The Sassy Nanny Dilemma: Practically Perfect Nannies Read online

  The Sassy Nanny Dilemma

  Practically Perfect Nannies

  Elizabeth SaFleur

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  Copyright ©2022 by Elizabeth SaFleur. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

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  Elizabeth SaFleur LLC

  PO Box 6395

  Charlottesville, VA 22906

  [email protected]

  www.ElizabethSaFleur.com

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  Edited by Trenda Lundin, Chas Patrick

  Cover design by Brown Lady Pub

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  ISBN: 978-1-949076-42-4

  Thank you to all the readers who shared their great parenting advice and “hacks” with me as I was writing this story: P Workman, Steve Hedges, Celina Stone, Sue Philips, Maretha, Dani Bartolotta, Julie Touchstone, Donna Stapleton, Debi Rayne, Bénédicte, Nicki, Timothea Pratt, Janice Packard, Lillian Kazmierczak, Melani Bannister, Pam Raver, Patti Dinger. Sorry if I missed anyone!

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  Adelaide thanks you, too!

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Also by Elizabeth SaFleur

  About the Author

  Keep in touch with Elizabeth!

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  XO,

  Elizabeth

  1

  Adelaide held up her lifeguard certification paper against the light and studied the dusty footprint across it. Ashton Scott had enormous feet—like, seriously, a size fifteen or maybe even a sixteen. They matched his booming voice cutting through Mrs. Dexter’s closed office door—a door she was walking through when he’d elbowed his way inside.

  Before she could say a word, he’d thrust a child her way, spouting, “Watch her,” and, “Five minutes,” and, “Thank you,” before shutting her out of the office.

  The little girl squeezed Addy’s hand. “Sorry my daddy got your paperwork dirty.”

  She smiled down at her. “A little dirt never killed anyone.”

  “I’m not allowed to get dirty.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “But sometimes, I do.” She lowered her voice. “By mistake.”

  “That’s what soap and water are for.” Addy winked. “They need a job, too, ya’ know.”

  Her dimples deepened as she smiled up at Addy, which only made the moppet more frickin’ adorable.

  She had dark hair and Ash’s ice blue eyes—blue eyes that fired when he honed in on her Practically Perfect Nannies T-shirt and left his daughter with her.

  So bossy. Still hot. And a father, of all things. He also clearly didn’t recognize Addy—at all.

  How was he back in little old Moorsville anyway? She’d missed all the good gossip during her three months in the North Carolina Outer Banks with a family that, quite frankly, did not appreciate her as they should have. Three kids under the age of seven, plus beach sand? No wonder their mother put vodka in her orange juice every morning.

  Addy was going to kill her sister Scarlett for holding out that Ashton Scott, the famous attorney to A-list celebrities, returned to his hometown—their hometown. The sister code demanded that kind of dish was shared immediately.

  Another long string of words—“…inexcusable, indefensible, you will fix this…”—boomed in the man’s deep baritone from behind the door.

  Addy winced, and her certificate crinkled in her hand. He had a voice that could wake his ancestors. “He doesn’t sound too happy in there. I guess he didn’t like your last nanny?”

  The little girl took Addy’s hand again and swung her arm back and forth, taking Addy’s with her. “I dunno.”

  Addy freed her hand, shoved the certificate back into her folder, and left it on the waiting room chair. She retrieved something far more important—the bag holding the best pie on the planet.

  Lordy, let there be no damage from when she dropped it. Or rather, when cranky-but-gorgeous Ash muscled his way past her causing her to drop the bag. Mrs. Dexter loved her sweets, and Addy needed all the goodwill from her boss she could get today.

  She dropped down to a crouch. “What’s your name?”

  The little girl held out her hand for a handshake. “Maribelle Louisa Scott.”

  Addy’s hand engulfed hers. “So, Maribelle Louisa Scott, do you have a nickname?”

  “That child.”

  Ouch. A deep, sharp pain arrowed straight through her heart. “We’re going to have to come up with something better than that. How about…” She tapped her finger on her lips. “Princess Maribelle?”

  Maribelle sucked in a breath and her little rosebud lips dropped to an ‘O.’ She snapped them shut and cocked her head. “Can I be a queen?”

  This was her kind of child. “Nice to meet you, Queen Maribelle.”

  Addy rose and peered at the folders lined up on the receptionist’s desk. Terrie was so sloppy, leaving them out. She was probably on one of her two-hour lunch breaks. So, Addy wouldn’t feel bad about what she was about to do—take a quick peek at Maribelle Louisa Scott’s intake form.

