“I don’t know how you do it.” Cassie scrunched up her nose, and Emily grinned—she and Cassie had very different opinions about spending time around children.
“Kids are great.”
“Kids are messy. They’re messy and they scream and I just—” Cassie shuddered. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“You work as a CSI,” Emily reminded her. “Your job literally involves dead people and analyzing bodily fluids.”
“While wearing protective clothing. And speaking of work”—Cassie glanced at her watch—“I should be heading back to the lab. You gonna be okay here?”
“I’ll be fine,” Emily assured her, though her stomach flipped whenever she remembered she was about to meet Camila Evans.
“You wanna meet for lunch? You can tell me how the interview went.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Emily agreed, because at least then she had something to look forward to if the interview was a disaster.
“Place down the street from the station?” It was Cassie’s regular haunt, being so close to where she worked. She and Emily had met for lunch there a number of times.
“Sure. One thirty, right?”
“Right.” Cassie pulled Emily into a tight hug and kissed her cheek. “Good luck.”
“Thank you.” Emily squeezed back just as hard. “I’ll see you later.” She watched Cassie make her way back to the moped she had parked down the street earlier, waving one last time as Cassie slipped onto the seat.
That was her cue to move. She turned back to face the imposing building and, taking a deep breath, forced herself to push through the revolving doors and step inside.
The cavernous lobby was bustling with activity. Emily felt like she was out of her element, but she gathered her courage and weaved her way through the harried workers to approach the front desk. She almost expected the receptionist to look at her in her bright blue dress and tell her she must be in the wrong place, but instead he smiled pleasantly. Emily rested her hands on top of the counter, barely refraining from bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“May I help you?”
“I have a job interview with Camila Evans.”
Was that a look of pity that flashed across his face?
“The nanny job? Well, I hope you do better than the girl who went before you because she came back crying.”
Well, that didn’t settle her nerves.
“Elevators are there.” He indicated the left side of the lobby with a grand sweep of his arm. “Thirtieth floor. The receptionist there will show you to Ms. Evans’s office.”
He smiled. Emily almost wanted to ask for more details about the crying woman but decided it was better if she didn’t know.
She squeezed onto an already full elevator, clasped her hands in front of her, and tried not to tap her foot nervously as the floors slowly ticked by, people trickling out at each stop. She was the last person on the elevator when it got to the thirtieth floor.
She stepped out and faced another long counter. The bored-looking receptionist waved Emily down the hall when she explained why she was there. The wall along the outer hallway was glass, offering her a glimpse inside executive offices, and Emily looked around wide-eyed, taking it all in.
It was a world away from the labs of her college days. She dodged people rushing up and down the hall as she approached the door at the end. A plaque on the wall beside it bore Camila Evans’s name.
Camila’s office walls were glass too, although they were frosted to give the illusion of privacy. But the door was open, revealing a pair of black leather couches on either side of a glass coffee table and a plush white rug stretched out across the center of the room.
The huge wooden desk was dominated by a row of four monitors. Emily glimpsed Camila between two of them. Her dress was a mix of different shades of red, a statement necklace hung around her neck, her hair was perfect, as it always was, and oh, she was even more gorgeous in person than anyone had a right to be.
Emily’s knees wobbled, butterflies erupting in her stomach.
“Where is my eleven o’clock?” Camila called, voice carrying clearly through the open door. Emily’s mouth was dry because Camila looked and sounded annoyed as if being ten minutes early was late in her book.
Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
She almost turned around and bolted, but at the last minute, she straightened her spine and stepped into Camila’s office.
* * *
“Where is my eleven o’clock?” Camila asked again, well aware that it wasn’t yet eleven, yet entirely convinced that when her next appointment showed up, she could pierce them with a withering glare and berate them because, as the saying went, early was on time, and on time was late.
Her first three interviews had all been disasters, and Camila was in a sour mood. She almost felt sorry for the last unlucky soul who had interviewed. She was starting to wonder if she was going to have to give up her search and keep bringing Jaime to work with her. At least it was only another year before he started school, and she could probably make it work, if she had to.
She just didn’t want to.
She didn’t want to spend another second interviewing a terrible candidate either. She was about to ask Jessica what the hell she’d been thinking selecting these goons when a young blonde woman stepped through the door.
“Ms. Evans?” She sounded so chipper, a bright smile and a goddamn spring in her step. And she looked barely old enough to be out of school herself.
Camila stared at her and almost dismissed her out of hand. It was childish, she knew, but she was just so tired, and there was no way in hell this woman was the right nanny for Jaime.
“Auditions for the next season of Love Island are two floors down.” Camila waved the woman away and reached for her tablet to check her emails.
“I…I’m not here for that.” Camila glanced up again.
