Three （B）: Harlow

THREE (B)

HARLOW

T he glassy grey skyscraper at 432 Park Avenue was the tallest building on Billionaires’ Row. Flanked by an exclusive restaurant and a day spa, I knew from here that this place housed people who were completely out of touch with the rest of society.

These people’s biggest problems were scheduling hot yoga sessions, chartering private jets, and hiring confidential staff who ran every element of their lives.

In other words, the worst people in the world.

Not wanting to go in blind with the client, I typed the address plus the word “penthouse suite” into my search bar.

The only result that appeared was “Record Holdings, LLC.”

I copied that name and searched for the owners.

Brian Johnson and Denise Cole, CFO and VIP of Record Holdings, LLC.

The following search revealed that they worked for a multi-billion-dollar sports franchise. A franchise called… Record Holdings, LLC .

No matter how I framed the search terms, the results were a continuous loophole that fell into a black hole of nothingness.

Something about this wasn’t right, and I was starting to wonder if this second interview might be a scam.

I called the queen of paranoia—my best friend Sasha— but her line went straight to voicemail.

Approaching the building’s doorman, I cleared my throat.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he said. “What brings you to Park Tower today?”

“A job interview. Can you tell me who lives in the penthouse suite?”

“You want me to give you a resident’s private information?”

“Yes, but it’s not like I plan to do anything with it.” I shrugged. “I just want to know who is about to interview me.”

He stared at me blankly.

“I’m supposed to meet this guy at three thirty, so I also need to make sure that he’s a real person who exists.”

“ He exists . I can assure you of that.”

“Great. So, can you tell me who he is before I walk inside?”

“I’m not allowing you to walk inside until three twenty five.” He looked at his watch. “That’s guest policy. Come back then.”

He walked into the building as if he didn’t want to be bothered by more of my questions.

Confused, I walked around the building’s east side and spotted a cleaning crew pushing dollies inside, so I slipped past them.

As I passed a boiler room, I caught sight of a vast library.

I stepped inside, in utter awe of the twenty-foot bookcases that touched the ceilings. I could tell from the gold trim on the windows and the avant-garde furniture that this place wasn’t meant to be seen by a peasant like me.

“Wow…” I ran my hand along a glimmering staircase railing.

Walking around it, I saw a sign of life: a man in a dark grey suit reading a book.

Finally.

“Excuse me?” I approached him from behind.

He didn’t answer.

“Excuse me?” I said a little louder, gently tapping his shoulder. “ Sir ?”

“You must be new here,” he said without moving. “I come down here to be left alone, so leave before I have my security escort you out.”

“I’ll leave once you remove that stick up your ass and answer a simple question.”

His entire body stiffened, and he shut his book.

Then he slowly turned around to face me, and I bit my lip to prevent my jaw from dropping to the floor.

The man standing before me was too fucking sexy to be real.

His chiseled jawline was dotted with perfectly manicured stubble, and his sapphire eyes complemented his silk blue tie. His ink-black hair was cut low, and his full and defined lips were begging me to step forward and taste them.

He has to be a model or something…

“You were saying?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts. “What’s your ‘simple’ question?”

“Uh…” I felt my cheeks heating. “I have a question for you.”

“I heard you the first time.” He smiled a set of pearly whites. “I’m waiting to hear it.”

“Do you happen to know who lives in this building’s penthouse suite?”

“Yes,” he said. “Why do you need to know?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be there for something important soon, and I want to give myself a heads up before then.” I looked around. “Everyone is acting like he’s a weird, anonymous guy so I want to look him up.”

“I see.” His smile widened. “Isn’t that cheating ?”

“Only if he finds out.”

His dimples deepened, and I was pretty sure my panties would be soaked if I stared at this man any longer.

“Can you tell me who he is or not?” I asked.

His phone sounded, and he held it up to his ear.

“Yes?” he answered. “Yes, that will work for me.”

He looked me over before walking away, leaving my question unanswered.

“Thanks so much for all your help!” I yelled once he slipped into the hallway.

I had seven more minutes before I needed to return to the entrance, and I wasn’t ready to give up quite yet.

Stepping outside, I called Sasha again.

“ Hello ?” Her voice was faint. “Hello? Harlow?”

“Yes, it’s me! Can you hear me? I need you to?—”

The call dropped, and a flurry of texts hit my screen.

Sasha

Sorry! There’s terrible service in this cafe.

Good luck with your interview for the Sweet 16 Party today! The moment they taste your cupcakes, that job is 100% yours!

Surrendering to the situation, I returned to the front entrance.

“Good afternoon, Miss!” The bellman smiled as if this was our first encounter. “What brings you here today?”

“I have a three thirty interview with the resident in the penthouse suite.”

“Wow, how fascinating. I wish you the best of luck.” He opened the door. “The elevator is inside and to your right. Please take the same route down when you’re finished.”

“Thank you.” I stepped inside and inhaled a sharp breath.

The white marble floors sparkled like diamonds, so much so that I was scared to scratch them with my heels. A stone fountain shaped like the Triborough Bridge spouted water along its “road,” and into a wishing base.

There wasn’t a single penny sitting at its bottom.

Of course. I stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the top floor.

As the doors glided shut and revealed my reflection, I regretted not rushing home to change out of this dress.

Ping!

The doors opened, revealing more marble floors that led to two red French doors.

