”
I almost choke on my laughter. “I’m sorry…I just…you’re talking about little Robert Ellis here. He used to dance outside my house in his Spider-Man underwear and pillowcase cape to get my attention.”
“A class act,” Ethan blurts and then heads for the kitchen.
I extract Lilly Belle from the stroller then fold it up, putting it away inside the foyer closet. I can’t imagine any other reason for this parole officer mentality, which reminds me… I follow him into the kitchen. “By the way,
are you stalking me online?”
He stiffens a moment before reaching for a decanter and pouring himself a drink of amber liquid. Reaching for ice from the fridge, he simply says, “It’s an employer’s right to see what activities his employees are engaged in. I also do not wish you to be focused on your social media accounts while living here, and I wanted to make sure everything was to my liking on that front.”
“Mr. Townsend, I do nothing but take care of Lilly Belle. When she’s sleeping, I work on other things, such as my schoolwork and things related to it, but that’s my future, and I have the right to work.”
“I see no problem with that. It’s the male company you keep that concerns me. As you know, Lilly Belle is my niece and my sister entrusted me with her life. I would be remiss to break that trust by endangering her.”
“Endangering her? He was just a friend, and you’re being silly.” Yes, I said it. And now I’m walking away from him. Because he’s being stupidly overprotective, though I’m almost sure it’s because he got jealous seeing me talking to another guy.
I’m glad he’s rarely home, because I can’t imagine having him watch over me like a hawk, meddling in my life, twenty-four hours a day. I also can’t imagine wondering where he is, if he’s going to come back to my room for more sex like he did the other night. I’m not even sure that my yearning body could resist him. I hate that I want him and hate him at the same time.
No, it’s better that he’s never here. Thank God for Townsend Enterprises and the long silences in this big mansion.
“Well then, since I’m so silly, and because I have some time open in my schedule,” he says, taking his drink to the kitchen doorway leading to his living room where he’s going to sit in one of his sterile, gray armchairs. “I’ll be working from home starting tomorrow. Take more of an interest in home matters. Go ahead, be thrilled.” He lets loose a smirk, and my insides turn to jelly. “Goodnight, Miss Wallach.”
You’ve gotta be shitting me. He’s going to start staying home every day? Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. Now I’m really in trouble.