by Kat Ransom
I turn to the new nanny who is standing calm and collected with her shoulders back. We’ll see how long that lasts. “What’s this about putting me on a leash now?” I ask her.
“Oh shit,” Jack giggles, watching with rapt attention.
“Do you prefer I call you Lennox or Mr. Gibbes?” She asks in a stern voice, trying to sidestep my question and act authoritative while reaching a palm to me in an attempt to shake my hand. It’s adorable.
I ignore her hand. “I’d prefer you run back to whatever small Americana apple pie baking country town you flew here from and save us all a few days. Go see London Bridge and Big Ben on your way out so it’s not a total loss for you.”
“Oh good, you do still have some firing neurons left in your head and know I’m American. Excellent. You should be aware, however, that I’m from New York so you’ll have to try harder to insult me.”
“OH EM GEE, I love New York,” Jack claps.
I turn to Jack and look at him like the numpty he is. “Did you know about this?” I bark at him and point to New Nanny.
He shakes his head at me and tries to reign in a smile by biting his cheek. I can’t believe I sign his checks. Why, again, do I sign his checks? Oh yeah, because I can’t be bothered to book flights and fetch coffee or keep track of where I’m supposed to be on any given day. Or that’s what I said when I hired him, anyway.
Matty comes forward trying to be the peacemaker of the group, or trying to get into New Nanny’s pants, which is more likely the case. “So yeah, I’m the physio. You can call me Matty.”
New Nanny sees an olive branch extended and she brightens, but she’s in way out of her depth and doesn’t know that branch is a dry-rotted twig capable of snapping at any time. “Physio, that’s great. My roommate in the States is a personal trainer.”
“That’s not a real thing,” Matty replies flatly. And here we go. I couldn’t have asked for anything better than New Nanny launching into Matty’s biggest pet peeve.
“I’m sorry?” New Nanny asks.
“That’s cute and all but that’s not a real job. What I do is science and medicine, not aerial yoga and smoothies for bored housewives.”
Jack is beside himself with glee over the drama that’s unexpectedly entered our workout session today.
“Don’t mind him, New Nanny,” I deliberately run a hand over my naked pecs for her, “he’s Finnish. That’s just how they are.”
She doesn’t take the bait and ogle my chest, that’s interesting. But she does tilt her head and retort, “What’s your excuse then?”
“Oh this is amazing,” Jack beams. “New Nanny is sassy! You and I are going to be friends!”
“You will not befriend the new nanny!” I roar.
“I am not your nanny,” the nanny steps toward me as I raise my eyebrows in amusement. “I am a Publicity Manager and a damned good one at that. And, by all accounts, you’ve made a mockery of Formula 1 and need all the help you can get!”
Jack is right, this one does have sass. The others don’t even try to talk back or give me a challenge. This might be fun, for the day or two it lasts. “I need your help, really? Do tell, Nanny, what do you know about F1, hmm?”
I’ll bet anything she’s done some two-bit work in NASCAR or fancies herself a car enthusiast, like the last one. Though, by the look of her, she’s never gotten dirty or near an engine a single day in her life. She looks like she just stepped out of a Harrod’s ad meant for budding new professionals trying to make a good impression.
See, I do know something about marketing.
“I don’t need to know anything about Formula 1 to know you’re a joke.” She puts one hand on her hip and cocks it to the side.
“Oh, that’s cold,” Matty interjects.
“A joke?” I cackle. Joke? I’m a bloody world champion! There may have been a string of bad seasons lately, but a joke? Hardly! This little American princess needs to run back home to daddy before she breaks a fingernail and starts crying. “I’m a world champion, love, I have records to my name that would make a grandmum cream her panties.”
“Yes, I’ve seen your records all right,” New Nanny doesn’t back down, flips her long chestnut hair over one shoulder, and continues this ridiculous debate she knows nothing about. “Like your arrest record for drag racing down the Strip in Las Vegas.”
“God, that was fun,” Matty nods knowingly.
