Pulling my car into Prestige Nanny’s lot, I kill the engine and take a long breath in.

Okay. You can do this, Hayfield. You got it.

Six years in the military, three tours of duty, extensive experience in combat, but an interview at a nanny agency is making my knees shake—and I’m still sitting down.

Flipping the visor, I check my face in the mirror. I went with minimal makeup: just a hint of blush and eyeliner, plus mascara. For my lips, tinted lip balm. Hopefully, the look says, “Hey, I’m super fresh-faced! Hire me!”

At least, in my head that’s what the makeup equates to.

I take some time to smooth down the red fly-away hairs that have come loose from my ponytail and to straighten my blazer. Going with Amy’s suggestion, I paired the blazer and button-up top with a pair of dark, skinny jeans and low heels. Casual meets put-together. That’s what my roommate called it, at least.

Snapping the visor closed, I gaze at the tall building in front of me. It houses multiple businesses, and the spot I’m headed for is on the fourth floor.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter.

Grabbing my purse, I exit into the sunny day. Technically, it’s late fall, but apparently Mother Nature didn’t get the memo, because the morning couldn’t be more perfect. Hopefully, that’s a good sign.

Whether it is or not, I’ll take it.

“I’m here for a nine o’clock interview,” I tell the girl at the front desk. “Jayne Hayfield.”

“Let me check you in.”

She clicks away on her computer, and I take a moment to look around. A front desk with smooth, lacquered wood. Leather waiting chairs. Multiple vases full of orchids. Magazines that are actually from this month.

“Have a seat and someone will come get you soon.” The receptionist smiles at me. She looks like a model, with high cheekbones and red lips that shine like a candy apple.

“Thanks.” Settling into the chair closest to the windows, I pull out my phone. There’s a text from Amy.

Good luck!!!

The message is followed by about ten emojis, some applicable to the text, and some not. I smile at the alien one and shoot a text back.

Waiting now. Noticed they can afford magazine subscriptions here. That’s how you know a place is high class.

For sure, she writes back. See if they have tampons in the bathroom. Nice places put them out for free. Snatch a few if it goes badly—or even if it goes well.

Her request makes me laugh out loud, and I have to press my palm to my mouth.

I’m still giggling when a frosted door next to the receptionist’s desk opens. “Miss Hayfield?”

I bolt to standing, my laughter dead in a millisecond. “Yes? That’s me.”

The man with slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and a burgundy suit smiles. “Right this way, please.”

Heart pounding, I follow him down a hallway, past several offices with keyboards clicking and employees speaking softly into phones. For a nanny agency, it seems a lot of people work here. But, then again, what do I really know about the matter?

The man brings me to what looks like a boardroom. There’s an entire wall made out of windows, with a long table in front of them. Bottles of water sit in front of three of the chairs. One for me, the man, and the third person—an austere blond woman who stands to shake my hand as I walk in.

“Miss Hayfield,” the man says. “This is Nicole Mason, our president and founder.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I tell her, afraid she’ll notice the sweat on my palm.

“And I’m Ed Garcia.” He takes a seat, casually crossing one leg over the other. “Please, have a seat.”

I do so, though my limbs and back are rigid. The other two people regard me in a cool, collected way. They’re the perfect picture of careless elegance. I swallow hard. Did I under-dress?

Mason somehow manages to look intimidating in her black dress and pearl necklace. Her eyes sweep over me, studying, collecting information. Nausea spins in my stomach. I resist the urge to look around for a trash can, just in case the worst happens.

That’s not gonna happen, I tell myself. Smile. Breathe. Say something.

I smile widely, though it probably looks fake. “It’s so wonderful to be here. I’ve heard a lot about your agency.”

At least that part’s true. My parents’ neighbors across the street have been using Prestige Nanny for years, and they gushed about it at Mom’s dinner party two weeks ago.

“We’re glad to have you here,” Mason says, resting her clasped hands on the table. Her face is tight and emotionless. Either she’s bored, or she’s had a lot of work done. Hard to tell in San Bravado, I’ve found.

“As I’m sure you know,” she continues, “Prestige is the leading nanny agency in the area. We consistently rank at five stars. Many of our clients are high-profile celebrities and politicians, a great many of whom wish to remain anonymous. If you are hired, you’ll be signing a non-disclosure contract.”

I nod. She’s already continuing.

“At Prestige, we expect the best from our nannies. That means always showing up on time and always looking your best.” She hesitates, the quiet making me flinch.

Oh, no. I did wear the wrong outfit.

