Chapter 8

“What are you doing here?” I ask, not knowing her name.

“What does it look like?” Holding a wide-awake Isa in her right arm, she gives me a coy smile. “I’m your baby’s new night nanny…Nurse Marley Manners.”

The gorgeous woman I met on my run this morning is our night nanny? I’m too gobsmacked to calculate the odds. Slowly, I come to my senses, and after retrieving my briefcase, I hesitantly step inside my house, as if it belongs to a stranger.

“Mr. Sinclair, would you like to hold Isa?” she asks.

I’m too unsteady on my feet, and my hands are jittery. “Maybe later.” I park my briefcase on the console in the entryway. I’m at a loss for words until I whiff the air.

“What smells so good?”

“I whipped up a pasta primavera with a pack of frozen vegetables I found. The pickings were few, but I hope you’re hungry.”

“Sorry about that,” I stammer, still stunned. “Our housekeeper, who usually stocks up our refrigerator and pantry, had to unexpectedly go out of town last week. I was away on business, and my wife, as you know, had an emergency C-section and has been too unwell to leave the house.”

“Don’t either of you know how to use Instacart?” I detect surprise in her voice. “It’s really not hard and it’s a great thing for busy moms… and dads.”

My wife’s a mom. I’m a dad. It still hasn’t sunk in. I follow our night nanny, dressed in a head-to-toe white uniform, to the kitchen, the smell of the garlicky pasta growing stronger, more tantalizing. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. A real home-cooked dinner.

Loosening my tie, I take a seat at the island and watch as she flits around the state-of-the-art kitchen like a ballerina, the baby in one arm, the hand of the other plating my meal.

“I also tidied up in here. The place was a pigsty! Dishes in the sink. Things not put away. The trash overflowing.”

Embarrassment crawls up my neck. With Rosita gone, things have gone by the wayside. Ava hasn’t been able to lift a finger and I’ve never had to in my entire life. My wealthy thespian parents always had help, and even while I was at the University of Southern California, I had a housekeeper come to my dorm room twice a week to clean it up.

“Thanks,” I mutter, too mortified to make excuses as she sets the plate piled high with the pasta on the counter along with a linen napkin and some cutlery. “Ava’s mother will be here at the end of the week to help with the household.”

“Yes, Ava told me. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“She’s a piece of work. But thank goodness we don’t have to contend with her often. She lives in Vegas…where Ava’s from.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to handle her,” she says with confidence. “And besides, I’m only going to be here at night.”

“What are your hours?” I hope there’s a contract in place. I should have had one drawn up and reviewed.

“A twelve-hour shift. From sevenp.m. to sevena.m. But I’ll be glad to come earlier and/or stay later, if you need me. Your well-being is as important to me as your child’s.” She looks down at the baby. “Right, my sweet Isa? Nurse Marley has to take care of Mommy and Daddy too.”

The baby coos.

“You seem to have a magical touch with her.”

“She’s a total sweetheart. I believe there’s no such thing as a bad baby.”

“But all she does is poop and cry…”

“Mr. Sinclair, that’s what all newborns do. Though she might be picking up on both your tension and your wife’s.”

“Yeah, it’s been rough sailing so far.”

“Well, I’m here to give you a smooth ride. But I must warn you, it takes patience and persistence.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit, but I’m great with persistence.” That’s why I’m such a good dealmaker… probablythe best in this town. I never let the word “no” get in my way or stop me.

“Well, you’ll need to work on patience.” She smiles. “You know what they say, patience has its virtues.”

Maman always said that to me in French. “I’ll try,” I say coyly.

“Good. I already have a lot of confidence in you, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Please…call me Ned, Nurse Manners.”

“And you can call me Marley.”

“Marley.” Her name sounds soft and breathy on my lips. Nothing like harsh-sounding Ava.

She glances down at the pasta and then juts her strong chin at me. “Ned, do eat before the meal gets cold.”

Her voice is commanding, and I like that about her. It shows she likes to be in control.

