Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)

by C. M. Stunich

  She closes her eyes and tilts her head back against the couch, the matte black of the ceiling painted with fake stars. It reminds me of last night, of having her arching above me as I gazed up at Brooke's beautiful face silhouetted against the night sky.

  “They want me to start giving lap dances tonight,” she says, and I feel a visible shiver go down her spine. “The manager told me I didn't have to at first, but now he's saying some of his best regulars are interested in me. He kind of insinuated I do it or get fired.”

  I sit back on my heels and try to breathe. Who the hell am I to tell Brooke what to do? What I want to say is grab your shit and let's bail. But then what? Does that make me responsible for whatever happens to her and the kids? What if she drops out of school or something because she can't find another gig?

  “He can't do that,” I tell her and she shrugs as she sits up. “It's fucking illegal as hell.”

  “So? He'll just deny he ever said it. California's an at-will state anyway. He can just fire me and pretend it had nothing to do with the lap dances.” Brooke glances away as I stand up and reach down to touch her chin, encouraging her to look at me.

  “Remember what I told you that first night? Don't do anything that compromises you, Brooke, that makes you feel like you're worth less than you are. I meant that. If you don't want to do this, don't.”

  “I feel like I don't have a choice,” she whispers as she leans forward, and I realize this is about more than just the job or the lap dances, this is about me and the kids and her sister and this stupid fucking Podunk town. It's everything coming together in one angry mass. “I can't do this. I'm only twenty-two. Bella and I are only fifteen years apart. How am I supposed to parent her when I'm not even sure how to be an adult myself?”

  Tears start to bead on Brooke's lashes as I flop my body onto the sofa and pull her against me for an old fashioned Zayden Roth snuggle. From what I hear, I'm pretty good at these although I don't hand 'em out often.

  “You're a good snuggler,” Brooke sniffles out beneath my chin, her head tucked there like this is where she belongs. “This feels so good.”

  “Yeah, well, keep that shit to yourself, okay? Word gets out and all the women in this club will be paying me to take them back here.”

  Brooke laughs a little as I rub a hand in a smooth circle on her back, the smell of her hair and perfume invading my senses and finding their way straight down to my dick. I feel so goddamn guilty, but I can't help but be turned on with her sitting on my lap like this. The midriff shirt, the miniskirt, and the glitter don't exactly help.

  I am suuuuuch a goddamn piece of shit.

  “Zayden,” she whispers as she sits up and looks me in the face, her makeup smeared and sitting on this dangerous edge between sexy and cute.

  Awwwwww, man.

  I am screwed.

  Completely and utterly screwed.

  I reach my hands up and place them on either side of Brooke's throat as she sighs and spreads her knees just a little wider, settling the warmth of her pussy right over the bulge in my slacks. I bring her face to mine for a kiss, dominating the action with my hungry mouth and drawing a whimper from her throat. She's vulnerable right now, and I shouldn't be doing this but … Brooke rocks her hips against me and I feel a jolt of wild energy that's nearly impossible to control. Unless she tells me no, this is happening.

  My hands hold Brooke's face in a firm but gentle grip, keeping her chin tilted up, her eyes focused on mine as she starts to move against me, giving me one of those lap dances she's so scared of. But guess what? I don't have to keep my hands on the damn armrests. Instead, I slide them down to Brooke's shoulders and then trail my fingertips over her arms.

  She shivers and then lifts them up, putting her hands behind my neck as she works my body like she's been doing this for years. Must be instinct. Pure fucking instinct.

  I kiss the glitter off Brooke's chest before my hands slide up her belly and under that ridiculously sexy half-shirt, finding her tits encased in a lacy bra. I pop one breast over the wire and shove the t-shirt out of my way to get access to the pebbled pink point of her nipple.

  She tastes sweet, clean and soapy, but also a little bit like salt from the sweat of her performance. If I wasn't already about to blow my load … eh, I'm actually pretty much there already.

  “Holy shit, Brooke,” I have to lean back and drop my hands to her hips, trying to slow her movements before I finish in my slacks. “If you don't stop that—” She cuts me off with a moan, putting her hand over my mouth as she arches her back and presses her breasts against my chest.

