Never Bargain with the Boss (Never Say Never Book 5)
Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 14

It’s after one when my phone buzzes on the couch beside me. I’m in my room, the television showing reruns of Gilmore Girls that I haven’t been watching and my nails’ new coat of Hubba-Bubba Pink long-since dry. Mostly, I’m staring off into space and trying to figure out why Cameron was so weird at dinner tonight.

Did I overstep by assuming he’d still want to eat together?

Is he worried about Grace spending the night with Hannah?

Has he realized that I’m this close to being like one of those nannies who threw themselves at him, hoping for a ride on that dick of his that I can’t quit staring at now that I know how big it is?

I pick up my phone, a tiny wish that it’ll be a bootie call from downstairs trying to wiggle into my consciousness.

Are you awake?

It’s Cameron. And oh, shit! That tiny wish grows into a full-blown fantasy in a blink, but I choose my response carefully, not wanting to assume too much, too soon.

Yes.

Thank fuck. Grace needs to be picked up from Hannah’s and I can’t go. Could you?

My brows pull together. Why can’t Cameron go? I don’t mind going at all, but it surprises me that he can’t.

Yeah, of course. Is she okay? Address?

Yes? She texted an X, which is our signal for ‘no questions asked, come get me.’

I don’t bother getting dressed. This must be an emergency of some sort or else I wouldn’t be rescuing Grace in the middle of the night. So, in my nightgown and unlaced boots, with my jacket barely half-on, I rush for my car and nearly peel out of the driveway, still programming the address Cameron sent into the GPS.

Fifteen painfully long minutes later, in which I imagine everything from Grace feeling sick and not wanting to puke at a friend’s house to a localized alien attack, I pull up to Hannah’s. The house is large and fancy, not quite on par with Cameron’s, but still bigger than most. I virtually run for the door and quickly knock three times.

A tall, dark-haired man opens the door, looking suspicious at the late-night visitor. “Can I help you?”

“Grace,” I blurt out, trying to see around him. “I’m Riley, her nanny.”

That seems to be explanation enough, because he opens the door, gesturing for me to come in. “The girls are in here. Sorry, I was expecting Grace’s dad.” He clears his throat. “And Bella and Trinity’s moms. I’m R.J., Hannah’s dad.”

I nod, not caring about his middle of the night manners. I need to lay eyes on Grace.

R.J. leads me to the kitchen, where three girls are sitting with glum faces. A blonde woman is worriedly fussing over them. “Are you sure I can’t get you something? Water? A cookie?”

“Grace?” I say, and her head jerks up, her eyes finding me instantly.

“Riley? Where’s Dad?” She looks past me like she expects him to be standing there, but when she sees it’s just me, she licks her lips and bravely nods. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go.” While Grace pulls on her hoodie, I grab her backpack from the floor, leaving the other two lined up, presuming they belong to the other girls. “Uh, thanks,” I say to the mom and dad, who are looking at each other like they did not expect this sleepover to go this way and aren’t sure what to do about it now.

That makes three of us.

In the car, while Grace buckles up, I text Cameron that she’s safe, with me, and we’re on our way back. He sends back a short ‘thanks’ and then Grace’s phone lights up. She holds it up and says, “Dad says he’s not feeling well, but he’s glad I used our signal, and that we can talk in the morning.”

That’s weird. He was fine at dinner. Well, not fine. But not like, sick or anything. “He’s okay,” I reassure Grace. “He was working most of the evening, so maybe he has a headache.” I don’t like to lie to her, but she’s obviously worried about Cameron when both he and I are considerably more worried about her. Well, at least I am. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No,” she says, turning to look out the window.

“Grace, honey, no to which question?” I say, trying to keep calm. “One means I’m going back to Hannah’s and ripping someone’s head off. The other is perfectly acceptable.”

She looks back at me, and I can virtually see her replaying my questions and her answer. She smiles sadly. “Yes, I’m okay. No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

I sigh in relief. “Okay. That I can work with. I’m sorry you had to cut your sleepover short, but I’m glad that you did what you felt was right for you.”

She nods and resumes watching the street lights pass.

I want to ask her so many questions, all of them at once. But I don’t. That’s a sure-fire way to shut her down, and I can see that she’s anxiously processing whatever went down tonight. So I wait, and instead of an interrogation, I offer, “Starbucks is closed, but there’s a 24-hour McDonald’s on the way home. I guarantee their ice cream machine is broken, but we could get some fries?”

