The golden light of a New York City autumn was doing absolutely nothing to improve my mood. I was twenty-one, armed with a fresh anthropology degree from NYU, zero job prospects, and a bank account that consisted mostly of lint and optimism. My name is Annie Braddock, and according to my mother, I was supposed to be interviewing for a position at a prestigious financial firm on Wall Street today.
Instead, I was sitting on a bench in Central Park, watching a four-year-old in a miniature Burberry trench coat have a full-blown meltdown because his artisanal, organic juice box was the wrong shade of green.
The pressure in the X household reached a boiling point. Mr. X was having an affair with his co-worker, and Mrs. X was descending into a spiral of paranoia and perfectionism. I was working sixteen-hour days, neglecting my own life, my studies, and Caleb. DiГЎrio de uma Nanny ComГ©dia, Drama, Romance 200...
"Perfect. You look sensible. Not like the last one who tried to steal my husband's vintage watch collection," she said, pulling a leather-bound planner from her Chanel bag. "Can you start Monday? Little Grayer needs a firm hand, and I need to go to a fundraiser for endangered moss."
My official title was Nanny. My actual job description was a mix of diplomat, personal assistant, punching bag, and emotional surrogate. Grayer’s father, Mr. X, was a high-powered businessman who spoke exclusively in corporate jargon and viewed his son as a tax write-off. Mrs. X spent her days attending committee meetings and obsessing over her standing in the cutthroat social hierarchy of the Upper East Side. The golden light of a New York City
The next morning, Mrs. X called me into her pristine, white living room. She had found a nanny cam recording I didn't know existed. It didn't show me doing anything wrong—it showed me hugging Grayer, telling him he was loved, and letting him eat pizza.
"Well," he said, taking my hand and pulling me close. "You've successfully navigated the wildest jungle in Manhattan. I'd say you're ready for anything." Instead, I was sitting on a bench in
"No," I said, standing up straight, feeling a wave of calm wash over me. "I am the only person in this apartment who actually looks at your son. He doesn't need another French tutor, Mrs. X. He needs you." I was fired on the spot.