“I found Max a new nanny,” is the first thing he says before I’ve even closed the door behind me.
Huh? I take a seat across the desk in Monty’s hotel room, eyeing him with confusion. “How? I fired Troy an hour ago.”
“I’m just that good, and you’re going to hire her because you clearly have shit taste in nannies since you won’t stop firing them all, so I’m taking over.”
“Her?”
“My daughter.”
My eyes shoot to the framed photo sitting next to him. It’s the same picture he has back in his office in Chicago. The same photo he props on his desk in every city we visit.
I knew the girl in the picture was his daughter, that much was clear, but even though he and I are close, he’s never told me much about her. I always assumed it was because he felt guilty leaving her and traveling for work as much as we do. That, or he knows talking about his kid who he misses will only reaffirm what I already believe—that it’s nearly impossible to do this job as a single parent.
The girl in the photo can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen years old. She’s in that awkward phase we all had in our early teens, donning both braces and acne. Dark hair is slicked back in a tight ponytail, visor shading her face and a bright yellow T-shirt with number fourteen centered on the front. Softball player, with her too-big sleeves cinched together with some sort of band on each shoulder. A pitchers’ glove rests on a single knee as she poses for her season photo.
Monty would have a softball-playing daughter.
“She’s free for the summer and I want her to travel with us,” he continues.
Makes sense, she’s out of school for the summer.
“Yeah, but Monty, this is my kid we’re talking about.”
“And mine.” His brows raise, daring me to say something against this plan. “It’s not a question, Ace. I’m telling you this is happening. I’m tired of you finding something wrong with every single person we hire. We’re doing background checks every few weeks for someone new, and changing names on the hotel rooms and plane manifests is becoming a pain in the ass for the travel coordinators. She’s Max’s new nanny, and the best part about it is she’s my kid and you can’t fire her.”
Shit.
“She’s only free until September so we’ll have to find someone else to finish the last bit of the season, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
It’s clear there’s no getting out of this. I owe him for everything he’s done for Max and me, and he fucking knows it.
If I have to leave my son with someone who isn’t me, I guess this isn’t the worst possible solution. This is a nanny that’s probably too young to give a shit about a bunch of pro baseball players, and her dad will most likely be watching her like a hawk anytime she’s not taking care of Max, which takes that responsibility off my shoulders.
What’s two months? Just double the time I’ve gone without firing someone.
“Can she drive?” I ask.
His brows furrow in confusion. “What?”
“Like if something happens to Max while I’m not around, can she get him to the hospital?”
“Yeah . . .”
Okay, that’s good. She’s at least sixteen. That photo is probably a couple of years old at this point.
“Is she responsible?”
“She’s . . .” he hesitates. “She’s responsible at work.”
Weird answer.
The door to his hotel makes that noise when the electric lock is being undone by a keycard. Over my shoulder, dark hair enters first as a woman walks in backwards, using her ass to open the door.
Chocolate hair. Frayed hem to her shorts. Thick thighs.
She turns around and Miss Double Fisting from the elevator is standing in my coach’s hotel room. And she’s double fisting again, only this time it’s with a couple of coffee cups.
I adjust my glasses on my face to make sure I’m seeing this correctly. Green eyes connect with mine.
“You.” The word comes out part seething, part shock.
She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “I had a feeling it was going to be you.”
Huh?
“Ace, meet my daughter, Miller Montgomery. Max’s new nanny.”
My head whips back in his direction. “You’re kidding me.”
“Miller, Kai Rhodes. You’ll be taking care of his son this summer.”
“Absolutely not,” I quickly interject.
Miller rolls her eyes, handing her dad one of the two coffees.
How is this possible? She sure as hell isn’t thirteen or fourteen. She’s a full-grown woman who drinks beer and apparently doesn’t sleep. The acne is long cleared up, leaving tanned, flawless skin, and her braces have created perfectly straight teeth in a mouth that says whatever the hell it wants.
She looks like a Miller, though. That wild tomboy thing she’s got going for her with her cutoff overalls and tattoos.
“She’s not watching my kid.”
Miller takes the seat next to mine and points at me with her thumb, giving her dad a look that says, this fucking guy.
Monty laughs—traitor.
“You two have met already, I see.”
“Yeah, she was double fisting beers in the elevator at 9 a.m.”
“Dear God.” She throws her head back, and that raspy voice mixed with the sexual way my brain took that phrase has my cock betraying me. “They were Coronas. Do you know the alcohol content in those? That’s some people’s form of hydration.”
“I don’t care.” I face her dad. “I won’t leave someone like that in charge of Max.”
“Lighten up, Baby Daddy.” She takes a casual sip of her coffee—or rather her chai tea latte per the tag on her paper cup.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I had a beer to celebrate me quitting my job this morning. You’re acting like I was doing lines of coke off the handrails in the elevator, which yeah, now that I’m saying that out loud, I realize sounds oddly specific, but I promise I’ve never done that.”
I turn back to Monty. “This your kid?”
“The one and only,” he says with pride.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
I didn’t realize Monty became a dad at such a young age. That’d put him at . . . twenty years old when she was born? Damn. I thought this was hard at thirty-two.
“How old are you?” she asks.
“I’m asking the questions here. I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth risking my kid’s safety just to hire you and get your dad off my back.”
“And I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth ruining my summer by spending the next two months working for a guy with a giant stick up his ass.”
“I’m being responsible. I don’t have a stick up my ass.”
“Probably been lodged so far up there and for so damn long that you forgot it was even inside of you.”
“Miller,” Monty interjects. “You’re not helping.”
“Do you have any childcare experience?”
“Adult children, yes.”
I shoot a pointed glance towards Monty. “We don’t know if Max will even like her. You know how he is with women.”
“He was practically throwing himself at me in the elevator. I think we’re fine in that department.”
“I’m pretty sure he was going for your bottles. They look a lot like his.”
“You’re not going to get over the beers, are you?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Monty claps his hands together. “This is going to be interesting.”
“Do you smoke?” That voice of hers suggests she might.
“No, but it seems you might drive me to if this is how the rest of the summer is going to go.”
“Miller,” Monty interrupts like a stern dad breaking up a fight between his kids. “Thanks for the coffee. Can you give me a minute with Kai?”
Miller sighs, quickly tying her long brown hair up in a knot on top of her head, giving me a better view of the artwork on her arms and shoulders. It’s mostly intricate line-work making up a sleeve of florals. Almost like the outlines of a coloring page.