Page 59 of Never Bargain with the Boss
That’s another thing I wish I could get out of. Somehow, I got roped into chaperoning too. Apparently, they’re always short-handed and Grace volunteered me as back-up. Which also irritated Cameron, bringing back that tic in his cheek, but neither of us were capable of telling her no when she reminded us that Hannah would be at the dance and though things are going well with Bella and Trinity, she’s nervous about Hannah pulling some sort of stunt. Grace proclaimed that she needed all the hype squad she could get, which of course included me.
So yeah, I’m getting my nails done—with an intimidating group of women—and going to a dance—with a man who basically doesn’t want to be around me. Whoopee!
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world,” I tell Grace, wishing I weren’t lying. I would happily skip this whole shebang for a fun-size Snickers bar. And everyone knows there’s nothing fun-size about mini-candy. Full-size all the way, or even better, king-size.
Grace opens the salon door, walking in before me, so she doesn’t see me freeze in place when faced with the firing squad inside. Thankfully, I find Janey’s friendly face first or I’d probably make a mad dash for the car and peel out of here. Because the rest of them? They’re eyeballing me like I’m an alien invader, which brings back all sorts of memories of being the ‘new kid’ at school and in foster homes. I steel my spine and plaster a smile on my face, giving myself a practiced appearance of friendliness while reminding my racing heart that this is just another opportunity to meet new people.
The oldest of the women steps forward, her hand extended. “You must be Riley. I’m Miranda, Cameron’s mother.” She looks chic and elegant, and her smile is warm and welcoming as I shake her hand. “Here, let me take your coat.”
This isn’t her salon, but she’s the epitome of a hostess, instantly wanting to make sure I’m comfortable. Or maybe hoping I won’t escape into the chilly day outside if I’m risking pneumonia. I decide to assume the former and make the instant choice that I like Miranda Harrington, but I haven’t decided whether I’m staying. Yet. Even so, I slip off my coat and hand it to her, letting her put it on the rack by the door.
“Let me introduce you to everyone,” she insists, pulling me into the salon… and further away from the door. “This is Kayla, Cameron’s sister.” She didn’t have to tell me that. Kayla is a taller, younger version of Miranda, and the Harrington family resemblance is unmistakable.
“Given everything I’ve heard, I have beeneagerlywaiting to meet you.” The statement would give me nervous bubble guts, except her voice is nearly a purr and she makes it quite obvious that she’s heard only good things. Probably from Grace and Janey, and definitely not from Cameron, I’d bet.
“And Luna. She’s married to Carter.” Luna waves at me with both hands at once, making the bun on top of her head bounce around, her large, moony eyes swimming cutely behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She feels like bottled soda—happy, bubbly, and ready to explode—and I get the feeling that if I opened my arms, she’d jump right into them for a hug.
“Samantha, married to Chance.” The dark-haired beauty purses her lips against a smile, her eyes dripping over me, and I feel woefully underdressed in my jeans and flannel next to her slacks and cashmere sweater. But she’s hugging an excited Grace with a comfort and ease that speaks to their familiarity, so she can’t be all elegance.
“I can see it. Opposites attract and all,” she says cryptically, making me feel like there’s been a whole conversation about me that I’m not privy to.
“You know Janey, of course. And Dani, married to my youngest, Kyle.” Dani looks as uncomfortable being here as I do, and I appreciate her kindred spirit almost as much as the hug Janey forces on me.
“They’re a lot, but in a good way,” Janey whispers in my ear before letting me go.
“I’m getting baby blue,” Grace exclaims, cutting any further greetings short. Her head spins left and right until she finds me. “Do you want to do the same color with me? It’d be so fun! We can be twinsies!”
“Uhm, sure,” I tell her. She cheers in excitement and then starts picking up bottles of polish, comparing colors. As I stare at her back, hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Grace wants us to have matching nails. It’s seemingly such a little thing, but it’s an important thing for girls. A symbol of friendship. I’ve never had matching nails with anyone, ever.
Miranda’s instantly at my side, her hand rubbing on the center of my back soothingly. “She talks about you non-stop, you know?” My eyes can’t hide my surprise, and Miranda nods. I know Grace texts with her grandmother, but figured it was mostly the same daily updates she gives everyone. “You’ve made quite the impression on her. I’m glad to see the affection goes both ways.”
Not sure how to put into words what I feel, I nod woodenly. I’ve been a nanny for a long time and cared deeply for the families I worked for. But Grace is different. Cameron is different. I think the woman at my side might have something to do with that. Miranda Harrington is different too.
“Come on, then, sounds like you’re going blue today.” She gives me a kind smile and ushers me past the rest of the women, and though I was nervous about how they would feel about my invading their family day, it seems Grace’s words andMiranda’s welcome have made them all accept me instantly and completely.
Before I know it, we’re all sitting at nail stations, getting pampered and prettied, and somehow, Grace manages to talk all of us into getting baby blue. Even Miranda, who keeps looking at her nails and laughing airily. Apparently, she usually sticks to a classic French manicure, so this is quite unusual for her. Once we’re all polished, we circle up, putting our hands in the middle, to take a picture from above to showcase our matching nails.
I’ve entered new schools, new houses, and new families countless times in my life, and never have I felt so instantly a part of something. I inhale deeply, the scents of nail polish and cucumber filling my nostrils, but more importantly, filled with a striking sense of belonging. Today is already a good day, and we haven’t even gone to lunch yet.
“You made Cameron—thetall, cold, robot asshole guy?” Samantha holds up a hand to indicate how tall Cameron is and then perfectly imitates Cameron’s scowl to make sure we’re talking about the same man, “Race through a corn maze, pose with a scarecrow, and drive” —she looks at Grace’s outstretched phone as if she doesn’t believe what’s right in front of her eyes— “an actual tractor?”
I nod with a wide grin, looking around the tableful of women who are staring at me in awe like I did something unbelievable. “Well, I didn’t make him, so much as encourage him to let his hair down and have a little fun.” I dramatically flick my hair over my shoulder like Cameron could do that despite his hair being perfectly trimmed and coifed at all times. “And he didn’t actuallydrive the tractor. They just let him sit behind the wheel and pretend for a picture.”
“Important distinction.” Kayla laughs, obviously disagreeing that it matters at all.
“Yeah, and she got Dad to go thrift shopping, do a fashion show with these awful pants, and he even sang karaoke around the kitchen while we made… what was that steak roll-up thing called?” Grace cuts dancing eyes to me. She’s been downright thrilled to tell everyone the silly, fun, outrageous things we’ve done over the last few weeks and is giggling as she watches their shocked reactions.
“A roulade.”
“Cameron sings?” Miranda asks, barely believing the words she’s hearing. “I haven’t heard him sing since he was probably four years old, not evenHappy Birthday.”
Grinning, I drawl out, “No one said he sang well.” I glance around quickly to make sure they know I’m only kidding, and the whole table bursts into laughter.
Still catching her breath from laughing so hard, Miranda gasps out, “Oh, my goodness, you are a delight, dear.”
“Yeah, Cam needs a woman who’ll call him on his bullshit.” Kayla’s declaration makes it sound like we’re much more than boss-nanny, and though I wish that were the case, it’s very much not and I feel like I need to correct her so there’s no misunderstanding.
“I wouldn’t go that far. Don’t want to get fired.” I force a teasing brightness to my voice so they know I’m okay with our employment status.