Forty-Two: Pierce

FORTY-TWO

PIERCE

M iss Wharton paced my office with teary eyes, her face as white as a ghost’s.

“I promise you, Mr. Dawson,” she said for the umpteenth time, “I had no idea this was happening. I was simply doing my due diligence and keeping a high level of ‘character integrity’ for the agency like you said when you sent us the donation.”

I clenched my jaw.

I hadn’t said a word for fifteen minutes; I was far too shell-shocked to process all of Harlow’s deceit.

She’d been lying to me and my kids from day one.

“How exactly did she get into your system to begin with?” I asked. “I don’t understand how she got this far if she never used your agency.”

“She did, briefly…” she said. “I got I.T. to do some extensive checking and they said she was supposed to be placed in our fine dining category, since she was a pastry chef.”

“She’s a professional chef?”

“She was working in a Michelin-starred restaurant when she applied with us.”

My blood boiled.

Here I was, thinking I was encouraging someone with a natural baking talent and passion.

She’d never once mentioned that she was a professional, and every time we walked past an acclaimed restaurant, she’d say, “Wow. I wonder what working in that commercial kitchen is like.”

“Mr. Dawson, I swear?—”

“ Hold that thought ,” I interrupted. “Just to be clear, Harlow Hawthorne has zero experience nannying, has none of the certifications I demanded from your agency, and she was never qualified to work for me?”

“That is correct, sir.” She pulled a crinkled sheet from her pocket and set it on my desk. “I’m certain you’ll want to use that soon.”

I picked it up. “A phone number?”

“It’s the law firm that handles issues for my agency.” She wiped her face. “I’ve been around long enough to know when legal action is about to be taken.”

“In that case, you’re absolutely wrong, Miss Wharton.” I set down the paper. “I only want to know if you can have a replacement nanny for me by tomorrow morning.”

“Absolutely, sir.”