Never Bargain with the Boss (Never Say Never Book 5)
Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 18

I’m really not sure about this. Grace has none of my reservations. Not a single, solitary one. She’s in full-on puppy-level excitement mode today. I’d say it’s because she’s holding a grande java chip Frappuccino with a brown sugar cinnamon sprinkle on top of the chocolate drizzled whipped cream, but that’s not it.

It’s because it’s Fall Ball day.

“What color do you think I should get? I’m leaning toward blue, but do I want to go matchy-match? Or coordinate?” She hums thoughtfully, her eyes vacant like she’s seeing herself all dressed for the Fall Ball and deciding whether the blue nails are the way to go or not. Before I can offer an opinion, she’s decided. “Baby blue.”

Her nail color isn’t what’s giving me pause. It’s the entire pack of wolves on the other side of the salon door, otherwise known as Cameron’s entire family. Or at least the female ones. I’m pretty sure his Dad and brothers aren’t in there, but at this point, what’s a few more when I’m already walking in to the rest of the gang?

I tried to get out of this, saying it was a family thing and I was fine not being included. But Grace insisted, and then Cameron insisted harder. Though I’m not sure why when he’s been actively avoiding me all week, and when forced to be around me, he’s been Mr. Ice Cold.

We had a good talk last weekend, and I thought everything was okay. I pushed hard, he resisted, and ultimately, when we agreed to keep the focus on Grace, things ended well. Or so I thought. Until the next morning when he’d come barreling through the kitchen like a post-workout sweaty, pissed-off monster, banging cabinet doors and slamming his smoothie glass in the sink, which set off every single one of my highly tuned alarm bells. He made me jumpy, and though I tried my hardest to lighten things up, he’d simply grunted before disappearing down the hall to get ready for work and barely said goodbye to Grace before we left. He was still grumpy that night after work, and though he sat on the patio for a few minutes, I swear he was more tense after guzzling his hot tea than before.

And that’s how it’s been every day and night since.

I’m pretty sure I know what’s ruffled his feathers, though. Me.

Or rather that he wants me. He just doesn’t want to want me. Which is fine. I get it, my life would be easier if I didn’t want him too. It sucks, but it’s fine. Or it would be if his behavior didn’t have Grace ping-ponging worried eyes between Cameron and me every night at dinner and asking me pointed questions like, ‘Why’s Dad mad at you?’ and, ‘Have you tried puppy dog eyes?’ That last one came with a demonstration of how I could bat my lashes at Cameron, and though she’d only been trying to help, the very idea that I have anything to apologize for irritated me.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m doing my job, doing it well, and trying to not do Cameron since he decreed that our focus needs to be on Grace. I just need him to quit acting like his bad mood is all my fault.

“I’m glad you’re here, Riley. And that you’re going to the ball tonight too.”

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 been eagerly waiting 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 and Miranda’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—the tall, 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 actually drive 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 even Happy 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.

There’s a heartbeat of silence, and then another, as the women look from me to each other, a private conversation in each of their glances that doesn’t include me. A pit opens in my stomach. In clarifying my relationship with Cameron, I’ve effectively reminded them that I’m not one of them, but rather the hired help—Grace’s nanny, Janey’s mother’s helper. It’s a role I’m used to filling and I’ve seen how this goes, so I prepare myself to be pushed to the outside of their easy camaraderie, knowing it’s coming.

It’s okay. I know my place. In some families I’ve been with, they invite you to meals, parties, and vacations, and you begin to feel like you’re a part of something bigger and deeper, but there’s always an end date to the placement, the job, the relationship. Everyone leaves me at some point, and this family, no matter how amazing and welcoming they may be, are no different.

Eventually, it’ll be time for me to leave here too, either because they ask me to or when I see the time is right so I don’t overstay my usefulness.

“Dad would never fire you. He loves you,” Grace asserts.

I choke on my tongue and force a laugh, the sound too high-pitched to be natural. “No, he doesn’t.” Grace’s smile falls and her brows slam together. Wanting to soothe her, I rush to add, “He likes me. How could he not? I’m the best nanny you’ve ever had.” I lean her way, bumping my shoulder against hers.

“You are,” she agrees, but her eyes are filled with questions. “But that’s not why Dad loves you. It’s because you make him smile. He never used to do that, and he smiles all the time now because of you.”

I thought the table was silent. I was wrong. This is silence. Pure, complete absence of sound.

I glance around nervously, stammering out, “Yeah, probably because I’m making him do silly things like fashion shows and pumpkin carving.” The argument falls flat, no one believing me, which isn’t a surprise since I don’t even believe me.

Cameron does smile more than he did when I first arrived. But his happiness doesn’t mean he loves me. He wants me, and I do think he likes me, but love is a depth of emotion I’m not sure he’s even capable of anymore, outside of his love for his daughter.