  Watching her use me to get off like that?

  Turns. Me. The. Fuck. On.

  I flip Brooke over onto the tufted leather sofa, shoving her skirt up as I dig in the pocket of my suit jacket for a condom. They spill out and over the floor as I snatch one and put it on with record speed—record fucking speed, baby.

  There's no time to take Brooke's thong off, so I just shove the piece of flimsy fabric aside and bury myself deep into her with a hard thrust. Her raw scream of pleasure drives me forward without mercy, burying myself all the way to the hilt with each movement. My piercings are hitting all the right places in this position, teasing her G-spot, turning that face of hers as pink as her eyeshadow.

  “Oh yeah, Brooke, baby, take me over the edge.”

  “Zay … den,” she starts, her lids fluttering as her body relaxes and her cunt tightens, fingers digging into my scalp, head thrown back into a coil of chocolate dark hair. I cup Brooke's ass tight as I slide into her, watching her expression change from bliss to beautiful anguish. Her orgasm kicks my butt straight to the curb, and I can't hold on a second longer, collapsing on top of her with a pretty ridiculous sounding grunt.

  I sound like a fucking wildebeest or something.

  But holy hell, it's hot. It's so hot. And I'm not done.

  “Brooke,” I start as we both freeze at the sound of a knock on the door. We exchange a look as she shoves me off of her and stands up, fixing her tits and stumbling over to the door to open it a crack.

  “Nigel,” she says as she leans out the crack. “What?”

  The man outside yanks the door open and finds me stuffing my cock back into my slacks, a used condom tucked in my other hand. I know, it's gross, but what else am I gonna do with it? Leave it on the floor like some fucked up club customer? No thanks. I'll dispose of my own baby juice, alright?

  “What the hell is going on back here?” Like he doesn't already know. I raise my eyebrow as I come up to the door and grab hold of it, pushing it open wider so I can stand there and give the short brunette dude a look. People seem to think because I smile and laugh all the time that I'm not really much of a threat. The thing is, I really am six three and I really do workout, sooooo … I can kind of kick a lot of people's asses.

  “You're the manager?” I start as the guy gives me a weird look, eyeing my outfit like he's not from Humboldt County and hasn't seen this shit before. “You're the one trying to force Brooke into doing lap dances?”

  “Zayden,” Brooke snaps at me, her brown eyes narrowed, but her breath still coming in panting flutters that mimic the movement of her muscles as she caressed and held my cock tight inside of her. I look at her for a minute and then turn back to the manager. “Don't,” Brooke warns, but I can't help it. I'm so … riled up right now.

  “Brooke doesn't need this shitty fucking job or your bad fucking attitude.” I take a step forward, but notice the bouncer waiting in the hall behind the small man. Shit. That guy's a little, um, huge? Anyway, I don't plan on actually touching the manager. Punching the asshole dad at the mall was bad enough; I'm just lucky he didn't sustain any permanent injuries or I'd have the cops looking for me.

  “I see,” the man says as he looks over at Brooke. “Is that the case? Are you done here? After I gave you a second chance?”

  “I—” Brooke starts, but I'm reaching down and taking her wrist, pulling her into the hallway only to find t
he bouncer dude blocking us in.

  “Uh,” I reach up and scratch at the purple stars on the side of my head. “Can you, like, move maybe?”

  “Brooke,” the man asks as he peers around me. “Do you want to leave with this man?”

  “I, uh,” she start and then nods her head in a decisive motion. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

  The bouncer gives her a long, studying look before he steps aside.

  “If you leave right now, you're done here. You're fired,” the manager says from behind us. I pause there and turn to look down at Brooke, my hands shaking with emotion. I stuff them in my pockets to still them. She stares back up at me for a long moment, searching my face for something. I guess whatever she's looking for, she sees, turning back to look at the manager of the Top Hat Gentlemen's Club with pursed lips.

  “Okay. I understand,” she says and then turns back to take my hand, dragging me down the hallway this time.

