Chapter 5

Hailey

Dana takes me home so I can pack an overnight bag, and then she drives us to a waterfront townhouse on False Creek, not far from the hospital. As we enter, my senses are nearly overwhelmed by the sleek lines of modern furniture and the scent of lemon polish. The afternoon sun pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Dana guides me to the kitchen counter, where laminated sheets are spread out like some bizarre menu.

“Here’s the drill,” she says, tapping the papers. “When Addison eats—all bottles right now—when she naps… You know, all the essentials.” Her fingers skim over a list so detailed it makes my head spin. Nutritional charts, nap schedules, even preferred toy rotations. It’s all there, micromanaged to the minute.

“Wow,” I mutter, taking in the color-coded timetable. “This is…intense.”

“Tell me about it,” Dana replies with a chuckle, her eyes rolling slightly. She points to another sheet. “And these activities…” She waves dismissively at the baby yoga, music therapy, and sensory playgroups. “It’s no wonder he can’t keep a nanny around. It’s like running a mini-preschool for one.”

I nod, sympathizing with the unseen procession of nannies who couldn’t keep up with this regimen. My gaze drifts over the rest of the papers—the appointments, the play dates, the developmental milestones to tick off. It’s daunting.

“Anyway, I skip most of this fluff,” Dana confesses, leaning against the counter. “Just stick to the doctor and therapy appointments. Addison enjoys hanging out more than structured play, anyway.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I reply, trying to sound confident.

“You’re going to be great,” Dana assures me.

“Thanks,” I say with a half-smile. I hope she’s right, but I’m not ready for her to abandon me to it just yet. “How are things going at BrandFusion?”

Dana smiles. “It’s good. Tate lets me get away with murder because I bust my ass for him. He knows I’m good.”

Tate Rutherford is Vancouver’s it man for company branding. He’s also going through a very messy and public divorce.

“Must be nice to have that kind of trust from your boss,” I muse.

“Trust, ha!” Dana snorts. “More like mutual exploitation. I work hard, and he pays me well. But we’ve got a good thing going.”

“Sounds like a perfect setup,” I agree.

She nods and then gestures for me to follow as she heads down a hallway. “Here’s the nursery,” she announces, gesturing to a room decked out in pastel hues and plush toys. There’s a comforting vibe to it, a sense of calm that contrasts with the chaos of that schedule I just saw. “And here’s your room,” she adds, stepping down to the next doorway.

I move closer to take in the modest bed, clean lines, and lack of personal touches. This space isn’t meant for someone to live in; it’s just functional, temporary. And the proximity to Addison’s room highlights the reality of my new role—constant, vigilant caretaker.

“Guess I have little choice,” I whisper. Dana gives me a sympathetic look but says nothing. I let out a resigned sigh and nod. “Okay. This will work.”

Dana’s fingers dance across her screen, and then my phone chimes. “There,” she says, showing me the transaction confirmation. “Rent’s taken care of.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, a little emotional at her generosity. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“I know you’re good for it.” She goes back to her screen. “I just let Christian know you were here. He’s in surgery today, but you can call Joanne in his office if you need to get to him or there’s some kind of emergency. Her information is on the card in the kitchen.”

“Sure, uh, okay. No pressure or anything.”

“You got this,” she assures me. “You’re doing Christian a huge favor!” She slings her purse over her shoulder, and for a moment, her silhouette is framed by the doorway. Then, with a final wave, she’s gone, leaving behind silence.

My heart flutters. Addison . A living, breathing little soul, now under my hesitant guardianship. I swallow hard. She needs someone—constantly. Fear grips me. This isn’t just a gig. I’m the lifeline for a tiny human who depends on me for everything. What did I just agree to do?

I pick up my overnight bag and put away the few clothes I brought. I never imagined this would be where I am.

Addison starts to fuss. I pull out the formula and realize I don’t know how many scoops belong in the bottle. I look frantically for the sheet that details this as Addison’s irritation grows. “I’m working on it.”

I quickly read two scoops—should have remembered that from watching Dana at lunch—and add cold filtered water from the fridge. I shake the bottle while bouncing Addison, but her fussing moves to a full-fledged cry. Her face is beet red. I put the bottle in her mouth, but she pushes it away and cries harder.

What am I doing wrong? Why did I think I could do this?