Food, especially of the fried variety, is always comforting. And sometimes loosens lips. Grace smiles sheepishly, and I take that as a yes, exiting the highway and ordering two large fries and two medium Cokes at the speaker.

I park in the lot, explaining, “Can’t eat and drive safely. You mind?”

She shakes her head, shoving fries in her mouth, and I do the same. It’s coming. She’s just working her way up to spilling her guts. We’re about halfway through our fries when she says, “Tonight sucked.”

“I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to it, and it sucks when things don’t go the way you thought they would.” Even though I’m desperate to know what happened, I don’t ask, not wanting to scare her off.

She groans, “I thought we were gonna have fun. But all Hannah wanted to do was SnapChat with Liam. And that was fine until she asked him to rate us.”

I choke on my fry and try to wash it down with a swallow of Coke, but nope, that’s not the fry stuck. It’s my shock, caught right in my throat. “She did what?”

“I know, right?” Grace says, a look of disbelief on her face that probably matches mine. “Like I care whether Liam thinks I’m hot or not. I don’t even like him.”

I have enough experience to know that neither of those things are true. The lady doth protest too much, and I’m quite certain Grace cares quite a bit what Liam thinks, because she does like him. And suddenly, I want to hunt down this Liam kid and tell him that if he doesn’t know how awesome Grace is then it’s his loss, because she’s the best there is.

But I might be biased. And thankfully, I don’t say that out loud because Grace is still sharing.

“But when he said I was the hottest of our group, Hannah got mad. She started taking snaps of me looking stupid and sending them to Liam, saying stuff like ‘so hot’ and ‘10 out of 10 for real.’”

“That’s mean.” I use the word intentionally, watering that seed I planted about Hannah because, though I hate it, it’s sounding more and more like I was right.

“Yeah, that’s what I told her. Well, I told her she was being a bitch.” She cringes as she says the curse word, but that’s the least of my concern. Honestly, I’m kinda proud of her, and maybe a bit guilty because I planted that particular seed too.

I give her a small smile. “Good for you. I’m glad you stood up for yourself.”

“Lot of good it did me.” She stares out the window again, watching another car that’s pulled into the drive-thru. “Hannah kept saying stuff, and I was getting so mad. Bella and Trinity were even telling her to stop, but then she started taking pictures of them too. Bella started crying, and it was all…” She sighs heavily, her eyes falling closed and her head hitting the cool window with a thud. “It just sucked.”

“I’m sorry,” I say gently, laying my hand on her shoulder. I wish I could turn back time and make tonight different for her. She sniffles, and the sound goes straight to my heart, but it’s not only pain there. It’s anger on Grace’s behalf. “Want me to beat her up for you?” I ask deadpan. I wouldn’t actually hurt a child, but it does make Grace huff out a tiny laugh, which was my true goal.

“You’d do that?” she answers, a smile trying to lift her lips.

“Anything for you, Gracie girl.” At that, she really does smile, and I think both of us realize it’s the first time I’ve used Cameron’s nickname for her. She seems okay with it, and maybe even more than okay.

I can feel the tethers tying me and her together strengthening.

This job is different. This family is different. Cameron and Grace won’t be as easy to walk away from as all the others have been. Not by a long shot. I’m usually better at protecting my heart, but they’re in there deep in a way I don’t usually allow. To use Grace’s words, it’s gonna suck when I have to go. Because eventually, I will. The job will end, whether it’s because Grace doesn’t need me anymore or I make a fool out of myself with Cameron, but whatever the reason, eventually, it’ll be time for me to move on.

It’s gonna suck. Bad.

“Thanks, Riley.” I think she’s about to take me up on the offer, and I’m gonna have to figure out exactly how far I’m willing to go on Grace’s behalf—like a closed-fist punch is out, but I’d probably be down for a little ‘accidental’ tripping—but she sighs instead. “Can we just go home? I want to sleep for at least the next twelve hours because tomorrow, I’m gonna have to talk to Bella and Trinity.”

“And Hannah?” I question.

“Hannah and Megan, because after all that, she stayed for the sleepover,” she says incredulously. “They were still SnapChatting when we went downstairs.” She rolls her eyes, seeming equally upset with both girls.

“Then let’s go home.”

