by Emily Bishop
I decided to build a fitness empire.
Thirteen… Fourteen…
Six years ago, just two years after it was established, my company made it to the Forbes Fortune 500 list. The next year, my son David and I moved out of our two-bedroom apartment in San Antonio to our 5,000-square-foot property here in Bel Air, which is just one of the few properties I’ve purchased. Since then, I’ve bought other things, too, and made a couple of investments. Thanks to the company, I can confidently say he and I are set for our lifetimes.
Twenty-four… Twenty-five…
Unfortunately, being at the head of a company also comes with a lot of tasks and responsibilities. There are countless meetings to sit through and endless papers to sign. There are social functions to attend and interviews to give. Most importantly, there are strategies to devise and implement to ensure continuous profit, crises to avert and negotiations to make, which usually end in hard decisions, like the one I just made.
Most days, I can’t keep track of everything I have to do, which is why I’m glad I have Tess, my secretary.
“So, I take it that matter’s been taken care of?” she asks from the side of the room.
“Yep. You can cross it off the list.”
Thirty-seven… Thirty-eight…
“Good.”
I hear the tip of her pen moving across the paper. In this modern day and age, she still uses notepads and index cards. Still, she’s been nothing short of efficient, so I have no complaints.
Forty-one… Forty-two…
“So, what do I have left?” I ask her.
“The lunch meeting with Mr. Martin, and then your monthly video conference with the shareholders at four. Also, Advertising should be sending over the newest ad for the clothing line within the day so you should take a look at it.”
Forty-nine… Fifty.
I set down my dumb bells at the end of my routine then take a moment to catch my breath before getting off my mat and reaching for my towel.
“Wow. It seems like I’ve got another busy Saturday.”
“Also, the representative from that childcare agency I told you about is dropping by this morning,” Tess adds.
“This morning?” I wipe the sweat trickling down my forehead and the sides of my face.
Shit. I forgot about that.
“Yes, this morning,” Tess confirms, handing me my bottle of water as I approach her. “She said she’ll drop by between nine and ten.”
I glance at the clock as I take a sip of water. It’s already 8:42, which means I don’t have much time before she comes.
“I can reschedule if you like,” Tess offers. “Your schedule for tomorrow seems lighter.”
“No.” I give her back the bottle. “I need that new nanny ASAP. I just have to head to the shower right now. Anything else?”
“Do you want me to turn the shower on for you?”
“Very funny, Tess.” I walk out of my gym.
Sometimes it feels like she’s my nanny instead of my secretary. It must be because she has two kids of her own.
“There is one more thing, sir,” Tess says. “The Rockets Party. That’s tomorrow evening.”
I frown. Another party? Didn’t I just go to one the other night?
“Will you be going? If I recall, you and the new team owner took your MBAs together.”
“I know.” Even so, I’m not sure if it’s a good enough reason for me to go.
“Well?”
I head up the stairs. “I’ll think about it.”
***
I think about it in the shower, staring at the dark blue tiles on the floor as I let the cool water glide over each muscle of my body, washing away the soap and any trace of the morning’s rigorous workout with it.
Like I said, attending parties are part of a CEO’s responsibilities. These aren’t just any parties, though. They’re not all fun and games. Usually, these parties offer a chance to size up the competition and gather information about them even while strengthening ties with allies and finding prospective new ones. In business, one can never have too many allies.
They’re also a way to get exposure, to get yourself on the newspaper, magazine, website or TV even. It’s not for fame. The rich and powerful have no need for fame. It’s just for image. People want to put a face to the company, to know that the leaders of the companies they buy from are humans just like them that they can aspire to. Of course, you have to project a positive image so your company will have one as well.
I’ve already established my image, though – a weightlifting, single dad working hard to provide for his only son – and right now, I’m well ahead of the competition, so I don’t really need to go. As for the new team owner—yes, I know him, but we aren’t friends. We had a class or two together, that’s all. I haven’t been in touch with him since, and I definitely don’t owe him anything.
There’s another reason why I don’t want to go – the women. Nothing attracts women more than a well-muscled, billionaire widower with a son. Given the fact that the whole Rockets team is going to be there, I’m sure there will be plenty of women, too.
It’s not that I don’t like women. I’ve slept with a few since Dinah died, and I do plan on marrying again. I just don’t like women who look at me like I’m a gold nugget or a mouth-watering pile of muscle that they want a chunk of. I want a woman who can see me for who I really am and accept all of me, a woman I can laugh with, be silly with, have fun with and, of course, a woman who can love David as her own child.
I sigh. Maybe I’m asking for too much. Maybe there is no such woman.
I turn off the shower, drying myself off before wrapping the towel around my waist and stepping into my walk-in closet. Seconds later, I emerge in a pair of dark jeans and an olive-green shirt – nothing too fancy, just something casual and comfortable.
As I put on my Omega watch, I hear a knock on the door.
“Mr. Brewster?”
It’s Tess again.
“Yes?”
“Carol Fisher from Stargazers Child Services is here to see you.”