  I have to go outside and come around the back to wait for her outside the dressing room, pacing in a tight line, raking my fingers through my hair as emotions war inside my chest.

  I just took Brooke's job away. Because I'm a selfish dick.

  “Ahhhh.” I drag my hands down my face and drop them at my sides. What if she … she might take this the wrong way or something. And it'll be all my fault. Why did I go charging in there like a bull in a china shop, messing up everything like I always do? “This is … this is not good.”

  I kick a pebble with my purple Docs and suck in a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling with the motion.

  “I'm ready,” Brooke says as I turn around to face her. For a second there she's limned in gold light from inside the building, her silhouette a sexy, curvy shadow against the brightness. When the heavy metal door slams shut, and my eyes start to adjust to the darkness, I get a glimpse of her face. There's a quiet hopefulness there, a gentle smile, a smothering sense of relief. “We can take the van together, and you can drop me off here in the morning to get my car.”

  “Maybe we should just drive separately?” I say and then hate myself for it. “I've got to get over to the duplex in the morning and clean stuff up for Rob and Mercedes.” I shrug my shoulders, but it's a seriously lame excuse. Like spending an extra twenty minutes to get over here in the morning would affect my schedule.

  I want you.

  That's what I should be saying.

  Move to Vegas with me.

  Too selfish. Brooke just changed schools midyear, and I want her to do it again? Provided there's any school around Las Vegas that actually has a biostatistics program. Heh. Doubtful.

  “Are you … upset with me?” Brooke asks, moving over to stand next to me in her half-shirt and her black mini. “Because … you just stormed into my job, fucked me in the back room, and then told my manager to eat shit.”

  “It needed to be said. What kind of seedy motherfucker tries to force girls into giving lap dances?”

  “I … you … don't you want to be with me?” Brooke asks, blinking long lashes. Even in her thick makeup, she looks fresh-faced and adorable and way too young for me. I shove my hands through my hair. “Isn't that why you came here tonight?”

  “Brooke,” I start, and I sound anguished when I say her name. The worst part about it all is that I know I'm the source of my own suffering. I fucking know that and yet I'm panicking here, acting exactly like my buddies back at the shop, the ones I make fun of all the time. “I've been trying to tell you that I like you, but that we can't work out. I've said it before. Why would it be different tonight?”

  “This job was my lifeline, Zayden. What if I can't get another? What if I have to drop out of school?”

  “You thought I came here tonight to say I was going to support you? I wish I could. If I had any money … shit, things might be different. I'm living off my credit card now, Brooke. This two weeks has killed me. I have a mortgage, on a place I bought with the last gift my parents ever gave me. There are no jobs up here in this shit hole, you know that.”

  Her lips purse tight.

  “Exactly,” she says, and I realize what I've just said. “And no, I didn't think you were just going to sweep in and make everything better. I've seen your car, Zayden. I know you're not a rich man. I just thought … I thought you were going to stick around for a while, help me find another job or something. I thought … this was our romantic climax.”

  She lifts her hand up to indicate the round shape of the club's building and the neon pink lights that are staining the dark wet pavement with bright color.

  “It felt like you were coming here to confess or something,” she adds, and I feel my face fall. “I am such a fucking idiot.” Her gaze snaps up to mine. “I knew I shouldn't let myself get involved with you, but … you pushed and pushed and … even tonight, why couldn't you just leave me alone? Now what am I supposed to do?” Brooke pauses and takes a deep breath. “You're really leaving tomorrow?”

  I swallow hard and rake my fingers through my hair again.

  I wish I was better with words, wish I could explain all the things I was feeling to her.

  “I'll ruin your life, Brooke. I'm not the man of your dreams. I'm just some asshole from Vegas.” I smile at her, but it doesn't feel real. Feels like bullshit to me. “I'm just the nanny, right?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Brooke's voice sounds unstable, but when I take a step towards her, she moves away.

  “Your aunt's got the kids covered for a while. We could go out and have some food? Try a little more exhibitionism. What do you say?” I make myself grin at her, but her face stays flat, her pale eyes dark and shadowed.

