Three
Natasha
I woke up on Emma’s couch and stretched my limbs. The morning sun was pouring through her curtainless windows and it felt nice. It blanketed my body in a comfortable warmth as I turned and face-planted into the pillow on her couch.
Last night was the most restful night of sleep I’d had in over a year.
I lifted my head as the smell of coffee wafted through the studio apartment. I slid off the couch, stretching my arms toward the sky. I didn’t know what time it was, but I knew I had plenty of time to get ready. I had always been an early riser and I knew it couldn't be any later than seven thirty in the morning. I had gotten into a routine in Africa. Up as the sun came rising and asleep well after the sun sank below the horizon. I drew in a deep breath, relishing the smell of the stale coffee as I closed my eyes.
Wait… why did the coffee smell stale?
I rubbed my eyes and got up off the couch. I walked over to the little kitchenette in the corner and looked at the coffee pot. It was half full with a mug sitting off to the side with a note from Emma. She was wishing me luck in my interview and wanted me to call her the moment I could.
I turned off the coffee pot as my eyes ventured up to the microwave.
My stomach dropped as I clocked the time. Nine in the morning? That couldn’t be right. I ran over to my cell phone and pulled it from my pants pocket, checking the time as my heart thundered in my ears.
It wasn’t nine in the morning.
It was nine thirty in the morning.
I ran into Emma’s shower and hopped in. I helped myself to her things, trying to clean myself up as best as I could. I ran around her apartment trying to find the towels, slipping and sliding all across her laminate floors. I wrapped the harsh towel around my body and ran to her closet, then cursed her for being such a small woman.
Why the hell did I have a best friend that was a size four?
I wouldn't be able to wear anything in her closet. Even at her biggest, Emma had only been an eight. I was a twelve on a good day, which meant I’d have to rush back to my apartment and get ready.
Which meant I would be late for my interview.
I hailed a cab and told them to step on it. I tore through the few clothes I had hanging up in my closet and cursed underneath my breath. Why the hell had I unloaded so much stuff before going to Africa?
Oh yeah. Because storage was a bitch in San Francisco.
I pulled out the only outfit that was decent enough to interview in. A pair of black pants, a pale green blouse, and a button-down women’s cardigan. I took a few extra minutes and ran a brush through my hair, then pulled it into a tight bun at the back of my head. I ripped my dried contacts out of my eyes and put my glasses on, then slid a bit of tinted lip gloss onto my lips to make me look more alive than I felt.
Not having coffee to start my day was going to make this interview difficult.
I raced across town and pulled into the parking garage with little time to spare. It was five past ten when I walked into my cousin’s building, and the building was massive. Tons of people were coming in and out and everything seemed very futuristic. The front desk attendant stopped me and asked me if I needed help, and I told them I was there for a nannying interview.
They led me to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, then wished me luck.
Why did they wish me luck?
Did I need it?
I clasped my hands behind my back as the elevator doors opened. I drew in a deep breath and stepped off the elevator, taking in my surroundings. The marbled floors were decadent, and all of the offices had glass doors. I could see right into every office, and each one of them had wonderful views of the ocean. I gawked as I walked through the expanse of the building. Was this where Logan worked? Did he have an office on this floor with such an incredible view? I felt pride fill my chest. My cousin had always dreamt big for himself.
And it seemed as if he had gotten it.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I was ripped from my trance by a soft voice as my eyes landed on a face. The woman had bright blue eyes and a kind smile with blonde hair that was shaped into a pixie cut. She beckoned me over and I followed, trying to move as fast as I could.
After all, I was late.
“Are you here for the interview?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. Natasha Lewis. And I’m late.”
“Mr. Marshall’s expecting you. And don’t worry about being late. He’s had his nose in files all morning. I don’t think he realizes what time it is,” she said.
“Okay. Where would I find him?” I asked.
“The door behind you.”
I turned around and looked through the glass door. The man was sitting at a sprawling mahogany desk, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. I walked towards his office door and opened it, letting myself in before the glass door closed behind me. He didn’t move a muscle as I took a few steps towards him, his face buried in mounds of paperwork.
Did he not hear me?
“Miss Stacey, can you get in touch with my one o’clock and tell them I’ll be a little late? I’ve got some other pressing matters that-”
He lifted his head and his dark green eyes connected with mine. The man was breathtaking. I’d heard Logan talk about Carter for years, but it wasn’t like I’d ever met the man before.
“You’re not Stacey,” he said.
“No. I’m Natasha Lewis.”
His eyes fell to his computer as a stern rose in his brow.
“You’re late.”
“I am,” I admitted.
“Take a seat,” he said.
He motioned for me to sit in the seat in front of his desk as he stood.
My eyes watched him tower over the desk as his long legs carried him around it. His body was strong. Chiseled. But in the way a runner’s body might be. His fingers were long and dexterous, and his suit was tailored tightly to his body. His raven black hair was swept off to one side, perfectly gelled and not a lock out of place.
He leaned back onto the edge of his desk and crossed his legs at his ankles.
“I hear you work with children,” he said.
“I do.”
“In what capacity?”
“My specialty is working with underprivileged children and aiding them in their development,” I said.