8:58, huh? Well, she’s early.
“I’ll be right there.”
I glance at the mirror, combing my hair before sitting on the edge of the bed to put on my leather shoes.
Stargazers Child Services. Never heard of it. Then again, I’ve never heard of any of the previous childcare agencies, either. I just hope that this one is good and that they have someone who can look after my son.
Hopefully, someone who can stick around longer than the others.
I leave the room and find Tess waiting just outside.
“She’s waiting in the library,” she informs me.
I nod and walk downstairs with her, parting ways at the bottom – she to the office, me to the library.
I don’t have much time to read anymore except on long flights, but I find that a library is a relaxing place. It’s also a good place to receive guests since they are inclined to be less tense than they would be in my office, plus the books can be a good conversation starter and can give a good glimpse of the guest’s character.
Carol Fisher, for example, is going through the pages of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice: A classic. Probably means she’s a little old-fashioned and well-educated. Actually, she reminds me of a librarian with her brown hair tied in a bun on her nape, her gray cardigan and her black-rimmed glasses. It’s also a Regency novel, so she must be a bit of a romantic. The ring on her finger suggests she’s already found her Mr. Darcy, though.
Noticing my presence, she quickly closes the book and puts on a smile. “Mr. Brewster?”
I nod, extending my hand. “You must be Carol Fisher.”
“Yes.” She shakes my hand. “From Stargazers Child Services. Here’s my card.”
I look at the dark blue piece of paper in my hand which has Carol’s name, the company name, her phone number and email address written in silver right next to the picture of a lone stargazer flower.
“I came up with the name myself,” she tells me. “The stargazers are not just for the flower, which I love, but for the children entrusted to us. I believe that each child must be given time to enjoy looking at the stars and also encouraged to reach for them.”
“Admirable. It seems like you really care for the children.” I put the card in my pocket.
“Of course we do,” Mrs. Fisher says proudly.
I gesture to a chair. “Please sit.”
She returns the book that’s still in her hand and sits down.
“Would you like some coffee?” I ask.
“No, thank you.”
“Tea?”
Mrs. Fisher grins but shakes her head. “No, thank you. Shall we get right down to business? I’ve been told you’re a busy man.”
“Yes,” I admit, taking a seat as well. “I’d appreciate that.”
“First, let me begin by telling you more about our agency.” She pushes the bridge of her glasses up her nose. “At Stargazers, we cater to privileged families, families who insist on two things – impeccable service and the highest level of discretion. We pride ourselves on providing both. Our full-time nannies are not just expertly trained but also extremely professional. This means that you can be assured that the nanny you hire will not tell anyone she is working for you or share information about where you live or any other personal details, not even with family members or friends.”
I look at her in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes. That is one of our three golden rules. The other two are that a nanny must always behave like a proper lady – no flirting with the client and definitely no sleeping with the client…”
I raise an eyebrow. Well, that’s a relief.
“And that she must never steal anything, not even a coaster. Any violation of these three rules will result in immediate termination not just of the current contract but from the company.”
“I see. You seem very strict.”
Truth be told, she reminds me of a piano tutor I once had, swift to punish at the slightest mistake. She and Tess should get along well.
“Should there be any complaints,” Mrs. Fisher continues, “anything at all, we will withdraw the nanny immediately and replace her with a more satisfactory one. We guarantee complete satisfaction. Otherwise, we would not be worthy of the trust of our privileged clients.”
I sit back and touch my chin. “And what if the nanny is the one who wants to leave?”
“The contract lasts for six months. Should the client wish, the client may begin a new contract with the nanny, which can last for a longer period of time, even an indefinite period of time. This is especially recommended when the nanny has formed a bond with the child.”
“That’s clever.” I tap my fingers on my knee. “And what if I wish for the nanny to stay but she doesn’t wish to?”
“Then we shall send another at the end of six months,” Mrs. Fisher answers with a shrug and raised hands before putting them back neatly on her lap.
I nod. The agency does seem very professional and efficient. Promising.
“Do you have any other questions about the agency?”
I pause to think but come up with nothing. “Not at the moment.”
“Should anything come up, you may contact me anytime using the number on the card I gave you.”
“I understand.”
“If I may ask, how did you hear of us?”
“My secretary arranged it.”
“Right. Now for the important part.” Mrs. Fisher takes out her tablet from her purse. “I’m here to see which of our nannies is the best match for your child. So I believe you would like to hire a full-time nanny for your eight-year-old son?”
“Yes.”
“How would you describe him in one word?”
Mischievous is the first word that comes to mind, but I don’t say that. I think of a better word as I scratch my knee. “Adventurous, both physically and mentally.”
Mrs. Fisher nods. “What would you say he likes doing best?”
“Hmm.” I place my hands behind me and look at my shoes. “I guess…”
Just then, I hear a scream coming from outside the room.
Fuck. Not again. Not now.
I rush outside just in time to see David running down the stairs with a wicked grin, his black Labrador retriever right beside him and two maids chasing after him.