I’m about to educate her that there was no arrest, technically. Money goes a long way into making problems go away. But New Nanny launches into the next thing on the mental list she’s obviously created to try and prove her point.
“Or the newspaper records of your implication in the extramarital affair resulting in the divorce of the Duke and Duchess of Osland.”
“Those were amazing days,” Jack gushes, “Not true, but amazing! Swedish royalty, can you imagine?”
New Nanny is all fired up now and her chest, from her neck down to where her blouse buttons finally start closing just above her tits, is getting flushed from yelling. I’m trying not to look directly at it. Not because it’s not worth looking at — it appears to be very worthwhile — but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction.
“Records of all your fines and citations from the FIA. Is it true they created a new system of fines for excessive swearing over team radio because of you, Mr. Gibbes?”
Matty snorts next to me and I clench my jaw to keep from laughing with him because I’ll give the point to New Nanny, that one was kind of funny. Like I give a shit about fines. Oh no, a one hundred pound fine. I’m under contract for fifty million a year.
Plus the extra sponsorship money, though admittedly that’s largely dried up. But I don’t need it, and I don’t need this.
I decide to change tactics.
I take a step toward the nanny so we’re face to face and I can smell whatever is wafting off her hair, jasmine maybe? To her credit, Nanny’s feet stay planted and she doesn’t back off, despite the fact that I’ve been sweating for hours and probably smell like something a lot worse than flowers.
“Tell me more about this putting a leash on me thing,” I look down and smolder at her. “That’s not usually my thing, but I do like an aggressive woman from time to time.”
She looks up at me and squints before she growls back, “You’re a pig, Mr. Gibbes.”
“Call me Lennox, love” I whisper back to her and move half a step closer.
Her head barely reaches my chin and she has to strain her head all the way up to look me in the eyes from this angle. If I were a real pig I’d run a finger down the side of her cheek, trace it along her neck, and into her cleavage which I can see perfectly from my vantage point.
But I’m not, and Mum would smack me upside the head for that kind of shit.
“Ok, Lennox” she starts, cute little hazel eyes all on fire with anger from trying to keep up, “You need to know this isn’t going to work, either.”
“It’s ok. I’ll do all the work, you can just lie there.”
“What is wrong with you?” She hisses before she takes a step back.
I grin and cross my arms over my chest, gloating. That’s right princess, this point goes to me, you took the step back.
She must realize she lost that round because her shoulders go back and she lifts her chin and takes a brave step right back, almost up against me. “You listen up, this is not my first rodeo and…”
“Now see, me playing a cowboy and you riding a rodeo bull, I can get behind that. Keep going with your John Wayne fantasy, baby.”
I know I’m being an asshole but she’s making it so much fun. Also, I am an asshole. That’s just a fact if you ask anyone. Except Mum.
“You are far from the first athlete who’s come onto me and,” she pauses her rant and catches herself, beating me to my punchline, “do not make a joke about coming on me now!”
“Dirty,” I hiss. For which I get a stab in the chest with one of her stereotypical light pink manicured nails.
That brings a dark smile to my face. I’m happy to be manhandled by the New Nanny during her short stay here in the UK. More than happy. That’s gotten rid of at least a handful of previous nannies. The condom isn’t even off and they’ve grown feelings and within 24 hours they’re all packed up and crying their ways back home. It isn’t like I didn’t warn them.
Bottom line is, no new nanny is welcome here.
“You’re not special and it’s not going to work. I’m not quitting. So give it up.”
She’s taken her finger back from my chest, pity, and both hands are back on her hips as she glares at me like I’m a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe. I’ve been called worse.
“I don’t ever give up, love,” I smirk back at her.
“Yeah?” She recoils with surprise and proudly states to the room, “That’s not what I hear.”
Both Matty and Jack let out a collective “ooooooooo” from behind us. Those two eejits are still apparently here, I hadn’t noticed.
“I’m in for 50 pounds, Bahrain,” Matty says to Jack.