It’s only four little letters, but calling Cameron’s house ‘home’ does something to me. Home has always been just myself, wherever I was crashing at the time. But pulling up to the ridiculously oversized house ignites a warm spot in my soul that I thought had long been burned out. Not because of the building or its luxurious fixtures that I could do without, but because it feels like the first place I belong.

Grace hauls herself out of the car, her backpack nearly dragging, and she drops it in the foyer, mumbling something about it being a problem for ‘Tomorrow Grace’. But she’ll have enough to deal with then, so I pick it up for her, hanging it on her hook, and do the same with my jacket.

“Thanks again. G’night.”

I watch her climb the stairs, wanting to follow her, hug her, tuck her in, and tell her it will all be okay. But I don’t. She doesn’t need me to fuss over her, not when she’s doing a great job on her own and I’ve already given her the support she needs tonight. If I pile more onto her, especially when she’s in such an exhausted state, I risk overwhelming her completely and making tonight seem like an even bigger deal than it is. And it’s already a breaking point in a long-term friendship, which Grace seems to recognize.

So instead of going upstairs with Grace, I do the other thing I want to do and stomp down the hall toward Cameron’s room to find out what the hell is so important that he couldn’t go get his daughter. I took care of her, but the look of disappointment on her face when she realized it was me and not him who’d come will stick with me for the rest of my life. She needed him, and he prides himself on doing everything for her, so where the fuck was he?

I knock on the door and wait, but there’s no answer.

Is he asleep?

Surely not. I told him I got Grace, but there’s no way he’d go to bed knowing Grace is upset. And if he did? Well, then he can wake the fuck up.

I’m mad… at Hannah, at Cameron, and at the world who’d be so cruel to such a sweet little girl.

“In here,” he says a moment later, and I turn, realizing the sound came from behind me. Cameron’s in his office.

When I go into the dimly lit room, he’s sitting at his desk, the glow of the computer brighter than the lamp in the corner or the overhead chandelier.

“Are you working?” I demand, incredulous that he’d do that instead of going to get Grace.

He stands up, cold eyes pinning me in place. “Of course I am. It’s the only thing that’d have any chance of keeping me here and not racing over to Hannah’s to demand some fucking answers about what’s going on.”

Oh, okay. He’s not just working and got caught up, and he didn’t prioritize that over Grace. He’s pissed and looking for any potential outlet. That’s understandable, because I’m feeling the same way.

“Well, I’m not sure I’ll be any help in calming you down because I offered to beat Hannah up for Grace.”

He stares at me for a long beat and then rolls his eyes like I exasperate him, which I probably do. “Of course you did.” His eyes narrow into little slits as he adds, “You didn’t actually do it, did you?”

“Maybe,” I deadpan. “Just a little.”

Because that long stare gave me a chance to realize something else—Cameron is drunk. Not falling down, sloppily so, but definitely a bit hazy-eyed. That must be why he couldn’t go get Grace, and if I know Cameron, he’s been chastising himself ever since he got that text. He holds himself to a high standard, and for him, an evening of recklessness when he thought Grace was in good hands will most assuredly fail to meet that standard.

My anger fades quickly. I don’t need to be mad at him. He’s already mad enough at himself.

He walks to the other side of the room, flopping onto the leather couch there, with his legs spread wide and arm stretched out on the back. His other hand scrubs over his face. “What happened?” His voice is tight, like he’s readying himself for nearly anything.

I clod over to the couch, slip my boots off, and sit down too, but suddenly realize that without my anger coursing through me, being in my nightgown around Cameron makes me feel nakedly vulnerable. It’s perfectly respectable, or else I wouldn’t have gone to get Grace in it, but Hannah’s dad isn’t Cameron, with his blue eyes locked onto me like his X-ray vision can blast right through the printed waffle-knit material to see that I’m not wearing a bra or panties underneath it.

I wrap my arms around myself and curl my legs beneath me, tucking the fabric over my knees in an attempt to hide my body. Cameron doesn’t miss a thing and must think my awkward position is because I’m cold, because at the touch of a button on the remote beside him, the electric fireplace roars to life.

I lick my lips, trying to figure out how to tell him what Grace told me in a way that won’t have him running out the door to hunt Hannah and Liam down, or picking up the phone to send Cole to do the dirty work.

“There’s a boy,” I start.

His teeth make a grinding sound and his eyes go stone cold.

And that’s pretty much how he remains the entire time I report what Grace told me.