Thirty-Five: Harlow

THIRTY-FIVE

HARLOW

O n page seventy-three of Pierce’s nanny guide, there was a red and white tabbed section labeled, “ If My Children Ever Become Ill .”

If I followed protocol, I would call his most trusted nurse, wait until she arrived to take over, and then use his children’s sick days as my own.

I’d have up to seven free days to go and please as I wanted, or avoid the job altogether.

Yet, I couldn’t bear to leave Olivia’s side. She was frail and hot, and no matter how many times I gave her medicine, she felt worse.

As I place an ice pack against her neck, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

“Hold on, Sasha.” I tucked Olivia under a blanket. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Why are you whispering?”

“Because I’m in Olivia’s room, and she’s sleeping.”

“Oh,” she whispered, too. “I remembered that you have tonight off, so I was thinking you should meet me at Club Rosa’s for drinks. My treat!”

“Can’t.” I pressed a hand against Olivia’s forehead. “She’s has a high fever, so I’m staying here in case she needs me.”

“Is your boss-slash-boyfriend paying you overtime for that?

No. “Of course. Talk to you later.”

I slid a thermometer between Olivia’s lips and waited for the beep.

Still 101.

“You’re still here?” She croaked. “ Why ?”

“Shhhh.” I smiled at her. “Focus on getting some rest.”

“You’re supposed to be gone,” she said. “Uncle Brooks said you had the whole weekend off. He’ll take care of me.”

“I’m sure he will, but I’m in here until the morning, in case the twins give him trouble.” I motioned for her to zip her lips. “Go to sleep.”

She stared at me for several minutes before shutting her eyes. “I love you, Miss Hawthorne.”

“I love you, too.”