Connery.

I should've known the second I learned his name. A white man in a suit with a rosy face and a winning smile, named Connery. Of course, he was a douchebag, only I should've realized sooner he was more than that— something I couldn't say in front of the kids if I wanted to set a good example.

He hadn't been heartbroken like the neighborhood persisted, he'd been looking for an out and he found one, leaving his wife with the mess. And for some reason, Elizabeth was claiming the clutter like she alone was responsible for it.

The next morning in the car, Manon kept asking me if I was okay, rolling her eyes whenever I said 'yes', and I sighed in relief when I pulled away from the school, three kids lighter. I hadn't seen Elizabeth yet; she'd left for work before I'd even started making breakfast, so that gave me some time to devise a battle plan, as Manon would call it. Obviously, Elizabeth wasn't the sort of woman who appreciated having been seen as a total wreck, and she was either going to yell at me for it or give me the silent treatment.

Whenever Lennox and I had had a fight, I would go all out — pick bouquets of wildflowers, order chocolate spelling 'sorry', blasting her favorite songs. That sort of thing. With my brothers, I just let them hit me, and we'd be okay again, and with friends, I'd send a series of funny gifs until I'd get one back.

I didn't think any of those things were going to work on Elizabeth, though. I didn't even know what music she liked, and I wasn't sure if I'd survive being punched by her, nor did I deserve it. As for the gifs, well, I might as well take my exit now.

I entered the hallway, dumping my keys next to the bowl on the coffee table, something that annoyed the crap out of Elizabeth, and shrugged off my coat. Before I could do anything, though, there was the familiar clicking of heels — oh, shit.

Elizabeth was all but charging at me, her dark brows arched as her brown eyes burned me down at the spot, her hair trailing behind her, bouncing up and down in time with her steps. It was a pantsuit kind of day, her shirt buttoned up all the way, and I realized it was the same one she'd worn when we first met. "You!" she spat, coming to a standstill right in front of me, closer than necessary.

If she was trying to intimidate me, it worked. I stumbled backward, only she just stepped forward again. "Me?" It barely came out.

"Yes, you!" Her voice echoed between the walls, even though she wasn't exactly shouting.

I forced myself to look at her directly. She wasn't scary. Not really. No matter how many snide remarks she was going to send my way, there was no denying that in the end, she was just broken. "Is this about last night?" I asked, trying to sound unaffected. So much for a battle plan. "Why are you even home?"

She scoffed and threw her hair over her shoulder, almost hitting me in the face with it, enveloping me in a cloud of spicy shampoo. Her lips were trembling, her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You tell me," she said. "I was on my way to work when my boss called, telling me to stay home today. Do you know why?"

"Err—"

But apparently, she didn't need me to answer that question. "He was afraid I might be contagious. Any idea why he would think I'm sick, Jessie?"

It was never a good sign when she said my name like that. I tried not to crumble under her stare, squirming in place, wondering if I should just confess. She raised an eyebrow at me, and suddenly, I was strangely aware of how close she was — damn, that shampoo did smell great. Exactly like her personality. "I had to get them out of the house! Elizabeth, that witch of a woman was sucking up to Manon. I couldn't just let her have her way." When she pressed her lips together, forming a thin line, I added: "You forbade me to tell the truth. So, I told them you had a fever. It worked. How was I to know it'd get back to your boss?"

I conveniently let out the part where I'd taken Celeste aside to warn her never to return, mainly because that hadn't worked out the way I'd hoped. She'd smirked at me, glancing at the rainbow bracelet Ari had braided me, and told me, in an irritatingly knowing voice: "Spare your energy. Liz isn't into women." Before I'd been able to figure out what she was getting at, she'd gone, leaving me with flaming red cheeks.

Abruptly, Elizabeth turned around, storming off in the direction of her office. She glared at me over her shoulder, snapping her fingers, and even though this was not the moment for it, it was hard not to notice how great her butt looked in those pants. "Follow me!"

Or maybe it was. Because it might very well be the last time I'd be able to check her out, judging by the way she led me to her office, digging up a stack of papers from her desk drawer. I recognized them immediately.

My nanny contract.

She glanced up again, her eyes hard and unrelenting. "You're fired."

It should've been devastating. I messed up another job, one I actually loved, and I was going to have to move back in with my brother. But she was forgetting one thing — she'd let down her walls, even if it had only been for half an hour, and I knew this whole ice queen attitude was just for show.