  A quick scan revealed no food allergies, special diets, or health issues for her. Something called the Genius Kid’s Diet was listed. “Excellent.” The brain needed glucose. So, universal permission granted.

  Addy looked down at Maribelle. “You like pie?” She should have brought more than two pieces, but she could beg for a second chance from Mrs. Dexter sugarless. Queen Maribelle needed a pick-me-up.

  Maribelle peered over the edge of the bag. “Never had it.” She lifted her incredibly dark eyelashes. “I usually get an apple for dessert.”

  “What? Never had pie?” Who was this child? And why were they torturing her? “Well, no time like the present. Yummy cherry or…” She lifted out the paper cone holding the blueberry. “Yummy blueberry?” Both were fruit, after all.

  Maribelle assessed the cherry and wrinkled her nose. She pointed at the blueberry one.

  Adelaide placed the paper cone that held the pie piece between Maribelle’s little hands. “Let me guess, you’re, what, sixteen? Seventeen? Almost ready for college?”

  The little girl giggled. “I’m six years, four months, and three days old.” She took a big swipe of the blueberry filling with her tongue. Her baby cheeks dimpled again. She opened her mouth wide and bit into the pie, instantly coating her chin and nose with dark purple filling. “Mmm. Shank you.”

  Crumbs blew out of her mouth, dusting the front of her white apron. Maribelle’s wardrobe was another thing that did not compute about this whole scenario. She wore a little blue dress with ruffles on the hem and a white apron on top like Alice in Wonderland—like a doll.

  “You are so welcome.” Addy took a small bite of the cherry. Once the pie was out of the bag, it demanded worship.

  “Do you want to be my new nanny?” Maribelle took another bite. “We just moved here. From New York.”

  “We’ll see.” She’d hoped to be someone’s nanny—provided Practically Perfect Nannies didn’t fire her.

  It was not her fault Mr. Emerson got a face full of flour. It was the closest thing she could reach when he backed her up into the pantry.

  Addy took another bite of the cherry. “So, New York. That’s exciting.”

  “Yep. And Daddy’s throwing a big party tonight.” Maribelle’s little curls bounced everywhere as she took another bite of pie. “Cook says he’s a big fish.”

  A chortle flew from Addy’s mouth. “Fish, h
uh? And let’s not talk with our mouth full.”

  Addy studied the little girl. She knew one day Ashton Scott would do great things—far away from here. But when she saw his picture splashed on the cover of Forbes last year, she’d never guessed he would ever have a child. The headline, ‘The Exalted One,’ didn’t exactly speak to runny noses and playdates. Guys like him went out with supermodels and sewed condoms onto their dicks to ensure pregnancies were off the gold-digger menu.

  Addy pointed at her T-shirt and the black outline of a woman holding an umbrella. “You think he wants someone practically perfect?”

  Maribelle gave off a cute little snort and swallowed. “Daddy says no one is perfect. But say you have an em-bee-yay. That’s what everyone tells him.”

  An MBA, huh?

  The door cracked open, and Addy shot to standing.

  Ash stopped short in the doorway, filling it—like, his head nearly hit the top of the door opening. “I’ll just have someone from New York fly down,” he grumbled.

  His nostrils flared at seeing her. His gaze alone must freeze his legal opponents’ nuts right off.

  He gazed quickly down at Maribelle and then back up at Addy. “Thank you for watching Maribelle.”

  “Daddy, Adelaide can be my new nanny.” She bounced up and down. “I got pie!”

  He straightened his suit and honed his gaze on Addy. Oh, yeah, the magazine cover did not do this man justice one bit. No wonder Maribelle was blessed in the genes department.

  Addy dropped her pie into the bag, dusted her hands on her jeans, and jutted out her hand. “Hi. Adelaide Bloom. So, I understand you might need someone and right away?” He probably was someone who appreciated efficiency.

  His head cocked at hearing her name. Maybe he did remember their one and only brief encounter?

  He returned her handshake. “Ashton Scott. Maribelle, let’s go.”

  Okay, he hadn’t a clue who she was. “Maribelle tells me you’re looking for a new nanny.”

  Mrs. Dexter darted out of her office. “Mr. Scott, no need to bring someone in from the New York office. Adelaide was who I was waiting for—as a stand-in for this evening. You wouldn’t want to cancel your party over this little glitch.”

  “Little?”

  Oh, yes, his eyes had nut-freezing abilities, alright. Like a male model staring at you from a high-end business suit ad. She prayed her panties wouldn’t slide right down to her feet.

