Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(8)

By: C.M. Stunich



As soon as I set them on the ground, they explode like fireworks, running and screeching and mixing into the other running/screeching monsters in the wood chips. As soon as I get a good hundred feet from them, I'll be cool.

“Okay, Sadie. It's just you and me, I guess.” I get the stroller out and spend a good fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to wrestle it into position. “Are you fucking shitting me? It ain't goddamn rocket science.” I rake my fingers through my hair and glance up to find, like, a dozen moms staring at me. Half of them look like they want me to grab them around the waist and toss them in the back of the mini for a quick fuck; the other half look like they want to call the cops on me.

I flash one of my signature Zay grins and a boy scout salute … eeeeeeven though I've never actually been in the scouts. Well, okay, I was for like one day but I got kicked out for beating up some snot-nosed brat that called me a weirdo.

Standing up, I examine the strange wheeled device before me and then lift the baby's seat out of the car, hooking it into place on top and standing back to admire my handiwork.

Yeah. See that? See it? I got this.

“Fuck yeah,” I say and several of the moms scoff at me. I ignore them and park myself at one of the picnic tables under the trees, whipping out my phone for a little sexy texting with miss pink haired Kitty cakes.

Thirteen days left. Thirteen days and Hubert and I will be back in Vegas.

I've never wanted anything more in my life.

Until I met Brooke Overland.

Incoming: a serious fucking wrench in my life plans. ETA: twenty minutes until my life goes boom.





Thank God today is Saturday. No class for me or the girls, time to keep searching for an alternative to my upcoming job at the strip club.

Just the thought of it gives me chills and I clamp my arms over my chest.

“Are you okay, Aunt Brooke?” Bella asks as I pick up my purse and sling it over my shoulder. I do my best to smile down at my niece, but inside, I'm screaming.

Strip? I'm going to strip?

I never thought I'd find myself at such a point in my life where I'd even consider it. This body … it's my body and my choice and … I really don't want to do this. But Eureka is an economically depressed area, and these girls need me. There's rent to pay and food to buy, and my parents are on a fixed income; my dad is sick. They can't help us, and I can't bear to rip the girls away from their friends and their school to move to a foreign city.

Deep breath.

I have to do this. For them.

“I'm fine, honey,” I say as I reach down and ruffle the dark chocolate color of her hair. We're practically twins, Bella and me. She has the same dusty brown eyes, pointed chin and arched brows as I do. We both take after my grandmother while Ingrid and Grace take after my mom: blond hair, blue eyes, round face and plump cheeks. “Are you ready to head to the park?”

She nods enthusiastically, eyes shining, face bright. That makes it a little easier, that expression. Especially after last night. She tried to hide it from me, but I heard her crying in her room, tears soaking into her pillow. It took me hours to get her to sleep. Fucking Ingrid.

I hate my older sister a little bit right now.

“Grace!” I call out and the little girl appears at the top of the stairs, the dog following directly behind her. I think we all need an activity to take our mind off things, distract us a little. I know I sure as hell do.

Soon, you'll be taking your clothes off for strangers.

The thought makes me sick, so I banish it with a big breath, leading the girls out to my Subaru and loading them up. They're easy enough to get into the car. But Dodger? The dog is a Chinese crested, a nasty little hairless rat. I am so not into little dogs, but what am I going to do? The girls treat this thing like it's their brother. Although it could probably win an ugly dog contest no problem.

“Alright, Dodger,” I say as I bend down and try to coax the hideous little gray and white creature into my arms. “Let's go, buddy.” The dog ignores me, trotting over to a tree and lifting its leg.

My jaw clenches tight.

Oh, hell no.

There is no way I'm letting a stupid dog get the better of me. Not today.

I sprint over as the dog lifts his leg on another tree and grab him around the waist, lifting him into the air before he can bite me—something he's already done twice since I got into town last week. The little fucker.

I toss the dog into the car and climb into the front seat, starting up some rock music and hoping the girls won't complain. I know Ingrid was always a huge country music fan. Me, I like a little screaming in my songs.

“Time for some Amatory Riot,” I say as I scroll through my playlists and find the one dedicated to my favorite band. I smile at the girls as I pull down the sun visor and check my makeup, my hair. As soon as I pull out of the driveway, the song picks up into a raging feminine roar and I head bang my way straight over to the park.

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