Such Great Heights - Sydney Logan Page 0,1
perk up. “A teaching job?”
Dana nods. “Sort of, yes.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t be picky, Olivia. You need a job, don't you? And the pay is excellent. Way more than you'd be making dealing with a classroom full of snot-nosed kids. Plus, I gave you a fabulous recommendation.”
“And the best part is you'll be working with a child,” Angel says.
“A child? As in one?”
“Yes,” Dana says. “Cutest kid in the whole world.”
“That's high praise coming from you. You don't even like kids.”
She scrolls through her phone. “Well, I'm biologically required to like this one. You remember Ryder?”
“Your nephew?”
Dana nods and finds a picture of the little boy on her phone. He’s adorable, with bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair. I’ve never met him, but she’s always posting his pictures on her Instagram.
“Five years old and looks just like my brother, thank God.”
“Why? What's wrong with his mom?”
“Don’t get her started,” Angel mumbles.
“She’s a monster,” Dana says. “Left my brother and nephew for another man, so no, I am definitely not a fan. Jackson’s trying to raise his kid, plus work his normal hours at Dad’s law firm. Obviously, it’s all very overwhelming.”
“So . . . he needs a nanny,” Angel says.
This little intervention suddenly starts to make sense.
“I am not playing Mary Poppins.”
Dana sighs. “Just listen. Ryder’s mom left nearly six months ago. My nephew’s gone through four nannies since then. I mean, these people can’t get to the elevator fast enough.”
Angel’s eyes grow wide. “You didn’t tell me that. I thought you said he was the cutest kid in the world?”
“Even the cutest kids lash out when their mothers leave them,” I mutter.
Dana flashes me a brilliant smile. “See! You get that and you haven't even met him. You are perfect for this job. Ryder starts kindergarten this year, and he's so, so smart and loves to play piano. But the kid is dealing with a lot, and Jackson is working so much. My nephew needs some stability, Liv, and my brother needs help.”
“And you need a job,” Angel says.
I consider my options. I do need a job. And playing nanny to a five year old couldn’t be too bad.
Dana grins. “Plus, you won’t have to worry about paying rent for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“You'd be expected to live there, of course. Jackson has a high-rise apartment downtown. It’s totally spacious and unbelievably gorgeous. You’ll have your own room and private bath.”
“Ooh, tell her about Hazel!” Angel says.
“Who’s Hazel?”
“Jackson’s maid. She’s a doll. You’ll love her.”
A high-rise apartment and a maid?
As the daughter of a lawyer and pediatrician, Dana had definitely been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her charmed childhood was a far cry from mine. I never wanted for anything, but my middle class upbringing couldn’t begin to compare.
“Oh, Dana, I don’t know. I’m not used to—”
“Luxuries?”
“Well, yeah.”
“So? Consider it a vacation.”
Angel nods furiously.
“It sounds so . . . Sound of Music. I can’t be her.”
Dana frowns. “Her who?”
“She means Julie Andrews,” Angel replies before breaking out in song. “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens—”
Dana clasps her hand over Angel’s mouth.
“Olivia, nobody expects you to sing songs or make clothes out of curtains.”
“That’s good, considering I can’t sew.”
Dana squeals. “So you'll do it?”
I sigh. Will I?
“Doesn't your brother want to interview me first?”
“Yes, but he trusts my judgment. If I say you can handle this, then he believes me.”
“But what if I can't handle it?”
“There’s a degree hanging on your wall that says you can.”
I smile, because she’s right. I can do this—at least until a teaching position becomes available. It’ll be good practice. It’s just one kid. One sad boy who’s lost his mother. And if I can’t do it? Then I should probably reconsider my career choice, because when I have a classroom, I’m going to have a room full of kids just like him.
This is just one kid.
One father.
And a maid.
“You’ll help me pack, right?”
Two high-pitched squeals echo off my walls.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
I punch the button for the 28th floor. Dana wasn’t lying when she said the building was a high-rise. She did, however, fail to mention that I’d be living in a penthouse. Not that it matters. From the outward appearance and marbled lobby of Brookstone Towers, I’m betting all the apartments in the building are spectacular.
And I’ve never felt more out of place.
Why am I here?
Oh yeah. Because I need a job.
The elevator dings and opens right in front of Jackson Healey’s penthouse door.
Pulling my suitcase behind me,