Suddenly, my T-shirt is wet. I look down, and there’s formula everywhere. No!

I hold her away from me as tears streak down her face. She’s furious. I put her down in her car seat, whip off my shirt, and try my best to focus as I again read the directions on the laminated card. I need to use warm water, or put the bottle in the warmer.

I sigh and get the bottle going in the warmer. While we wait, I carry her into her room and the changing table. She’s still screaming, and I look at the diaper, but for a moment, I can’t figure out how to take it off of her. I stare stupidly, feeling my own tears well up, and finally realize I put the tabs backward. Now, I’m crying right along with Addison, but I get the diaper off, and after a few clumsy minutes, I finally have her changed. When we return to the kitchen, both still crying, the bottle is warm. I offer it to her, and she almost immediately settles.

Cradling Addison, I pull in some deep breaths and sit us in the glider in her room. After a minute, she smiles at me, and I realize she’s not holding a grudge. “It’s going to take some trial and error,” I tell her. “But we’ll get this.”

I find myself some snacks when it’s dinner time. Doesn’t feel right to whip up a meal in Christian’s kitchen when I haven’t even spoken to him yet. Then I put Addison to bed—those instruction cards are actually useful, in some cases—and night creeps over the townhouse. The shadows grow long, and my fears multiply as I sit out in the living room. Christian hasn’t come home yet, and I’m alone with Addison. What am I supposed to do? The baby monitor crackles softly from time to time.

Midnight ticks by, and I let out a defeated sigh, abandoning my vigil. I’m allowed to sleep, right? The sheets are cool as I slip between them, but sleep eludes me, my thoughts knotted around the day’s events and jumping at every noise from the monitor.

Then, sometime later, a faint sound stirs me from my restless doze. I lie still, listening as Christian’s voice drifts through the baby monitor.

“Hey there,” he murmurs, and I picture him leaning over Addison’s crib. He begins to sing, soft and sure, telling her she’s his sunshine, a lullaby that threads through the static and wraps around my heart.

I feel myself smile, and something inside me shifts, a flutter of something tender, vulnerable. He really cares about her . My heart swells. That doesn’t mean he cares about you , I chide myself. Good grief, Franklin has left me a mess. But here in the quiet of two o’clock in the morning, with Christian’s voice floating through the monitor, it’s impossible not to feel drawn to him, the nurturing father he is.

Addison’s crying cuts through my sleep, jolting me awake. I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, bleary-eyed. It’s six o’clock. I set my alarm for six thirty, but it seems Addison is ready for her feeding now. I shuffle out of bed, clad in the grubby T-shirt and men’s boxer shorts that are my pajamas.

With Addison in one arm, I hustle to the kitchen. I’m scooping formula into a bottle when Christian strides in, dressed for the hospital.

He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?” His voice is sharp, as if ready to tackle an intruder at dawn.

I jump, nearly spilling the formula. “I—I’m Hailey,” I stammer. “Dana’s friend? We met once at your father’s surprise party.” His gaze doesn’t soften, so I hurry on. “Dana asked me to step in as the nanny, just for a while.”

His lips press into a thin line, and I can tell he’s not pleased. At all. “She didn’t tell me about this,” he accuses, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Actually, she did,” I reply a bit more confidently. My fingers are tight around the bottle as I shake it hard and nod toward his pocket. “She texted you. Check again.”

Christian fishes his phone from his pocket with a huff. He taps and swipes impatiently, and then his eyes flicker back to me. “Right,” he says curtly, though I don’t hear any apology in his tone. “I see it now.”

“Okay, beautiful,” I say to Addison as I offer her the bottle. She latches on and begins to drain it.

“I don’t have time for this. Dana promised she’d be here.”

My heart races. What will I do if he kicks me out? I’ve never been fired before I was actually hired. I square my shoulders, meeting Christian’s gaze. “Dana has a job. So she showed me Addison’s schedule and explained what to do,” I tell him. “For the time being, I can help you out. But we’re taking a European trip in a year.”

Christian paces the length of the kitchen, his hands raking through his hair. “Heaven knows Dana has never been the epitome of responsibility,” he mutters. “Fine. You’ll do…until I find a replacement.”

His words sting, even though I know I’m not particularly qualified, nor is this anything I’m interested in doing for the long term. I just need a job.