It’s just an interview, Harlow. Just an interview.

I knocked three times.

No answer.

I knocked again, a lot harder.

Nothing.

Before I could put all my muscle into it, the door swung open, revealing the beautiful, unhelpful bastard from the library. Somehow, in the minutes since I’d last seen him, he’d gotten even sexier.

“Um, hello,” I said.

“ Hello .”

“I’m here to try a new position on you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean…” I could stare into this man’s blue eyes for days. “I mean, I’m here about the new nanny position.”

“Hmmm.” He was staring into my eyes, too. “There’s a doorbell you could’ve used to get my attention.”

Where? “It wasn’t working, so I figured I’d knock instead.”

“I think it works just fine.” He pressed the button I’d somehow missed, and the soft sound of chimes echoed through the hall.

My cheeks flushed red, and I didn’t bother trying to save myself from that blatant lie.

“Good to see we both know who lives on the top floor now,” he said.

“Well, I will if you finally give me your name.”

“Good point.” A smirk crossed his lips, but no name fell from them. “What’s yours?”

“Harlow Hawthorne.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“I’ve heard…” I waited for him to extend his hand, but he just stared at me.

“You look a little young to have over a decade of childcare experience, Miss Hawthorne. ”

“I’m twenty seven.”

“So, you’ve been watching children professionally since you were seventeen ?”

“Well, I—I used to watch all my cousins, some neighbors’ kids, and I did get paid for that, and I—” I stuttered. “You see, when I went to the agency today, they told me...”

He arched a brow, waiting for me to string a coherent sentence.

“Because when they started asking me questions, she was like pediatric aid, and I said Paw Patrol , and then…” I stopped trying and let it remain undone.

“Let’s talk.” He opened the door to his condo, ushering for me to step inside.

My eyes widened as I took in the stunning view from his floor-to-ceiling windows. From here, he could see all of Central Park, and the buildings that dotted New York’s skyline looked like Legos.

“What made you apply for this position?” he asked.

“The position came to me, actually.” I bit my tongue to save myself from tossing another word salad. “But I’m very much interested, and if you give me a chance, I won’t disappoint you.”

“In that case, I need you to demonstrate how you change diapers.”

Diapers? “Your children are babies ?”

“Over there.” He ignored my question, pointing to a table where two rubber baby dolls lay. He pulled a cloth diaper off the boy and handed it to me.

“Feel free to look at how I like this done on the girl doll, and then show me your best work.” He looked at his watch. “Preferably within the next minute and a half.”

Okay. I should just walk out now.

Ignoring my best judgment, I set down my cupcakes.

I picked up the girl doll and examined her diaper. It was folded and tucked like tortelloni, my favorite pasta.

“Hmmm.” I stretched the cloth and folded the right side, but as I grabbed the left, the rubber baby slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor.

Shit…

It bounced on its butt, and I lunged toward it, but the head snapped off and rolled on top of Mr. Nameless’ Italian leather shoes.

Oh my god!

Without looking up at him, I picked up the head and snapped it back onto the body. Then I carried it back to the table as if nothing happened.

Stretching the fabric again, I wrapped it around the doll’s waist and gently secured the ends with my tightest folds.

“Interesting.” Mr. Nameless picked it up. “Minus the instant decapitation and the fact that I’d sue you down to your last dime if you ever dropped my child, you did a good job with this diaper.”

“Okay…” I was embarrassed as hell. “Thank you.”

“What’s your least favorite children’s book?” he asked.

“My least favorite?”

“This isn’t the parrot game, Miss Hawthorne.”

“It would have to be The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein.” I could still quote that book by memory, and I hated every word. “Hands down.”

“Why?”

“There’s no plot.”

“I beg to differ.”

“The tree just gives and gives to the little boy until he’s nothing more than a stump,” I said. “He spends his entire life serving someone who grows up constantly taking from him, and in the end he dies alone.”

“I think you need to reread that story…” His lips curved into a smile, but he didn't let it stay. “What’s your favorite children’s book?”

“I have too many to count, but I like The Little Blue Engine That Could .”

“Do you speak any foreign languages?”

“French.”

“Is that it?”

“I’m decent with Spanish and Italian, but not good enough to be considered fluent.”

“Are you in a serious relationship?”

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business, sir.”

“You’re here because you want to be a full-time nanny, and I expect you to work seven days a week,” he said. “If you’re in a serious relationship, you might put your boyfriend before me.”

“You mean, before your children ?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

Silence.

“Where do you currently live?” he asked.

“In an apartment.”

“In what part of town , Miss Hawthorne?”

“Brooklyn.”

“Hmmm. You can leave my house now.”

“That’s it? That’s the end of the entire interview?”

“Yes. Unless you would like a complimentary gift bag.”

“If you have one, then yeah, that would be—” I stopped, realizing he was being sarcastic. “Thank you for your time, Mister…?”

He still didn’t give me his name.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “By the way, one of my favorite children’s books is The Giving Tree .”

Of course, it is.

“Have a good afternoon. The agency will call if I'm interested in you.”

“Interested in me for this job, or for something else?” I asked.

“Come again?” He looked stunned at my question.

“Well, the way you said ‘in you’ and the way you stared at me when I got here, but maybe it was just me, so I’m not implying anything, you see?—”

“ Goodbye, Miss Hawthorne .” He shut the door in my face.