  Mrs. Dexter’s eyes widened at Addy. “Adelaide, you just got back in town?”

  Addy knew exactly what her eye bulge transmitted: You’re not fired yet… so long as you play along.

  “Sure did.” And, really, it was not her fault she was back. Mrs. Emerson was as insecure as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs and was convinced Adelaide lured her husband to their pantry. But it was Addy’s word against hers—the story of her life.

  She hooked her arm in Mrs. Dexter’s. “All sorted out with the Emersons. Back to being available.” Janet Emerson was probably filing for divorce right now, but good riddance. “Mr. Scott, I just met Maribelle. She’s wonderful. We can have our own little party tonight. Isn’t that right, Maribelle?”

  She jumped up and down and a glob of blueberry landed on her shoe. “With pie.”

  Ash eyed Addy. “My daughter doesn’t eat… pie.” An honest-to-God sniff came out on the word “pie.”

  Maribelle took another huge bite. “It’s weally goof.”

  His eyes sliced to Addy’s hand, still holding the paper bag. She lifted it up to him. “Want some? The cherry will rock your world. Peppermint Sweet is the most amazing bakeshop. You probably know all about it since it’s down the street—”

  “No.” He waved the bag away. “Good day, ladies.”

  Maribelle swallowed fast and gazed quickly up at Addy. “Em-bee-yay.”

  A crack in Ash’s steel face formed. His lips formed a small smile which he beamed down at Maribelle, and his eyes shone with pride.

  A tell-tale pang went off in Addy’s heart. It was the twinge she always waited for when assessing a family dynamic. Did they love their kids? Were the kids happy? But did this family need her?

  Clearly, he loved his little girl, and Maribelle knew it by the way she smiled up at him. She seemed happy. But her father’s understanding of six-year-olds? Not allowed to get dirty? Ha!

  Addy was perfect for them. Bringing normalcy to parents obsessed with being perfect themselves was her specialty.

  Not only that, being able to nanny for the Ashton Scott? He was Grumpy McGrumpy, but working for him would look great on her resumé.

  She had to act quickly. “I don’t have an MBA, but I do have all the necessary certifications.” She grabbed her folder that held her resumé and her updated lifeguard certification. At least something good came out of her three-month stay in the Outer Banks.

  She handed him her folder. “I’m just back from working with a family. Beach all summer. I can get sand out of places you don’t want to know about. Baby powder. Does the trick every time. And I love kids.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Well, that would be a prerequisite, don’t you think?” He opened her folder.

  “Yes, of course.” This man was going to play hardball, wasn’t he? “Mrs. Dexter, perhaps the Gerard family could get someone else? I realize it’s last minute and all…”

  Mrs. Dexter’s brows furrowed. Okay, it was a little lie. No Gerard family waited with open arms for Adelaide Bloom. Most families had secured their nannies long ago for the upcoming school term, but a Big Fish required a little reeling in—mostly with some good, old-fashioned FOMO.

  She pointed to her certification paper on top. “That’s my recently renewed lifeguard certification. I can pull a grown man out of a riptide…” she snapped her fingers, “…like that. I once even punched a fish.”

  He peered up at her. “And why would you do that?”

  “It got too close to one of my kids when I was with a family in St. Martin.” Addy smiled down at Maribelle. “And it was a very big fish.” She glanced back at the big fish standing in front of her. “Huge. Like that.” She pointed at his footprint on her certification.

  “My apologies for…” He waved his hand over his foot stamp. “This.”

  “Yes, I understand getting dirty isn’t acceptable.”

  Maribelle wiped her little hand on her apron, smearing it with blueberry drippings, as per the six-year-old code. Who puts a child in white anyway?

  He sighed. “Your resumé says you’re a relief nanny.”

  “Technically. It means I swoop in and relieve the main nanny. It’s how I preferred it. But Mrs. Dexter and I were meeting about my next placement. It’s time for a more permanent role. In fact, didn’t you say there were two families in need?”

  Also, technically true.

  One of the families was her. Not her smartest move to give up her lease on her apartment when she was placed with the Emersons—her first real, full-time gig. Sleeping on her sister’s couch was like sleeping on a patchouli-soaked sack of potatoes.

  The second family was standing with her in the hallway—one very pissed-off Big Fish and a moppet in a tragic little outfit doing a damned fine job devouring pie as if she instinctively knew it’d be snatched from her any second.

  “Mr. Scott.” Mrs. Dexter stepped forward. “Adelaide is quite… popular.”