“Mmm, she’s got fire. I’ll say 50 pounds by Baku.” Jack answers him back.
New Nanny swings out from in front of me to my side to confront the two clowns behind us. “What are you two doing? Are you taking bets on when I will quit?” She seems surprised by our juvenile ritual.
“Aye,” I confirm for her. Better she finds out now that there are no friends here, no one to trust in the world’s most expensive traveling circus known as F1. I nod to the only two people who come close to being trustworthy and that’s probably a step too far since both are here because I’m paying them, “I’ll split ya both and say 50 pounds by China.”
“You’re all children,” she shakes her head at them. “And you’re disgusting and dripping sweat on me!” She shakes off her blouse where apparently some drops of my toxicity have touched her delicate, unspoiled skin.
“Love, when I get you all hot and sweaty, you won’t be protesting,” I smirk and give her a little wink.
New Nanny eases a step backward to take all three of us crass assholes in and shakes her head, “Well suckers, you’re all going to lose. I’m here to stay. What’s the last race of the year?”
“Abu Dhabi,” Jack helpfully educates her.
“Great. I’m in. 50 bucks on Abu Dhabi.” She crosses her arms over her chest and I pretend not to notice that it pushes her cleavage up even more when she does it.
Not one to let a statement go by without fact-checking it, Matty taunts her more, “You realize with the conversion rate that’s more like 62 US dollars.”
“Perfect,” she snaps back and I chuckle because this is going to be fun.
New Nanny stands back tall and claps her hands, “Well gentleman, this has been delightful. I will see you in Australia.”
And with that, she turns and makes her way to exit the gym, shoulders back and doing her best to stride with confidence.
“I enjoy the view of you leaving, New Nanny!” I call to her because I need to get the last word in. Also because that ass is on fire. She raises an arm without looking back and flips me the bird.
“Bye, Nanny,” Jack calls after her.
“Bye, Nanny,” Matty joins in.
Three
Mallory
How many sweaters do I need? London can be chilly but I can’t fit all the sweaters into my moving boxes. Plus, we’ll be traveling all over the world and it’ll be warm in a lot of those locations. I pull one sweater back out and put it into the ‘donate’ pile.
Lots of flying, I need more leggings and comfy pants for flying.
“Aria,” I bellow toward the hallway from my tiny bedroom back in New York, “do you have my favorite black leggings?” I swear she’s going to be naked and starve to death when I leave and there’s no one to grocery shop or do the laundry.
“What do you need, babe?” Aria comes sauntering into my bedroom, staring into the screen of her rose gold laptop and paying me no mind.
I sigh. Aria is a bit… flighty, but she’s my bestie and I’d walk through fire for her. We went to college together and she’s been my roommate for ages. Leaving her is the hardest part of taking this job.
“Focus, Aria,” I scold her, “my black leggings. Do you have them?”
“How can I focus on leggings when I’m looking at this?” She huffs and flips the laptop screen toward me. The full resolution is a paparazzo picture of Lennox Gibbes walking on a beach, god knows where in the world, looking like he’s auditioning for Baywatch. Except Lennox has blue trunks on and I think they were red on Baywatch.
“Seriously? We’re doing this again? I barely have time to pack and get everything sorted before I leave and all you’ve done is Google that jerk and show me every photo you want to drool over.”
“But I’m so jealous,” she whines and flops onto my bed, on top of the heaped pile of donate clothes, and continues scrolling around on the laptop. “He’s so hot.”
“Nothing to be jealous of, he’s a huge asshole.” And that is a mouthful. All athletes have egos and act like every woman in existence sits around waiting for them to grace her with his penis, but Lennox Gibbes is next level asshole.
“Huge dick, too, if the rumors are to be believed. Look at this perfect little treasure trail.” I turn to look at her, not the laptop, and she’s petting the screen. If I roll my eyes any harder they’re going to circle back around and start spinning like I’m in need of an exorcism.
“The fact that he has dick pics online should tell you everything you need to know about him, Grade A douchebag,” I move onto my closet and start rifling through hangers and more sweaters I can’t possibly bring with.