“David!” one of them, Lucy, screams. “Stop!”
He doesn’t, though, going full speed, so it’s up to me to stop him.
As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, I stop him with one hand, lifting him over my shoulder, and grab the collar of his dog with the other.
“What have you done this time?” I ask, sighing.
“Nothing.”
I look at the maids.
“He put one of those plastic centipedes under my shirt, sir,” Amy explains.
David stifles a laugh.
I give him a stern look. “David, I’ve told you a thousand times not to do that. It isn’t funny.”
As usual, however, David doesn’t seem to be listening.
How is it that I can run a company, yet I can’t get my own son to listen to me?
“David.” I speak a bit louder. “Apologize this instant.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles but I hear no sincerity in it.
“Is this the boy?” Mrs. Fisher asks from behind me.
I turn around, putting David down. “Mrs. Fisher, this is David, my son and his dog, Zombie.”
She smiles. “Pleasure to meet you.”
The dog doesn’t seem to feel the same way, starting to bark.
“Take Zombie and go back to your room,” I tell David. “We’ll talk later.”
David sighs then grabs the dog. “Come on, Zombie.”
Thankfully, Zombie obeys. Seriously, he only listens to David. Well, at least, he listens to someone, unlike his owner.
“I must apologize for the commotion,” I tell Mrs. Fisher. “Like I said, my son is adventurous.”
She nods. “Well, boys will be boys.”
“That means he gets into trouble sometimes. No, not sometimes. Often. He’s hard to control. In fact, I can’t remember how many nannies have left because they can’t handle him. I imagine never having had a mother has something to do with it.”
“If I may ask, what happened to his mother?”
It’s the question that never fails to be brought up and yet I haven’t gotten used to answering. Maybe I never will.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I put my hands in my pockets. “She died… shortly after giving birth to David.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
I hear the sympathy in her voice – something else I’m not used to and definitely don’t deserve.
“I try my best to make up for it. I try to spend as much time with David as I can. I’ve even moved my office here at home just so I can be around him more.”
“Very noble,” Mrs. Fisher praises. “Not every father would make that sacrifice for their child.”
“But it hasn’t made any difference.” I lean on the pillar at the end of the stair railing. “I guess now you’re going to tell me you don’t have anyone who can handle my son?”
Mrs. Fisher smiles. “On the contrary, I think I have just the perfect nanny.”
Strangers
Sabrina
Present for the child? Check.
Toothbrush? Check.
Vitamins? Check.
I put my list back in my pocket and my bag on my lap, smiling as I look around the mall from the bench where I’m sitting.
It seems like I’m all set.
I glance at my watch. I still have an hour to go, though, before I have to meet my new employer and the child I’m supposed to take care of.
David Brewster, eight.
I can still remember the picture Carol showed me – a boy with thick, dark brown hair, some of which cover his forehead all the way to his eyebrows, bright, blue eyes with a gl
eam of intelligence and mischief, dimpled cheeks and a charming smile showing slightly crooked front teeth, which I’m sure will straighten out given a bit more time and dental care. He’s a darling, to be sure. Given a few more years, he’ll break hearts here and there.
It’s hard to believe such an adorable face can cause so much trouble and yet, that’s exactly what Carol told me.
“He’s a troublemaker, that one,” she said. “A young rebel. The kind to drive a nanny out of her wits. Be careful.”
I almost laughed then. Be careful? Of what? Seriously, what’s the worst thing an eight-year-old boy can do? Put gum in my hair? A spider under my shirt? Throw a soccer ball at my chest?
I’ve been through worse. Much worse. I’m pretty sure I can handle a mischievous little boy.
I pick up the cup of juice that I set down beside me and take a sip, afterward taking a deep breath.
I guess starting from today, I’m going to be a full-time nanny.
I never thought I’d be a nanny for a rich person’s kid. Frankly, It’s not my dream job. I can’t complain, though. Beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, it’s not that bad. The pay is good. I’ll have a roof over my head and three meals a day. I’ll even have my own room, and it’s not going to be locked. Well, not from the outside. Best of all, I don’t have to fear for my life or be afraid of getting hurt. Carol assured me of that.
Carol. God bless her. She saved my life. If not for her, I…
Suddenly, I stop, the little hairs on my nape standing on end.
Someone’s watching me.
Quickly, I look around, trying to spot anyone suspicious or someone who might be one of Vince’s thugs. After all, I don’t expect him to come searching for me himself.
Who is looking at me?
I’ve changed my appearance in the last three months. I’ve dyed my blond hair Galactic Copper – at least, that’s what the hair dye box said, though frankly, I find it no different than the shade of a copper wire. I cut it short – not pixie cut, just short, about an inch below my shoulders. I started wearing Mystical Black contacts – again, that’s what it said in the box – to hide my bluish-gray irises, even though they hurt sometimes, like I have a huge grain of dust in my eyes. I even gained a bit of weight. Well, Carol said I was too skinny, like malnourished skinny.