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Defensively, I straighten up. A pang of nerves shoots through me at the idea that he can see something’s wrong at all.
Haven’t I worked hard enough to hide it?
I decide to divert the question. He doesn’t answer mine, anyway, and he’s the last person I want to confess my woes too.
“Why do you keep your kid a secret?”
He nods. “Touché.”
I let my glare fall from my face. I suppose there’s only one way to make sure I don’t go back to the Hamptons feeling as bleak as when I left. While we’re having a somewhat civil conversation, it might be worth trying to change his mind about me.
Yes, I’m that desperate to get money, and he’s clearly desperate for a decent nanny. At least this way, I know who I’m working with. I know he can’t screw me over without losing his best friend. I know he’s good for a decent wage — he could probably afford to make me the best-paid nanny in NYC, if not America.
There is something infinitely less terrifying about Roman and his unhidden arrogance than most of the people I’ve worked with. They all started off kind and welcoming only to put me through hell in the end.
I need this, I realize. As much as I hate it, I need this job.
“Look, I’m a good employee and I’m passionate about leaving kids’ lives better than when I started. If you give me a chance, I think we could figure this out.”
Steadily, he sits back down again, his expression inscrutable and his gaze unwavering. “You would like to work for me?”
“I would like to work. The ‘for you’ part is just an unfortunate consequence of that.”
“Insulting me isn’t going to get you a job.”
“You love it when I insult you,” I point out. “I’m the only one brave enough to do it. Keeps your otherwise perfect life a little interesting, doesn’t it?”
He doesn’t deny it; instead, he shoots me a lazy smile that flips something deep in the pit of my stomach. “Even so, I couldn’t hire you. It would be wildly unprofessional after the incident last week.”
The incident.Is that what we’re calling it now?
It sounds like some awful catastrophe rather than a heated, pleasurable, albeit stupid moment between two consenting, if not slightly chaotic, adults. I prefer my title.
“The Make-out of Regret was a mistake that will never happen again. I can guarantee you that.” I make my distaste for him clear just in case he starts thinking I’d ever want to kiss him again. Which I absolutely do not.
I don’t think.
Okay, fine. I did enjoy it, and perhaps I’ve used it as a nice little way of getting myself off when I haven’t been able to sleep, but that’s where it ends. I’m not foolish enough to jump into his arms again. It was a one-time thing, purely fueled by my petty need for revenge. Nothing more, nothing less.
“I’m a professional. I have five years of full-time work experience and I started baby-sitting when I was sixteen. I have an M.A. in early childhood education.” I take the leather manila folder from my purse and slide it across the table, disrupting the mugs on their saucers. “Here’s my resumé. I doubt you’ll find a more qualified woman for the job. Brandon mentioned your child is four.”
He nods sharply, opening the folder to scan my list of qualifications and experience.
“That’s a complicated age. I’d imagine you’re looking for somebody to prepare them for kindergarten and full-time schooling. I’m able to offer tutoring hours that benefitted my previous clients immensely, and we can also chat about any personal needs you may have.”
Something flames across his face, and my mouth goes dry. “Personal needs” may have sounded a little too much like I was offering myself up again. I should be insulted, but I suppose I’ve earned it after throwing myself at him.
I try to brush over it quickly. “In regards to your child, work hours, and such, I mean.”
“I’m not questioning your abilities, Madison?—"
“Good. You shouldn’t. I’m good at my job, Roman. Taking care of children is the only time I really feel like myself. I hope that you can be professional enough to judge me for my talents rather than the mistake I made with you.”
After a final readthrough, he closes the folder hesitantly. “My son is energetic but also sensitive. I’m looking for somebody who’s able to become a long-term fixture in his life. I’m not sure that would be beneficial for either of us.”
The idea of working with Roman long-term is enough to set my teeth on edge, but I paste on a tight smile. “Perhaps not, but it would be beneficial for him. I’m willing to go above and beyond for him. Whatever it takes.”
Moments of silence pass between us, broken only by the sound of milk being steamed behind the counter. My stomach wriggles with unease as I wait for the rejection. I almost regret trying so hard: it will only make it worse when he says no.