“Cameron is fucked-up,” Kayla says bluntly, drawing everyone’s attention as she taps her temple. “But sometimes, it takes one fucked-up person to understand another.” She turns her finger toward me, making it clear that I’m the ‘another’ in that scenario. I should be offended, but she’s spot-on, so there’s no use in denying it. She also somehow manages to make it sound insulting about Cameron and complimentary toward me, though I’m not sure how she does it. “They can sense the trauma responses and deal with the damage better. I think a jagged saw” —she deliberately looks me up and down before pinning me with a hard look— “might sometimes be even better than a scalpel to get to the good heart beneath the scarring. It takes longer, it’s messier, and it hurts more, but in the long run, it breaks up the scar tissue better.”

Shocked to my core, I stare at Kayla. I’m not sure why she thinks I’m equipped to handle Cameron’s trauma when she doesn’t even know me. But maybe she does…

What has Cameron told her?

I left behind schoolgirl gossip a long time ago, but I desperately want to ask outright what he’s said about me, hoping and wishing it’d give me some insight into the hot- and cold-running man.

“That is… graphic… and gross,” Samantha says, her nose crinkled in disgust. “Yet therapeutically accurate as hell. I approve.” She nods like her approval is valuable, and given she’s apparently an actual therapist, I guess it is. Everyone at the table treats it as such, somehow also giving weight to Kayla’s assessment.

“Dad isn’t fu—” Grace starts to say, but quickly corrects her repeat of Kayla’s words, “fudged up. Neither is Riley. And you’re being mean.” The hostile glare she’s shooting at her favorite aunt could ignite a bonfire.

The fact that her anger is on my behalf, and that she’s willing to defend my honor against her beloved family, makes my heart clench in my chest. God, I love this little girl.

“Grace,” I say, drawing her attention to me. She cuts her eyes to me, giving Kayla the smallest reprieve, and I can feel everyone else’s attention settle on me too. They want to hear how I’m going to address this, like it’s a live-action, front-row seat demonstration of my abilities. Thankfully, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s understanding the nuances of people’s intentions and I definitely think Kayla’s are good. “Thank you for having my back. That’s a perfect example of being a girl’s girl.”

Her shoulders tighten down and back like she’s ready to go to battle for me. She nods once like she’s got me, no matter what. I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face because I’m so proud of how far she’s come in such a short period of time.

“I know it sounds like Kayla said a mean thing… about me, and about your dad too. But, in a way, she was giving me a compliment.” Grace’s brows shoot together in confusion, and I sigh. This is a tricky explanation, and getting it into terms that she’ll understand is difficult, but necessary. “Sometimes, the best, most important things take hard work, and Kayla was telling me that she thinks I can handle the hard stuff. And that Cameron can too.”

“So she means…” Grace starts, tilting her head as she still tries to piece it together, “that you’re tough?”

“I am,” I say, nodding. “And so is your dad. And so are you.” I boop the tip of her nose with my newly blue nail, and she smiles tentatively. “We’ve all been through things that would break some people, but we’re still here, making the best out of every day, and that takes strength and courage. It’s a toughness I wish you didn’t have—wish I didn’t have too—but we do, so it’s what we make of it that matters most.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. Her eyes drop to her hands, where she’s picking at her perfect manicure, and I lay my hand over hers, stilling the anxious movement with a supportive squeeze. She swallows thickly and then looks back up at me. I give her an encouraging smile, and she turns her eyes back to her aunt. “Sorry for calling you mean, Aunt K.”

“No apology needed,” Kayla tells her, shaking her head with a soft smile. “I like that you stood up to me when you felt like it was warranted. That’s what good friends… and good people… do.” Grace brightens at the praise from her favorite aunt and sits a little straighter. “I didn’t intend to hurt you, Riley, or Cameron with what I said. I think Riley is amazing for getting your dad to smile, especially considering what a stick in the mud he’s always been.”

Grace laughs at Kayla’s good-natured assessment of Cameron, but then she peeks at me and proclaims, “He’s not that bad. He’s cute, right, Riley?” She blinks innocently, but there is nothing naïve about her question.

My guts churn at being put on the spot this way, and when I quick-glance around the table, everyone is hanging on the edge of their seats with tiny smirks on their faces. They already know my answer. There’s no denying it. I wouldn’t, anyway. Lying’s not my style.

“Yeah, I guess he’s fine,” I drawl out dramatically, making it totally obvious that I’m downplaying Cameron’s considerable attractiveness.

Janey snort laughs, and I catch her eye, remembering that she’s already figured out that I might have a teeny-tiny, little-bitty crush. But she’s pressing her lips together tightly, keeping my secret the way a good friend does.

“Sure, if you’re into blond, blue-eyed guys who spend more time talking about the stock market instead of addressing their completely unavailable emotions, then yeah, he’s… cute.” Kayla clips out the last word, making it sound ridiculously underwhelming as she gives me a knowing grin.

Ironically, beyond his schedule, I don’t think Cameron has once discussed his work with me, but we’ve spent quite a few hours and many cups of tea talking about our feelings.

Dani leans forward and advises, “You might as well give up now. They’re incredibly stubborn, and that’s coming from me, the Queen of Stubbornness. Once they decide you’re in, there’s no escape. You’re basically in the Harrington circle now.”

She makes it sound like a cult, but as I look around the table, meeting the eyes of each of the women, it feels like… family and home. And I really don’t want the feeling to ever end.