So, instead of breaking, I walked around the desk and, listening to my Jessie-instinct, promptly sat down on top of my contract.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Something very stupid," I said, flashing her a grin. She snorted, obviously agreeing, though it wasn't her turn to talk yet. "You know what I think?"

"I think you're not thinking at all—"

"You're afraid."

The corner of her lips twitched menacingly. "Of what?"

"Of me."

She let out a disbelieving laugh. "Excuse me?"

"You like me. And for some reason, that scares the crap out of you."

This time, her eyes went wide, her arms dropping down to her sides. She glanced at the contract jammed underneath my butt, and for a second, I was sure she was going to yank it from underneath me. "I'm not gay," she said then, almost like I'd offended her.

"That's not what I meant."

She took a deep breath and, surprising me, grasped the corner of the contract. That meant she was incredibly close to me, again — no, not a good idea to admire her right now or otherwise pay attention to her arm brushing past me. What was wrong with me? "Move," she commanded, her face so near to mine I could feel her warm breath, smelling like coffee with too much milk in it.

"No. I didn't do anything that gives you any reason to lay me off, and you know it."

Without warning, she tugged at the papers, upsetting my balance and almost making me tumble down. I yelped, grabbing the corner of her desk and managing to stay put. Good thing the kids were at school, or they would've screeched in glee witnessing our childish interaction.

"The girls need someone more conventional," Elizabeth said through her teeth, staring at me in a way that was supposed to scare me.

I didn't dare to cross my arms, but I did my best to look as sarcastic as she could be, willing my eyebrows to lift. "Well, hello, Mrs. Miller," I said, considering poking her in the chest and thankfully stopping myself before I could sign my death sentence.

"Don't call me that!" Now she was yelling, for real, causing me to jump. Although she'd put some distance between us, her hands were clenched into fists, and her face was reddening, making her more intimidating than she'd been so far.

"I'm sorry!" I jumped off, panic shooting through my veins. It was supposed to be a dig at Connery's mother, and I had stupidly forgotten it must've been her name too back when they were married. Up until then, unexpected bravery had helped me go against her — it was gone now, especially with her eyes shooting daggers at me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it."

"Oh, but you did."

Did I imagine it, or had there been a tinge of hurt underneath that searing accusation? She was tapping her finger to her arm impatiently, and it surprised me she hadn't made another beehive for the contract.

"No, I didn't." I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Because no matter how often you criticize my err— nanny methods, you still let me get away with them. And you don't force me to wear a uniform." Momentarily distracted, I took in the pantsuit again. "Plus, you have way better style."

"You can compliment me all you want; I'm still firing you."

"No, you're not."

I was really testing her limits. She was flexing her fingers like she was imagining picking up the contract and tearing it to shreds. "What about 'you're fired' don't you understand? Do I need to write it down for you? — Oh, wait." There was a cruel curl to her lips, and it stung.

Still, I managed to shrug it off, taking a deep breath. She was choosing to hurt me deliberately, hoping it'd get rid of me, and I wasn't going to grant her the satisfaction. "Look," I said, "if you want to pretend last night never happened, that's fine. If you don't want me to tell the truth to Manon, fine. That's your choice. I won't say a word and will continue to keep up the stupid lie that you were the one to cheat and wreck the marriage instead of your useless son of a gun ex-husband. Just don't fire me over this."

She didn't say anything, but her fingers relaxed, a slightly confused tilt to her eyebrows.

That was when it dawned on me. "You don't trust me, do you?"

Even though I could hardly blame her, seeing as how Connery had betrayed her so deeply, it was a bigger blow than the low dig at my reading skills. Surely, she realized I wasn't like him?

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm and collected, even though her hands were tense again. "I know how this works. Once somebody knows, stories like these always come out. It's only a matter of time."

"I don't think so. There must be a good deal of women walking around this city who've had an affair with your ex, and still, everyone thinks—"

"I know what everyone thinks! This is exactly why I can't have you around, with that smug and knowing face of yours, acting like a saint—"

"I'm not smug, and I'm not a saint! I'm just telling it how it is. You don't trust me, you don't trust anyone, you'd rather act all rude than get close to someone—"

She crossed her arms, her voice far from calm now, and spat: "So, now I'm a bitch?"

Ugh! Sometimes, this woman could be really infuriating. I threw my hands in the air, tempted to pull my hair from my skull. "No! Stop twisting my words!"

A scoff. "Come on. That's what you think of me. You didn't even want to work for me at first, remember?"

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly show me your best self, did you, that first day? You were rude to me, you were rude to that poor person on the telephone, you were rude to miss Schneider—"

She leered at me. "If I'm so rude, why don't you let me fire you?"

