T oday is a walking day. Some NYC days, you drive. Some, like today when it’s overcast and windy, you walk to work. The Financial District picks up all those humid breezes near the harbor, but there’s something else in the air besides the wind. While waiting to cross the street, people talk. Twisting my neck, I catch three older women gathered around a newspaper, shaking their heads .

“Can you believe it? At least she won’t have to deal with that deadbeat anymore,” one woman says. When they catch onto the fact that I’m glancing at them, they stop talking immediately and elbow each other .

I cross the street and turn right, waiting until the women cross and continue on before sliding around the next corner and leaning in to see the papers for sale. Miriam is on the front page, walking with Andy Kincaid, the actor, a mutual friend of ours, laughing with their arms touching, pinkies linked. Pinkies linked ?

The headline reads: Happiness for Miriam ?

Pfft. Like I fucking care. Good riddance .

Entering my building, I get into the elevator and don’t even bother to fake a smile at the people who greet me. I’m in no mood to talk. Between our deadline today, plus a presentation with investors, this has to go well or the next few months could be murder for me. They’re already bad enough now that Miriam plans to present what she calls “evidence” that I’ve been fucking the nanny to her lawyer, not that it matters, since New York is a no-fault state. Whatever it is, it won’t affect the divorce but it could have some impact on her wanting full custody .

The worst thing about my life right now is that Paisley’s gone. A week now. I understand why she left—I was threatening to fire her and she couldn’t continue to live this way—but we could’ve talked about it. I could’ve stayed calm, been less of an asshole. We could’ve figured out. Then again, I feel like fate is telling me this is how it was meant to be .

Anyway, I try not to think about it, but it’s damn near impossible. She’s the first thing I think about when I wake up. She’s the last thing I think about at night. Even now in my office, looking out at downtown, I see her in my mind’s eye. Her curves, her flowing hair, that smile, but best of all…those seafoam eyes .

My secretary buzzes me, but I don’t want to hear her voice. I want to pull out paper and sketch. Sketching is how I brainstorm, get the ideas out of my head and begin bringing them to life. It’s the first step to creation, but the most organic. I rely on computers so much, it’s stress-relieving to press pencil to paper every so often .

But people keep coming into my office and reminding me of the time. The time, the time, the fucking time. “Yes, I know what fucking time it is, Randolph. What the fuck do you want from me ?”

“Just reminding you about our meeting, sir .”

“And I’m just reminding you that this is my building, and I’ll show up to the meeting when I damn well feel like it. Have you ever seen me miss a meeting ?”

“No, sir .”

“Now you can leave my office .”

“Yes, sir.” I hear the door close quietly and a hubbub of voices outside, asking what went wrong. Randolph explains in hushed tones .

I continue to sketch a new building. I don’t know what it’s for but it’s curvy and it’s sexy and its glass reflects in a myriad of seafoam green tones. Someone has the balls to text me at this very moment, and that’s it—now I’m pissed. I throw the sketchbook into my drawer, grab my things for the meeting, and storm out .

The first thing I see is a group of people glancing at the same tabloid I saw on my walk here. I snatch it out of one of the secretaries’ hands, fold it, and shove it in the outer pocket of my bag. In a cubicle on just the other side, one of the guys whose worked in drafting for me for a year now is talking to Randolph who slowly backs up down the hallway and tries telling him I’m standing right here with widened eyes .

“Cleary, he needs to get laid,” the fucker says. “He’s been acting like a bitch for a week now.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Maybe his new building will be called The Cuckold Center .”

The idiot giggles even though the group around him has now fallen deadly silent .

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” I say in a calm, quiet tone .

Dude freezes and turns slowly like a cornered mouse. His skin goes ghostly pale and he seriously looks as though he might pass out. “Victor…uh…sir .”

“Victor, no wonder your name isn’t memorable. Victor, feel free to log off your computer and go home. I no longer need your services. I’ll see to it that you get your paycheck by the end of the week. Betty, please inform HR that we need a new drafter .”

“Yes, sir .”

“And we have a meeting to get to.” I breeze past her. “So move it .”

“Yes, sir,” Betty says, collecting her things while Victor stands there, mouth agape, wishing he could turn back time about ten seconds .

I almost feel sorry for the douche, but he was dumb enough to insult me and mock me in my own building a few feet from my office. If I let him get away with talking like that, I’d have lost the respect of everyone who works for me .

And right now, I need to show everyone that I am still firmly in charge. And it’s not about to change .

I don’t have time for people I can’t trust and now that basically means everyone .

* * *

A t least ten times throughout the day, I want to call Paisley. During the meeting, during the presentation, during dim sum with the guys from the bank. I don’t care about anything going on in the world of L.R. Group. I don’t even care about the Battery Park Library plans anymore. I just want to hear her voice and pretend that nothing got ruined between us. I want to watch her offering her body to me, and I want to forget that I’m in the middle of a huge emotional mess .

She may be gone, but reminders of her are everywhere .