“Have you had any nannying experience?” he asked.
“I babysat a lot as a teenager and kept the practice up through college.”
“Logan tells me you have a degree in Early Childhood Education.”
“And a teaching certificate, yes,” I said. “I have my resume with me, if you want to see it.”
He held out his hand, his palm outstretched and waiting for my prize.
I drew in a deep breath as I pulled my resume from my purse. I was trying not to concentrate on how absolutely gorgeous this man was. With his chiseled cheekbones and his silent demeanor and his powerful stance and his languid features.
I kept my eyes locked on the view around his waist as he studied my resume.
“Africa,” he said.
I winced as the word came out of his mouth.
“How did you enjoy working with Doctors Without Borders?”
“It was an experience,” I said.
“A positive one or a negative one?” he asked.
I tried to keep my cool as I raised my eyes to his.
“A mixture of both,” I said.
He studied me for awhile, underneath that cold green stare. He set my resume behind him on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes made no effort to conceal the fact that he was running them up and down me. Taking in everything I had to offer right in his office as he leaned heavily into his desk.
I felt exposed, and I didn’t like that.
“I have three children. All under the age of seven.”
“Oh, those are good years,” I said. “What are their ages?”
“My eldest is six, my middle child just turned five, and my youngest turned three a couple of weeks ago.”
“Are they in school?” I asked.
“They all are. My youngest is blossoming quickly, so she’s already in a preschool atmosphere. Though I’d like it if she only did half-days instead of spending her entire day there.”
“Half days are usually better suited for children her age. Does she come home unexplainably cranky?” I asked.
“Most of the time, yes.”
“She’s overworked in a full-time environment. But I’m sure the preschool she’s at has half-days. Or would approve of her only being there a half-day. Drop her off around nine, pick her up around one. Bring her home, get her a nap. Or food first, depending on what she wants. She’d probably sleep until her siblings got home, then dinner and family time before sleep.”
I watched his eyes harden on me as he hung onto the words coming out of my mouth.
“Just like that?” Carter asked.
“Yeah?” I asked. “It’s a simple schedule. A standard one for someone as young as three.”
“It’s been hard for them since their mother died,” he said.
Oh no. I felt my heart break for the man in front of me.
“When did she pass? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“A couple years ago.”
“Did you see any regression in your children?” I asked.
“Any what?”
“Regression? Signs they were backtracking in their development?”
“To be honest? I wasn’t really present for it. I was grieving, and I hired a nanny on the spot to try and help. It’s been an uphill battle ever since.”
I nodded my head as my gaze dropped to my lap.
“You must think I’m a terrible father,” Carter said.
“No. You lost your spouse. You were hurt just like they were. No one can expect someone to push that off to the side so easily,” I said.
“I can’t recall any regression. Clara still sleeps with me sometimes, even though she has her own room. Nathaniel’s gotten more combative. Less willing to listen.”
“Which one’s which?” I asked.
“Clara’s the youngest. The three-year-old. Nathaniel’s the oldest. Six. Joshua’s the middle child.”
“Just turned five,” I said.
“Yes.”
“It’s normal for a six-year-old to be combative, no matter what the circumstances are. His frontal lobe is only beginning to develop, so his impulse control is still lacking. And will for a few more years. Did Clara sleep with you and your wife? You know, in the same room?”
“For a time. She was in her own separate crib, but she was there. She was a sick infant. Always coughing or throwing up. She didn’t start sleeping through the night until almost two years old.”
“What did her doctors say?” I asked.
Carter sighed and I shut my mouth. I hadn’t intended to get into all of this today. I thought I was coming in for an interview, not a meeting to get to know his children. We were talking about sensitive information. Things that shouldn't be talked about unless he intended on hiring me as his nanny. But I could tell he wanted someone to talk to. Someone who was knowledgeable on what to do. This beautiful, sexy man was overwhelmed and out of his element, and he needed help.
If anything, so he could continue to grieve the way he needed to.
“Miss Lewis.”
“Yes?” I asked.
“How soon can you start?” he asked.
I tried to hold back a smile as I drew in a deep breath.
“How does tomorrow morning sound?” I asked.
He reached around behind him and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. I watched him jot something down before he handed it to me. I opened the paper and saw a very large sum of money on it. I tried to keep my cool as the figure ran around in my head.
This man was offering me six figures to watch his children?
“Is that fair?” Carter asked.
“It’s, um… more than fair,” I said.
“My kids are rambunctious.”
“Welcome to having three kids under the age of seven,” I said.
“I’ll need you at this address at six in the morning,” he said as he handed me another sheet of paper. “You’ll be responsible for getting them up, dressed, fed, and off to school. I have files on the three of them I’ll lay out for you on the counter. If you want to come early and read through them before they wake up, be my guest.”
“Okay,” I said.
“There will be a spare key in the mailbox. That key is yours. For now, you won’t be working weekends, but you will be on-call. My company’s in the middle of a massive merger, so there will be times I’ll need you as promptly as I can get you.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
“Whatever you feel is required in terms of their schedules is fine with me. You seem qualified to do that sort of thing.”
“It is my degree,” I said.
“See you in the morning,” he said.
Then I was dismissed with the flick of his wrist.