Page 50 of Nanny for the Firefighters

Actually, I don't need any of it to survive now. My roof is paid for. My food. My internet. Other than clothes and hair care products, and maybe a few apps on my phone, I don't buy anything for myself.

Anyway, that wasn't something I had to go searching for. Marcus freely told me about it the second time she showed up at the manor unannounced. The time I begged him to change the damn locks. And he did.

Oh, the fit she threw over that one—all mock concern about being free to come see her baby, even though I haven't seen her reach for Lily once during any of her visits. The poor girl is usually crying in my arms the entire time her mother is in the house. At least she hasn't shown up when I'm home alone. Probably because I can't grant her any more money.

She doesn't like my being here, though. That much is obvious. I try not to relish in making her lies more difficult. In fact, all of the men have been there. I didn't realize they all lived so close by, but our current circumstances mean they're here a lot more often.

I hope that crams a hair right up her ass.

However, none of that specifically has me out tonight. Online data can only get me so far if I don't know what to look for. I need more information, so I use one of her Insta posts to track her up along the coast. The bar is high-end enough that if I were still scrimping and saving to pay rent, I wouldn't be able to afford the single finger of bourbon from the bottom shelf.

Seeing as I can afford it, thanks to Marcus's generosity—and I do see the irony in that—I get a lone serving of mid-shelf Knob Creek. The nutty flavors mixed with pepper and tobacco, ending with a vanilla caramel note, tempt me into more, but I'm driving myself tonight, and I don't need another.

Vanessa's low-cut, red cocktail dress is getting her the attention she craves, lots of compliments that have her flashing that fake smile and fluttering her false lashes. And lots of free drinks, too. Top-shelf liquor for this delicate flower's martini.

I've snapped a few pictures of her with various men, accepting a shitload of drinks and dancing at the center of a circle of men. While she's suitably occupied, I take the chance to investigate her car out in the back lot. Twisting and tucking my hair under a hat, I slide through the employee entrance off the back by a set of bathrooms. No one's lingering, so it's easy to sneak through.

The parking lot is much less busy now than when I arrived, so locating her flashy red BMW is easy. Inside is littered with valuable items that any other parking lot might tempt a thief to break her windows. The gates help keep honest people honest, and the security guards already are easy enough to fool since my car is also somewhere in this lot.

Our cars are on opposite ends, but as long as I'm confident, no one will question me too much. It's what's always gotten me through tense situations. I dangle my purse from a finger before dropping it behind the back driver's side wheel. I have a tracker up my sleeve—literally—and it takes me seconds to attach it to the undercarriage before I stand and wipe my hands off on the back of my skirt.

A light hits me in the face, and I squint at it, blocking the glare with one arm. "Hey, what are you doing over there?"

I stumble, faking inebriation. "Looking for my car. This isn't it."

"Do you have a tag?"

I do, so I open my purse to riffle for it, although I neatly tucked it in the side pocket the moment I parked. Brandishing it a minute later, I hold it up like a winning ticket. The guard lowers the light and waves me forward.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Only a couple, but I didn't have any… anything to eat."

The guard, dressed in a suit that costs more than a month's rent, peers at me for a few tense seconds before he examines my tag again. "You shouldn't drive."

I slap his shoulder playfully and lean in. "I don't plan on it. I just needed my other credit card."

"And you left that in your car?"

"Locked in a box in my boot." I giggle then cover my mouth, like I spilled a deep secret. "But don't go telling anyone."

"Your property is safe, ma'am."

"Oh, ouch. Ma'am."

That finally cracks a smile on the overly stoic guard, and he points to the opposite side of the lot. "Your car is over there. Third row from the back."

"Mmm, that's right. Left on the way in. Not on the way out."

"Go on and dig your card out, then go in and order some pasta or rice. They'll help with the alcohol."

"Okay." I spin a little too hard and take a few odd steps before I recover, find my car, and dig in my trunk. I actually pull out my laptop and connect with the tracker, turning it on and checking that it works before I close up. Producing the one credit card I already have in my bag, I hold it up like I'd found a prize and saunter back to the guard.

"Go on and have a good night, Miss." He opens the back door for me and waves me inside.

"Now, that's better. Thank you."

Once the door closes behind me, I stop the act and walk back to my corner. I order a second drink once I locate Vanessa grinding between two men. Doesn't she realize that this isn't the kind of establishment for those moves? Other women glare at her from around the room, noticing her obvious lack of class.