Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Right.” I collect Holly from the table and sit her on the countertop. “I want you to blow your nose real hard, okay?” I push into her left nostril as she nods, a massive grin on her face. She thinks this is a game, which is probably a good thing. Oh God, please don’t make me have to go to casualty. I haven’t got time. “After three.” I bend to get to Holly’s level and start to count, and on three I blow with her. The marble shoots out and smacks me on the forehead. “Motherfucker,” I yelp, releasing her to clench my head. “Ouch.”
“Oh, you said a bad word,” Petal sings, and Arthur starts chanting along with her. “Bad Shannon, bad Shannon, bad Shannon.”
I’m so busy cursing that I barely notice when something scuffs me. But I do open my eyes as I hear a bang, followed by a slight delay before a huge, almighty roaring cry starts. Shit. I look at my feet, where Holly is wrapped around them screaming bloody murder. “Oh my God.” I dip and scoop her up, bouncing her in my arms as I scan her for injuries. I can see nothing obvious—no cuts, bruises, or scrapes. “You’re fine,” I say gently, rubbing under her eyes. “Aren’t you?” She hiccups over her receding sobs as she nods, and I pool a little in relief, thankful I’ve not killed one of my boss’s kids. “I’m really not cut out for this, guys,” I say under my breath as I take Holly back to the table. Sitting her down and reloading her hand with a fork, I scan the rest of the children to make sure they’re all in one piece since my attention was diverted. “How about some ice cream?” I chirp, clapping my hands enthusiastically.
“For our silence?” Petal asks, just before shoving a potato wedge in her mouth. I narrow one eye. She’s a cute cookie.
“Or for your discretion,” I counter. It sounds less cunning.
“Okay,” she sings, and I hurry to the freezer, quickly checking the time again. Three thirty. Shit, I’m cutting it fine.
“Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Russell’s voice travels into the kitchen, the front door slamming soon after. What’s she so damn happy about? She’s an hour late. I turn with the tub of ice cream, just as she dances into the kitchen, weighed down with shopping bags. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.” She lifts the bags, as if to rub it in that she’s been shopping and I haven’t. “Last-minute outfit for Pete’s company Christmas gala this evening.” She smiles and disappears up the stairs as I grit my teeth and proceed to dish out the ice cream before quickly tidying up the counter. I’m not loading the dishwasher. Or waiting for the kids to finish their dessert. I’m off.
I’m collecting my bag when she waltzes back into the kitchen. “What happened to our bedroom?” she asks, pointing out the door. “It looks like an earthquake happened in there.”
An earthquake? You could say that. “Your kids decided to use the bed as a bouncy castle. Sorry. I hadn’t got around to tidying it all up.” I had no intention of tidying it up.
Mrs. Russell gives me a look that makes me feel like a child. All condemning and disapproving. “Never mind.” She rolls her eyes and goes to the table, dropping loving kisses on each of her kids’ foreheads. She pauses when she gets to Holly. “Oh my goodness, what happened?” She moves aside, giving me a clear view of her youngest . . . and the huge lump slap bang in the middle of her forehead.
Shit.
Petal jumps down from the table and performs one of those amazing hair flicks. I fear the worst. “Holly got a marble stuck up her nose, and Shannon left her on the countertop by herself. She fell off.” I balk at Petal as she grins around her last mouthful of ice cream. The traitor.
“What?” Mrs. Russell swings to face me, an appalled look on her face. “You left her alone on the countertop? And she got a marble stuck up her nose? How? Weren’t you watching her? I’ve told you before she has a habit of putting things in holes.”
Breathe. Don’t let your Irish feistiness take this woman down. It’s Christmas, after all. The season of goodwill and all that bullshit. “It was nothing.” I head for the door. “She’s fine now.”
“Where are you going?” She’s hot on my heels, and I frown as I grab the door handle and open it.
“I have Christmas shopping to do and relatives to prepare for.” I don’t mention that I already explained all that this morning when she abandoned me with her kids for the day.
“But you can’t.” She sounds a little panicked, and I turn to find she looks panicked, too. “I have Pete’s Christmas gala this evening. You have to look after the children.”