He turns to face me again. “Have you ever been a nanny before?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up at the ceiling. “Did you grow up in a house with a lot of kids?”

I shake my head. “I’m an only child, raised by my grandmother.”

“Why the hell did Dana think this was a good idea?”

“Because I need a job, and you need a nanny,” I say.

His face morphs into horror, but it’s the truth. We’re both desperate.

“You haven’t been background checked.”

I nod. “That’s true,” I reply softly. “I’ll stay until you find someone qualified.”

“Can you at least drive a car?” He raises an eyebrow, as if this is some sort of litmus test for my competence.

I suppress a scoff. “Of course I can drive.” I don’t have a car right now, but I know how to operate one. “I grew up in Langley. The SkyTrain didn’t exactly stretch to our doorstep.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe respect?—but it’s gone before I can read it properly. He nods briefly, as if filing away this information. “Many nannies can’t drive,” he informs me.

“Maybe that’s why you’re having trouble keeping one,” I mumble.

But he hears me, his gaze snapping back to mine. “If I didn’t have to get to the hospital right now, I’d kick you out for talking to me that way.”

The threat hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, I almost wish he would. It would save me from the sinking feeling that taking care of Addison is going to be way more complicated than I expect.

But then something shifts in his stance. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you know CPR?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer, grateful for something solid in this whirlwind. “I was a lifeguard at the rec center during the summers when I was growing up.”

He seems surprised by my response, but he’s quick to recover. “And why do you want to be a nanny? Really.”

“Dana offered it at the right time,” I explain. “I’m looking for something to tide me over for a year, so I can save up to travel through Europe with her.”

“Uh-huh.” I can tell he’s weighing my words. “How long have you known Dana?”

“Since university. We were roommates our first year.”

His hands ball into white fists, and his jaw clenches. I’m ready for him to kick me out. I will pay my month of rent and give notice and try to figure out what to do with my furniture. But I am still holding his daughter. He hasn’t once tried to take her from me, so how serious can he be about this concern?

He grills me further. “Your full name?”

“Hailey Phipps Spencer.”

“Proof.”

My hands are surprisingly steady as I balance Addison, find my wallet in my purse, and hand over my driver’s license. He examines it, then pulls out his phone to snap a picture. “This isn’t a regular nanny job where you clock out at the end of the day. My schedule is very demanding and often unpredictable. You’ll be staying here at the house because I expect you to be available for Addison whenever she needs you.”

I swallow hard, nodding, as he hands back my license.

“If you pull any stunts,” he warns, “I’ll have the entire Vancouver PD on your tail.” He points to a set of keys on the kitchen counter. “Those are for the minivan. And here—” He pulls two hundred-dollar bills from his wallet, placing them on the table. “In case you need anything for Addison.”

With that, he grabs his coat and strides toward the door. I watch as he slips into his coat, then turns back to me with a pointed look. “One last thing,” he says, and something in his tone makes me stiffen. “There are nanny cams all over this house. So don’t do anything stupid.”

The words hit me like a slap. For a moment, I’m too stunned to respond, feeling like some petty criminal under his scrutiny. Then my irritation flares, and my eyes roll dramatically.

“Excuse me?” Christian’s sharp voice slices through the room. I’ve clearly just flipped a switch I didn’t know was there. He strides back toward me, his presence suddenly towering.

“Sorry,” I mutter, though I’m not, particularly. “It’s just a bit much, you know? I’m not here to rob you.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t take any chances,” he snaps, his blue eyes cold and hard. He’s close enough now that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne, something clean and spicy. “You’re a stranger in my house. My daughter’s safety comes first, always.”

“Understood.” Though you haven’t picked her up once this morning . I keep that last bit to myself, though, caught between wanting to lash out and needing this job more than I care to admit. His need for control is unnerving. He seems to think he can dictate every move within these walls.

He holds my gaze a moment longer, then backs away, the tension easing as he puts distance between us. But the warning hangs in the air, a command from a man used to being obeyed. “Good,” he says at last. “I have rounds at the hospital, and I’m in my office today. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be here.” I watch him leave and shake my head. This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

“But I was right about one thing,” I tell Addison as I lay her on a blanket on the floor. “Control freak or not, your daddy is as attractive as I remembered.”