"Annie," Grayer whispered to me on my third day, as I tried to coax him into eating a plate of steamed kale shaped like the Eiffel Tower. "Do you think Mommy knows I'm here?"

I looked up to see a woman who looked like she had stepped directly out of a high-fashion magazine. Her hair was a perfect blonde bob, her sunglasses cost more than my rent, and she exuded an air of pure, unadulterated stress. This was Mrs. X.

"This is unacceptable, Annie," she said, her voice cold and trembling. "You are staff. You are not his mother. You have overstepped."

"Grayer! Grayer!" the child shrieked, flinging the box at a passing poodle. "I am so sorry!" a voice called out.

"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."

"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."

"You're the new nanny," Caleb said, leaning against the mirrored wall.

Caleb smiled, stepping forward and handing me a cup. "I heard what happened. You did the right thing."