Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

18

Heather

The next few days with the kids were rough.

They were wild in the mornings, right after their dads left for work. The last kids I nannied for, back in Texas, were quiet and sleepy in the mornings. But Micah and Dustin? It was like someone had injected raw sugar into their veins and set them loose.

Each day, I slowly got them back under some semblance of discipline. Little by little, using our adventure plan on the fridge, I got them to relax and sit still for whatever activity was planned. Slow and steady. That’s how this worked. Consistent discipline, firm and fair, until they learned how to behave.

One morning, I got to the residence and found the adventure plan covered with ketchup stains. It was barely legible.

“Miss Heather! Miss Heather! Micah wanted to read the plan in bed!” Dustin tattled when I asked about it. “That’s why it’s so messy!”

“Why were you eating ketchup in bed?” I asked.

“Because ketchup packets are my secret snack,” Micah said sheepishly. “It helps me go to sleep.”

I groaned to myself. That was a habit we would need to break him out of. Ketchup was full of sugar. And eating in bed underminded the entire concept of mealtime.

When the kids were settled into the couch watching Trollhunters, I went down the hall to the office, punched in the keycode on the door lock, and went inside. The office was stocked with equipment: a desktop computer with dual monitors, a printer, fax machine, scanner, copier, and a lamination machine. There was a badge sitting in the end of the laminator; it looked like they printed their own security badges.

I logged onto the computer and created a new adventure plan in Microsoft Paint. This time I added an extra column for each child: Cora, Dustin, and Micah. I printed it out then fed it into the laminator. While that was humming, I went on Amazon and ordered a pack of gold stickers with same-day delivery.

Along with a few other goodies.

The adventure plan helped create a framework for their day, but they were only six years old. They needed more incentive to behave during each activity.

“Here’s the new system,” I explained to them that afternoon. “If you’re good during an activity, you get a gold star!” I demonstrated by sticking a gold star onto the chart, in the box where Cora and Nap Time intersected. “If you’re bad, you don’t get a star.”

“Why does Cora get a sticker for nap time?” Dustin demanded.

“Because Cora was quiet and stayed in her bed the entire time,” I calmly explained. “You and Micah kept getting up and going into each other’s rooms. But it’s okay. You have a chance to get a gold star during outside play time!”

There was a little yard area downstairs behind the offices, fenced in and sheltered from the neighboring commercial lots by tall trees with wide canopies. Cora played jump rope and hula hoop, while the boys tossed a baseball back and forth. When Dustin hurled the baseball as hard as he could and almost hit Micah, I went over and scolded him.

“Dustin! You could have hurt Micah.”

“I was trying to hurt Micah,” Dustin said, sticking out his jaw stubbornly. “But I missed.”

“Hurting your brother is not nice. And when you’re not nice, you don’t get a gold star. Now apologize for what you did.”

That got through to him. He nodded sullenly and mumbled an apology. Then the two of them went to retrieve the ball on the other side of the yard.

Obviously, it would be better if the kids intuitively knew not to hurt each other. But sometimes they needed a little help along the way.

Adjacent to the yard was the glass wall of the security office break room. Asher and Rogan were pouring themselves mugs of coffee while watching. I smiled and gave them a wave. Rogan waved back, but Asher looked thoughtful while he watched.

At the end of the day, right before the dads got home, I collected the three children in the kitchen. “Now is the best part of the day. You get rewards for how many gold stickers you have.”

Micah gasped. “You mean we get more than just stickers?”

“That’s right. The stickers lead to treats.” I held two buckets of candy I had ordered on Amazon. “If you have three stars, you get to pick a treat from this bucket. If you have five stars, you get to pick a treat from this bucket.”

I lowered the buckets so the kids could peer inside. Micah’s freckled face looked shocked. “The candy is bigger in this bucket!”

“That’s right. The better you behave during the day, the bigger candy you get at night! Cora was really good today, so she gets one of the treats from the big bucket.”

Cora blinked behind her glasses, then eagerly grabbed a Twix bar.

“Micah, you only had three stars. And Dustin only had four. That means you both get to pick something from the smaller bucket.”

They both gazed forlornly at Cora’s larger piece of candy. “But these are smaller,” Dustin whined.

“Then you will need to be good tomorrow, so you can get one too!”

I had used this plan before. It always worked great, and taught the kids patience and long-term goals. Most actions at this age—shoving, crying, throwing something—were impulses that came without thought. The star system forced them to think about the consequences of these actions.

When the dads got home, I showed them the laminated sheet on the fridge and explained the system.

“I was curious about what you said to them while they were playing baseball,” Asher remarked. “Both of them responded quite quickly.”

Brady peeled it off the fridge and squinted. “And this system works? For real?”

“It sure does. As long as you’re consistent, and let them know when they have done something bad to lose their star. This only works if they understand which actions are good and which are bad.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Rogan said. “We’ll stick to it.”

The next day, Patty covered for me in the morning so I could go to the audition for the anti-smoking commercial. I hadn’t rehearsed very much—I was busy having fun with Rogan in my hotel room at night.

And it showed. I was sloppy. I missed an inflection on one of the lines and the casting director had me re-read it. She wasn’t impressed after the second reading, and told me they would be in touch if I got a callback.

Bombing an audition was a shitty feeling. It was like flunking a test, but with an audience witnessing the whole thing and sending judgmental glances your way.

But I told myself it was not a big deal, because this was just temporary. Six months from now, Rogan would hook me up with his industry contacts. I’d get a real agent. And then I wouldn’t have to audition for stupid commercials.

I’d get my own Netflix show, death threats and all.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t build up your resume in the mean time,” Rogan told me that night in the hotel. “Every little bit helps.”

We were soaking in the bathtub together. We’d continued having sex without a condom, but I still made him pull out. I kind of liked seeing him come all over my chest. It was evidence of how much he enjoyed what we were doing. Tonight he had blown a really big load. He must have really liked the reverse cowgirl position we tried.

“Commercials are meaningless,” I said, stretching my foot out to rub against his chest on the other side of the huge tub. “Nobody ever saw someone’s Nike commercial and said, wow, I need that girl in my TV show.”

Rogan shrugged and took my foot in his hand. He began digging his thumbs into the arch, a deep massage that made me close my eyes and moan as loudly as I had during the earlier sex.

Okay, maybe not as loudly as that. But still pretty damn loud.

“I know why you like coming here,” I purred at him.

One of Rogan’s dark eyebrows rose. “Why do I like coming here?”

“Because you have a nanny fetish. You want to bang the woman who’s taking care of your kids all day.”

“I have a Heather Hart fetish,” he replied smoothly. “You’re the only way I can get a hard-on.”

I splashed water at him. “Somehow I doubt that’s true. But I appreciate the lie. Speaking of lies, what did you tell the other dads?”

Rogan raised an eyebrow. “Other dads?”

“That’s what I’m calling you in my head. The dads. Try to keep up. Where do they think you are right now?”

“I didn’t tell them anything,” he replied. “I just said I was going out for a while. Asher’s busy watching the kids, and Brady is scouting one of the guys who has been stalking Amirah Pratt. Neither of them are thinking about me at all.”

“Good,” I said. “Then you can stay a little longer and continue massaging my feet.”

He grinned and dug deeper into my foot. I sighed and relaxed back into the tub.

Just physical, I told myself. This has to stay just physical.