“I haven’t found the dick pics yet but I’m not done searching. I need more visuals, Mallory, give them to me. Spare no detail.” Aria turns on the bed and puts an elbow under her head.
I haven’t found the dick pics either, but I’m not getting into that with Aria. It’s my job, I was looking for work reasons, mostly.
“I already told you, sweaty, gross, total pig.” Tall, sturdy but lean, half-naked in the gym, electric green eyes and abs for days. But still, total pig.
“Tell me the story again about how he said he was going to get you all hot and sweaty,” she begs like the horny twenty-something she is. Aria tends to have a different guy every week but she has high standards and apparently, none of the guys she brings home have measured up yet. I’ve certainly never met one who deserves her.
“Which scarf?” I ask, ignoring her request and holding up two possible wool options. In reality, I probably need neither but I like to over-prepare.
I’m leaving NYC to go straight to Melbourne but my moving boxes should be waiting in my flat when we return to London. It’s a small but lovely little unit in an old brick building Sandra said is corporate residence housing. The drivers, some staff, and some executives have units there for staying at headquarters which is in a sleepy British town about an hour outside of London. It’s the kind of place where one reads a book and drinks tea while rain drips down the leaded glass windows.
I need to learn about tea. I smile that I can now call my apartment a flat, too. Tea, flats, and wankers.
Speaking of wanker, Aria continues her lewd googling and turns her head sideways to try and make out whatever photo she’s found of him now. God knows there’s enough material. Lennox at the beach with a supermodel. Lennox at a club with several supermodels. Lennox autographing women’s breasts. Or my personal favorite, Lennox drunk at a New Year’s Eve party doing a Facebook Live video with some fan who is trying to, as far as I can ascertain, clean out his inner ear with her tongue.
And I get to clean all this up.
He’s got the horny women fans on his side, I’ll give him that. But that’s all he has going on for his reputation and that is not what Celeritas is looking for to bring in sponsors. Unless they want me to pursue condom brands or Axe body spray - actually, scratch that, we should look into a spo
nsorship by whatever magic cologne he uses that so successfully masked his sweaty pig scent last week.
“The gray one,” Aria brings me back to reality and makes my scarf decision for me. “Promise me you’ll send me nudes, of him obviously, as soon as you can.” She’s dead serious.
“Stop it,” I giggle because she’s so outlandish I can’t help it. “There will be no nudes sent from me and hopefully not on Google anymore, either.”
“You won’t be able to resist, I’d climb this man like a tree.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’ve never slept with a client and I’m not going to cheat on David so you’ll have to get your celebrity porn from someone else.” That much I can guarantee with absolute certainty. I’m a lot of things but I am not a cheater like these entitled athletes I’m paid to rebrand.
“Is David coming tonight?” Aria asks.
“I don’t know, he said he might have to work late.” I don’t want to get into this, too, with Aria. We don’t have much time left before I leave and I don’t want to spend it arguing with her about David, who she has never liked.
“But it’s your going away dinner,” she sits up on the bed and looks at me disapprovingly.
I’m aware that it’s my going away dinner at my parent’s house and it would seem reasonable to expect my boyfriend to be there and not cite work as an excuse, especially since he works for my father, but it’s… complicated.
“I’m glad you’re going to be there, though” I smile at my obnoxious bestie. I really will miss her.
“Duh, I’m not leaving you alone with those sharks.”
◆◆◆
We arrive at my parent’s Upper East Side townhouse as late as I could manage without getting reprimanded. I don’t want to be here longer than absolutely necessary.
My sister’s pristine white BMW and my brother’s sleek black Mercedes are parked on the street so they’re here already. Aria and I, we circled the block for half an hour then finally found a place to park her ten-year-old Toyota Corolla which is still a step up from my car. Which is no car at all. Because normal people do not need cars in New York City. Aria only has it because it was left to her when her grandmother died and she trades the building super personal training sessions for free parking.