Page 77 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“Bill Paxton is an American treasure. He did for nineties movies what Churchill did for morale during the Blitz... and for whisky and soda as a breakfast-appropriate beverage.”
“It’s nice to see that you are an actual human,” I tell her. “A family man, even.”
Her eyes dart to her left and then her right before she takes me by the elbow and steers me across the street behind a tree.
“Ah, there she is,” I say. “That’s the clandestine Veronica Balentine I know and love.”
She pops her umbrella open and uses it to shield us from any remaining view. “Speaking of family men. Please tell me that you were just coincidentally walking alongside Dr. Bram Loe just now and that you do not actually have any connection to that eco-saboteur.”
“Bram?” I ask. “He teaches about moss at the university and has a pet frog named Porcupine.”
Her eyes widen. “Fucking hell, Maddie. Are you screwing him?”
My cheeks immediately burn red, and I’m thankful for the heavily shaded street shielding the sun as it dips lower and lower. “What? No. He’s my boss. Of course not.”
“Your boss?” she nearly shouts, then drops to a whisper. “That man is who you are nannying for? Do you have any clue whose roof you’re working under?”
“And living,” I add. “Technically, I’m a live-in nanny.” And a world-class good girl with a whole host of kinks I’m only just now discovering, thanks to said boss.
“Quit,” she demands. “Now.”
My head is shaking, and I’m telling her no before I can even consider what it might mean to tell Veronica Balentine no. “I just told him I’d stay on for a few more weeks. His ex-wife comes back at the end of next month and then I’m gone. It’ll be like it never happened.”
“Oh god,” she says. “Stay even further away from Sara. Trust me when I say that their divorce was a national holiday in the natural gas industry.”
“What the hell are you even talking about?”
“That man,” she says, pointing through her umbrella to the general direction where I left Bram, “is responsible for some of the most costly corporate property damage, vandalism, and data leaks in the last twenty years, all because he wanted to save the fucking trees or something.”
The thought of Bram—responsible, level-headed, even-tempered Bram—being a very bad, bad boy is making me way hornier than it should. And I doubt that was Veronica’s intention.
“What does that have to do with me?” I ask.
“Have you ever heard of Fasse Global?”
“You mean the gas stations? As in Fast Fasse Fill-ups?”
“Yes.” She leans in and through gritted teeth says, “As in the company I am currently working on behalf of, and the company that is very interested in a fresh, new candidate to support as they enter into the green tech and energy space after an absolutely devastating data leak twelve years ago that sunk stocks so low even James Cameron couldn’t find them if he tried.”
My heart flutters at the thought, and I think I know, but I still ask. Why is the thought of Bram breaking so many rules such a turn-on? “A data leak orchestrated by Bram?”
“Ultimately, no one could prove anything, but everyone knew it was him. There’s bad blood there, Maddie, and getting caught in the middle would be political suicide. You’re sure the nanny gig is worth that?”
Everything I’ve dared to dream for the last few weeks is suddenly blurry, like it’s the goddamn Heart of the Ocean and it’s just—plopped—into the frigid sea at the hands of some old lady who has no concept of how many mouths that priceless jewel could have fed. (I haveTitanicFeelingsTMif that’s not clear.)
“It’s just for a few more weeks,” I assure her. “And if anyone even does find out, I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not out here chaining myself to trees.” Though maybe I could be tempted if it involved Bram and limited clothing.
“No more social outings,” she says firmly. “If there is so much as an eyewitness account of you two even brushing shoulders, Fasse Global will hear about this and not only will they axe you, but they will mark you as unelectable.”
I scoff even though, yes, that sounds ominous and a little terrifying. “I know you’re involved in some back-channel blurred-lines business, but I hardly think a company can just blackball me altogether.”
“A, they can. And if you don’t believe me, you’re far more naive than I gave you credit for, and B, Fasse Global isn’t the only company with a vendetta against Bram Loe. The man is a pariah as far as the big donors are concerned. So keep your head down and get the hell out of there the moment your contract is up. Do you understand?”
My arms cross over my chest, and I look her up and down with one brow raised. She has no idea how much more complicated the situation actually is. But that doesn’t matter, because Bram and I are just sex. It’s that simple. We’ve even discussed the fact because we are mature adults who communicate. Plus, Bram was disgusted to hear that I was talking with Veronica Balentine, so even if I ever wanted us to be anything more, I doubt he could stomach the political games I’m willing to play to get the job done. He is an amazing, incredible man and the kind of father who could be a blueprint for the ideal dad, but we’re not a match. Not in the long term. And especially because I am in no way searching for the long term right now.
As much as it pains me to admit.
“Understood,” I finally say. Because I do understand. Even if I disagree.
