*
It’s less than half an hour until Mackenzie’s date, and I’m losing my fucking mind.
I don’t want her to go. I want her to cancel, but I don’t have any right to say anything. I’m her employer. I don’t own her.
I haven’t seen her since the pool party, and my heart has ached every damn minute that I haven’t had my eyes on her. I know she’s upstairs right now, getting ready, getting dressed and made up, doing her hair and making herself look pretty for Kyle - his name grates on my teeth - and I hate it.
I hate that she likes someone. I hate that someone likes her.
She says I’m hers to do with as she wishes, but then she does this, and I don’t understand.
The girls are already in bed, Mackenzie having settled Harpy, read to Willow and had yet another long chat with Thea, and I don’t know how she does it. The whole nanny thing just comes naturally to her, and whatever it is she’s doing to help Thea is beyond my wildest dreams.
She’s remarkable, and tonight is all the more enraging because of that, and yet my rage is impotent, for I can do nothing.
Her door opens and I hear her feet alight on the landing.
I don’t want to look up from where I’m sitting at the kitchen table, but I can’t help it, and as she comes down the stairs her eyes meet mine and I feel my blood boil.
She looks incredible.
There was a part of me that had hoped she might dress down, make no effort, try and put this jerk off somehow, but she’s done nothing of the sort.
She looks like a goddamn Princess, and my heart aches as I run her up and down.
‘How do I look?’ she laughs as she walks in, doing a twirl and sending her little skater dress fluttering.
I growl. ‘No.’
She frowns, taken aback. ‘What do you mean, no?’
‘No,’ I repeat.
She shakes her head, a half-smile on her face. ‘You can’t just say, no.’
‘You’re not going.’
She takes a step toward me. ‘I’m going on a date. You don’t get to decide that.’
‘Where are you going?’ I say, narrowing my eyes.
‘I don’t know.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says, that bratty tongue beginning to curl as she snarks.
‘Then you’re not going. It’s my responsibility to look after my children’s nanny. I’m not having you turn up in a ditch somewhere.’
‘I’m not your responsibility,’ she says.
‘You are,’ I say standing up. ‘And you’re not going.’
‘Fuck off,’ she says. ‘Just because we fucked-‘
‘Shut your fucking mouth,’ I snap, looking around.
‘Just because we fucked doesn’t mean you own me,’ she whispers, taking another step closer and jabbing her finger at me.