Her eyes sweep up and down my torso. “What you have on now is perfect.”

I exhale in relief. I owe Amy a drink for her style sense.

“To summarize,” Mason says, “You won’t find a better job in childcare than you will here. We are a great company to work for long-term. Short-term is all right as well, as long as you are clear and honest with us about your plans for the future.”

“I understand,” I say, just because I feel her speech needs some kind of comment.

Garcia reaches for the folder I didn’t notice before and takes a look inside. “So, you’re a San Bravado native.”

“That’s correct.” I nod.

“Ex-military.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looks at me over the folder. “And your experience in nannying…” He trails off, waiting for me to finish.

My gut twists. I detailed all of my experience on my application. Maybe he just wants to check my story.

“I babysat a lot in high school. Before I went into the service.” Since the floor is mine, I go on. “I’m CPR certified, and I’m also a great swimmer—I’ve gone through multiple training courses in the water.”

“You were a SEAL?” Mason asks. Her mouth twitches. Does she think she’s making a joke?

It’s impossible to tell. Both of my interviewers are hard to read.

“Army,” I answer. “I swam in high school, and my time in the service also provided me with opportunities to stay fit in the pool.”

They exchange a quick look, the meaning behind it unreadable.

“This is an interesting career switch you’re looking to make,” Mason says slowly. “Most of our nannies are in college and work for us part-time. We have a few who are full-time, but none of them have the…extensive background you do. Many of them are pretty, yes, just like you.” She cocks her head. “You certainly don’t look like a former soldier.”

My head reels from the double whammy of inappropriate comments. First of all, is this a nannying agency or a modeling agency? No one told me being attractive was a prerequisite to getting a job here. Also, the whole thing about me not looking like a former soldier—I’ve heard it way too many times.

Not all women who join the service are super butch. We’re real people with diverse preferences and looks.

Thanks for reducing me to a stereotype, I want to say.

Of course, I check myself and smile instead. “I know the switch seems like quite the extreme. The truth is that I love kids, and I’ve always seen myself working with them once I left the military.”

Strangely, now that the people across from me have proved themselves to be biased and inadequate in some ways, I feel braver. I feel like the smarter and more empathetic person in the room.

“And, as I outlined before, I have a lot of experience that can be applied directly to nannying. I’ve seen combat. Because of that, I know how to stay calm in stressful situations. I value cleanliness and organization. Also, I know a good deal about nutrition—I have a lot of experience cooking for the wife back at home.” I grin at that.

Garcia clicks a pen and writes something down in my folder. Mason taps her finger against the table. The silence lasts for way too long.

I feel the heat creep into my face. Did I just put my foot in my mouth without knowing it?

Then, the two of them share another look. There’s a nod from Mason.

Garcia stands and offers me his hand. “Jayne, welcome to Prestige. We’re thrilled to have you.”

My chest nearly explodes from surprise and joy. “I… Th—thank you.”

I stand and shake first his hand, then Mason’s. They leave and come back with paperwork for me to sign and a packet of company policies to take home. The whole time, I can hardly believe it. More than once, I thought for sure I wouldn’t get the job—and now here I am!

“Have a great day,” I tell the receptionist as I breeze past her and into the elevator.

In the parking lot, the weather feels even better. Stripping off my blazer, I drop it on the passenger’s seat and call Amy.

“I got the job!” I say as soon as I hear the line connect.

“What? That’s awesome! I knew you would.”

With a laugh, I buckle my seat belt. “You’re going to have to dress me every day, by the way. This outfit is half the reason they hired me.”

“Nice. One point for me. Maybe I’ll start a blog on how to dress for interviews.”

“That would seriously be a good idea.”

“So, do they have a job for you yet?”

“No,” I answer. “They said they’ll call as soon as they do, and it’ll definitely be this week. I’m down for both semi-permanent jobs and drop-in ones. When is your last class?”

“Two.”

“See you at home? I’m cooking a victory meal.”

“I know you are,” she laughs. “And I’m making the margaritas. It’s time to party.”

Laughing as well, I turn the engine on. “We just partied yesterday.”

“And now it’s time to do it again. Can you stop by the store? Nothing goes better with tequila than guacamole.”

“Sure. See you at home.”

“Bye.”

Dropping the phone next to my blazer, I roll my window down and cruise into traffic, enjoying the feel of the salty sea air on my face. As I drive along, I pull the ponytail holder from my hair and let the copper-colored strands fly free.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I have a feeling that it’s going to be great.