  “Sorry, Zayden, but you can't goof your way out of this one. You know what? Why don't you go back to my place, pick up your kids, and go home. We're, uh,” Brooke starts as she begins to back away towards her Subaru, “we're done here. Yeah, yeah. We're done.” She stops after a few steps, a bag of clothes slung over one arm, and points a shaking finger at me. “I was okay with this being casual, but you pushed into my boundaries. You chased after me. And I hate being dicked around.”

  Brooke turns and climbs in her car as I pace in a tight circle and run my hand over my face. I have no clue what to do. In the back of my mind, I realize how goddamn easy this all is. I basically have two choices: go home tomorrow and forget about this, or … stay.

  Because I could stay if I really wanted to. Yeah, it'd be hard, but … is Brooke Overland worth it?

  The answer to that is easy. Sure she is. Of course she is.

  I stand there on the wet pavement as her car zooms around me and splatters my slacks with dirty water. As I turn and watch her red taillights disappear into traffic, I decide it's time to head out and find somewhere to grab a drink.

  Because I need to really think about this. Changing my whole life for a girl I've known for two weeks?

  How is that any different from changing your whole life for two kids that aren't yours?

  Whatever happens, I know this to be a fact: Brooke Overland is a hell of a lot stronger than I am.

  Even my angriest metal music can't help me. A cascading fall of guitar riffs and clattering drums can't take the shock of pain and anger away. I scream the lyrics along with the lead singer until my voice is gone and my throat hurts, but it makes no difference.

  I am fucking livid. And sad. Really, really sad. I feel like this is the thing with Anthony all over again. Obviously, it's a very different scenario, but I see parallels here that bother me more than I care to admit. Anthony said he wanted me to be his perfect wife, but all he really wanted was a showpiece for his parents, somebody on his arm to play the good Christian with him.

  Zayden … I invited Zayden into my bed and into my life, but he was the one that kept pushing my boundaries, weaseling his way into my heart. He said he was only up for a casual fling, but what he really did was charm the hell out of me.

  So one guy says he wants me but doesn't and the other says he doesn't but clearly does.

  “This
is so shitty,” I say as I pull up to a Dutch Bros and grab some coffee. Now that I don't have a job, I probably shouldn't spend the money, but screw it. I need this right now.

  I pull over a few blocks away to take the lid off and blow steam away from the dark liquid. Out of habit, I pick up my phone and check for messages. Several from my friends back in Berkeley, the sight of the familiar names in my contacts sending a pang of loneliness through me.

  So how could I blame Zayden for not wanting to stay here with me? He hates this town as much as I do, and he's right: there are hardly any jobs here. His friends are back in Las Vegas. Hell, he owns his own place. And if I'm having this much trouble changing my whole existence for two girls that are my own flesh and blood, how can I expect some playboy dude to do the same?

  I test my coffee and then put the lid back on, pausing for a moment as I take a sip. I want to go home and curl up on my bed, but at the same time, I don't want to go home. The thought of Zayden leaving turns my insides into this gaping, yawning hole. If I have to head back there and watch him pack his things … I think I'll go crazy.

  I put my coffee in the cup holder and start up my car, deciding to head over to my parents' place. I have the keys, and I'm supposed to water the houseplants anyway. I haven't done it once in the last two weeks, but oh well. I had more important things to worry about.

  Like losing my virginity.

  I cringe as I pull back onto the street and head towards Wildwood Community Park, a fancy name for the gated old folks neighborhood that my parents live in. They had me when my mother was forty-three, so even though it doesn't feel like they should live in a place like Wildwood, they do. Yet another reason why my parents couldn't take care of the kids; nobody under age eighteen is allowed to live on the premises.

  I pull up to the front gate and key in my parents' code, heading over to their perfect oil spot free driveway and the manicured yard that the homeowners' association takes care of. When I get out and let myself inside, the quiet darkness settles over me and I take a deep breath, tossing my purse onto the counter and moving over to the couch to lie down.