Especially the alarm that goes off on my phone every week at 5:45 PM. It reminds me to escape work and go spend time with Becca and Price. If the short-lived “thing” with Paisley taught me anything, it was to spend more time with my kids. I’ll never forget the sassy comment she made on the first day of work—Isn’t the best way to provide a nurturing environment for your kids to actually spend time with them ?

I’ll always be grateful to her for that .

When I get home, Aunt Vivian is pulling her hair out by the chunkfuls. “These kids want nothing to do with me, Logan,” she says, taking a scouring pad to her jeans and scrubbing off something beige and crusty .

“Da-yee!” Thing 1 and Thing 2 come barreling toward me and jump on my shoulders and back .

“They don’t even want their mother,” she murmurs. “They want ‘Miss Paisy .’”

“Yes, I know. Don’t remind me.” I lumber into the kitchen and throw my shit onto the counter, setting the kids onto the floor before grabbing a beer from the fridge. I skulk off, the kids following me close behind, and as usual, they settle into the crook of my arms as I sit to watch mindless TV .

I don’t care how many times Miriam tells me this is an awful way to engage the kids, I love it. I love coming home after a stressful day at work, sinking into the sofa, and having my happy children snuggle up to me. This is Paisley’s doing and the fact that she isn’t here anymore suddenly hits me hard .

Aunt Vivian talks to me for the next thirty minutes, but I feign being sleepy, and eventually she lets herself out, telling me I ought to call back that nanny girl, because at least she knew how to run a tight ship. Yes, Aunt Vivian, indeed she did .

I’m not looking forward to seeing their mother today after what I saw at the newsstand, so imagine my joy when Miriam walks through the door and tells me, “I just saw your aunt in the elevator and realized your nanny’s not here anymore, is she ?”

“Not only are you manipulative, you’re observant as well.” I hug the kids who hold me tighter when they see their mother is here to get them .

“Let’s not debate who is more manipulative,” Miriam replies. “If I am, it’s because I learned from the best .”

“Your mother ?”

“No,” she says, her mouth tightening. “You. Asshole .”

I get up, prying the kids’ arms off me and breeze over to the foyer .

“From now on, when you arrive here, you’ll have to ring the doorbell like everybody else,” I tell her .

“Nice way to treat your family. Becca? Price? Get away from the TV. We’re leaving now.” Miriam fumes, as she scrolls through her phone, ignoring me .

“They’re my family.” I point to the kids and bring their shoes over to them. If I don’t put them on them, they’ll never leave. “How about I cut you a check right now and you leave the kids with me ?”

She doesn’t answer, only walks out in to the hallway to wait for the kids. I’m ushering them out amid protests, kneeling to hug and kiss them as loudly and annoyingly as I can for Miriam when the elevator door opens and a young woman steps out. She’s blonde, walks with a catlike gait, and I swear I’ve seen her somewhere before. What is she doing here? I didn’t clear anyone downstairs .

“Oh, look,” Miriam says, giving the young woman the glance-over. “Another one .”

“Maybe you can hire her father, too,” I tell her as she climbs into the elevator and the doors begin to close. She flicks me the middle finger, just as the doors shut her out of my life. Well, for three days, at least .

Now it’s me and Blondie. I give her a long look as she raises an eyebrow at me. “May I help you?” I say. “Who do I have to fire downstairs for allowing you to be here .”

She smiles and laughs airily, extending her hand. She’s a fucking knockout on a different level from Paisley altogether. Whereas Paisley is all natural beauty, this girl is a pinup queen with big round tits and a tight miniskirt. And tanned legs for days and days. Painted eyes and sculpted eyebrows .

“It’s okay, Mr. Raider. I was cleared by your aunt who answered the phone earlier when I called. My name is Caitlyn Summers. I was sent here by Le Nanny? I believe you have a position available?” Quite the kitten voice, too. Once upon a time, I would’ve jumped on a woman like this. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it .

But that was before .

Before I found out how much more there was to life than a woman who could pretend to be a nympho at the drop of a hat .

Before I met Paisley .

“I do? I don’t believe I let the agency know that I needed anybody else.” Though I do need someone else, unfortunately. The project is about to get busier than ever at work, and Vivian won’t agree to watching the kids several times a week. I need a nanny and wish it was Paisley, but wishing hasn’t changed a damn thing in my life, and it won’t now either .

“Oh? Maybe it was a mistake. But you do need someone, don’t you?” She snakes up to me, and I catch the scent of her body spray. Something vanilla .

I’m about to send the Playboy nanny away and call up Paisley to come fix my life when I stop myself. Paisley doesn’t want anything to do with me. She left because it was all too complicated and convoluted for her. And I get it. Nobody wants to be in the middle of the shit I have going on, and I can’t blame her at all .

Maybe in the future when things settle down, we can start over. When the divorce is nothing but a memory, and I have a better idea of what I can offer her, if anything. In the meantime, I could use an extra hand with the babies, and hey, I’m too exhausted to go through the hiring process again .

Let Le Nanny handle it .

Going back inside, I hold the door open for Caitlyn. “Let’s go over the rules then, Miss Summers .”

She smiles, wide, toothy, and victorious. “Yes.” She walks through the door. “Let’s .”