I twirl a generous amount around the tines of my fork, put the heap to my mouth, and swallow. “Wow. How did you learn to cook like this?”

Her expression grows somber. “I had to learn a lot of things growing up. There’s nothing like fending for yourself.”

I wouldn’t know. My overindulgent parents catered to my every whim. Whatever Little Lord Ned wants, Little Lord Ned gets—or gets away with it. My beautiful, in-denial mother looked the other way while my father cleaned up my messes or paid someone to do it. From schoolyard squabbles to DUIs, and that’s just for starters. They were enablers. And I freely, without guilt, took advantage.

Not in the mood to pursue her childhood or mine, I take another mouthful of the tasty pasta. “Aren’t you going to have some?”

The baby fidgets. Marley bounces her gently in her arms.

“I’ve already eaten.” Her eyes stay fixed on Isa. “But this little one here may be getting hungry again.”

“Oh, does that mean you’re going to have to bring the baby to nurse with Ava?” She must be resting or asleep in our bedroom, though I don’t ask.

“Not at all. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Sinclair—I mean Ned—your wife’s milk production is very poor. And her body isn’t made for nursing.”

“Is that cause for alarm?”

“Hardly. It’s not uncommon. What it means is that I’ve had to put Isa on formula.”

“Isn’t that bad for her?”

Marley rolls her long-lashed violet eyes. They’re gorgeous, just like Elizabeth Taylor’s, one of my mother’s good friends, who came to our Holmby Hills house often. Even her sultry voice is a lot like Liz’s.

“Not at all. Millions of babies have grown up perfectly fine on formula.”

“Come to think about it, I’m pretty sure my motherdidn’t breastfeed me. She once told me it was dreadfully messy, painful, and inconvenient.”

She shoots me a wry smile. “And just look at you, Mr. Sinclair. You’re the epitome of success. A testament to mankind.”

She makes me blush. I feel a rush of heat rising up my neck to my cheeks.

“Ned, you look flushed. Can I get you some water or wine before I give the baby her goodnight bottle?”

“Um, uh, some wine would be great. I think there’s an open bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge.”

She returns, holding Isa in one arm, a glass of wine in her free hand. She sets the wine down in front of me and then pulls out a small formula-filled bottle from a pocket. I watch as she puts it to Isa’s puckered mouth. The baby, cradled in her arm, in her cute lamb-print pajamas, one of the dozens I brought back from France in a flurry of last-minute shopping, finds the nipple and sucks vigorously.

Nurse Marley smiles. “She’s such a good eater.”

To my surprise, I get a thrill from watching my baby thriving, eating like an Olympian. I take a sip of my wine when I hear a familiar voice.

“Darling, you’re home late.”

Ava.Clad in a pink chenille robe and fuzzy slippers, her hair wound up in a messy bun, she lumbers toward us.

“Sweetheart, I thought you were sleeping,” I stammer. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking about Isa. I missed having her right next to me. When I went to check on her, neither she nor Nurse Marley were in the nursery and I heard some voices coming from the kitchen, so I figured they were here.” With a warm smile, she sets her eyes on our new employee, then back on me. “Obviously, the two of you have met.”

“Yep.” I’m not going to tell my wife how we really met this morning while jogging. Instead I ask, “How did you find her so quickly?”

Ava explains how they fortuitously met in a Starbucks a few months ago. And how she vetted her all morning, citing her stellar credentials, recommendations, and reviews.

With a smile, I nod. “Meant to be.”

“Yes, meant to be,” echoes Marley, fluttering her long eyelashes. “Why don’t I finish feeding Isa in her nursery and let the two of you have some time together.”

“That would be wonderful,” says my wife.

I say nothing as Nurse Marley rises from her stool, the baby tucked in the crook of her arm. “Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Thank you for trusting me with your baby.”

My eyes stay on our night nanny as she retreats to the nursery. I can’t get them off her.

“Don’t you think she’s a godsend?” asks Ava, startling me.

“Y-yeah, she is.”

A goddess is more like it.