I had to give it to her. She was absurdly skilled at pushing people away. "Why didn't you trust miss Schneider to look after the kids? She's been here three years; she's helped you take care of Camille when she was a baby —"

"Why are you so determined to think I'm an untrusting bitch?"

I sighed, then swung down my arms in defeat. There was no going against this illogical reasoning. "You know, why do I even bother?" Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was better I'd leave before I'd get so attached to the kids I didn't think I could live without them, like with Nick. I gave her one last look, starting to walk towards the door.

"Back in March," her voice interrupted, a slight tremble to the words, and I turned back, "Ellen fell down the stairs trying to catch Camille, who had gotten away with scissors in her hands. She broke her ankle. I promised her she wouldn't have to look after the kids again."

Oh. That was not what I'd expected. At all.

I stared at her, my feet suddenly heavy. "So, are you still trying to sack me, or are you trying to prove you're not a bitch, as you put it so beautifully?"

Elizabeth slumped down in her chair, elbows on the desk, clutching her head. "I don't get why you don't let me fire you," she murmured. "No one else has ever given so much trouble."

"It's because I care about the kids. I like this job. I like you."

She didn't respond, her eyes closed, almost looking like she'd fallen asleep.

"So, you get snappy and grumpy when you're stressed," I continued. "That's not great, but I can handle it. It's really not an issue for me. The only issue lies with the fact you don't trust me. But I can't fix that." I shrugged. "If you can't trust me, and you can't live with the fact I know you're not a cheater but a decent person, then yeah, maybe I should quit."

She lifted her head. Her hair was slightly messed up, even a little statically charged, and it made her look exhausted. "You know something about me that nobody else knows," she said quietly. "That's hard."

The fact that she admitted that was a major step in the right direction, and my stomach fluttered in delight. Ha. This wasn't over yet. "It's called being friends," I said. "Like in the movie we watched with Manon, remember?" And then, the idea hit me, as suddenly and powerfully as a lightning bolt, and I shouted: "Holy shit, we could do the same!"

"What are you talking about?"

Impatiently, I returned to her, settling myself on the desk again. "The trust test. You did something you found scary; now it's my turn to do something I find scary!" I couldn't contain the large smile on my face, waiting for her reaction. This was ingenious!

"That's ridiculous."

My smile disappeared. "No, it's not. It's called bonding."

She raised an eyebrow at me, although I could've sworn something tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Do you always go to such lengths to try and keep a job?"

"No. But I can't let the kids down."

The something vanished, though she sat up straight, meeting my eyes and taking a deep breath. "Alright, alright. What do you propose we do?"

For a second, I wanted to hug her, not believing she was actually going along with this. "Well, isn't it obvious? I told you what I'm afraid of."

"I don't quite think 'water' is on the same level as what I went through."

"I'm pretty sure it is."

"Unless you almost drowned or saw someone drown, I can hardly think what's so scary about a body of water."

If you asked the kids, they'd probably tell you Jessie was prepared to talk about any topic, no matter how hard. That wasn't true at all, though — I was just good at steering the conversation away from things I absolutely didn't want to discuss. Like this. I tried to keep my face straight, then forced the words out: "How do you think I became disabled?"

She hadn't been expecting that. Her eyes trailed down to my legs, stunned into silence, her lips sealed shut.

"When I was about three," I said, trying to keep my hands from trembling, trying to ignore the memories of salt and water and the blackness, "Uncle Ray and my step-dad took me and my sister out on the lake to fish. They thought I didn't need a life jacket. I fell in. By the time my step-dad got me out... well, the limping is the result. I haven't been on a boat since."

There was a tiny move in my direction, as if she was about to touch me — then, she opened her mouth, closed it, ran a hand through her hair. "Jessie, I'm..." she began, then sighed, standing up and taking the contract. "It's fine. We don't have to do a trust test. You're right. The girls are attached to you. I'm an adult; I should be able to deal with the consequences of my own actions. From now on, just focus on the kids, and stay clear of me, alright?"

"No."

She dropped the contract. "Excuse me?"

I slid from the desk, my thighs accidentally bumping into hers, and I tried not to pay any attention to the flutter in my chest. "You're gonna take me out on your boat. Because I trust you. You wouldn't let me drown."

"Jessie—"

I backed away in the direction of the door, attempting to keep the grin off my face. "Saturday. We'll take the kids. They'll love it."

"But—"

"Saturday. It's a deal."

I almost snickered at the scandalized look on her face as I skipped out of her office.