Her brows bunch in confusion.

"You're trying to get my dad for his money. He doesn't have any. We're poor." It’s a lie. We're not poor. My Dad has his own construction company. We live on a trillion acres and have the biggest house in town. But she probably already knows all that.

"Lucy." Dad shakes his head. "This is Virginia. She's our live in nanny."

"Live in?" I scoff. "Where does she live, on Mom's side of the bed? She died in there you know?"

After the crappy day with Cameron, I don't have the strength to filter my thoughts. He was my strength, and now he's gone.

"Give us a minute," Dad says to Virginia. More like Vagina.

When she's left the room, Dad approaches me. He smells fresh. Not like the disgusting smell of booze I'd gotten accustomed to. He eyes me up and down. And even though his beard covers most of his face, like it has for years, I can see the frown. I can see the sadness. "Baby girl," he whispers, wrapping me in his arms. "I've missed you so much."

And I'm no longer mad or pissed off at the world. All of a sudden I'm four years old and my daddy's arms are the safest place in the entire world.

He kisses the top of my head and pulls back. "One day I'll make it up to you. I'll be a better man."

"I don't want a better man," I tell him. I hold on to him tighter and wipe my tears on his shirt. "I just want my daddy back."

***

When I apologize to Virginia, she chuckles. "It's fine, Lucy," she says. "At least you didn't call me Vagina."

We both laugh just as the doorbell rings. I look from the door, to her. "I'm a nanny, not a maid." But she opens the door anyway.

Mark stands on the other side. He looks panicked. Or afraid. Maybe both.

"If you're here about Cameron, then you can save it."

"Cameron? That little turd?" He shakes his head and loosens his tie. "No. Remember how you told me about the spreadsheet and the envelopes and the printing of said spreadsheet on the envelopes?"

I nod.

"I can't work out how to do it and I have another mail out that I need to do by Monday. I need your help." He links his hands together in front of him. "I'm here to offer you a job. No—I'm begging you to please take the job." He shakes his joined hands, begging. "Please."

"When?"

"Saturday."

"That's tomorrow."

He nods.

I shrug. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

CHAPTER SEVEN

-LUCY-

Mark drops a box of envelopes on his desk. "You got everything you need?"

"Yeah."

It takes longer to do what he wanted because the files on his computer are a disorganized mess. I don't know how long he planned on hiring me for, but I end up writing a list of other things that need to be done.

"Yo," I hear, and then a bang.

A piece of paper is being held up against the window of Mark's office with black and white comic strip gracing the page.

Cameron.

For a split second, I actually consider hiding under the desk, but I'm too late. He's already looking into the office, his hand still pressed up against the glass. His eyes go wide. "What—" His voice cracks.

Clearing it, he removes the sheet off the window and steps into the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Mark—" That's all I can get out. Holy crud bucket he looks good. He removes his cap and runs a hand through his hair. His stupidly, perfect, messy hair. And then it hits me—what it is that's making all the words catch in my throat. He's in his baseball uniform. I knew he played, I'd seen photos at his house, but I'd never seen it up close, in real life. Stupid baseball uniform.

"So?" he says, a smirk developing on his face. He knows I've been checking him out.

"Mark asked me for some help with some stuff so that he could get some stuff done and he said he needed help with the stuff." I bow my head in shame of the non-sentence I just dribbled.

I hear his footsteps approaching, but I don't look up. Then I smell him, the same smell I'd gotten familiar with from sleeping in his bed the last few nights.

His arm brushes against my chest, causing me to flinch. I push back from the desk. The wheels of the chair catch on the carpet and then I'm falling backwards...

He catches the chair just in time—his stupid smirk getting wider. Smirk face. That's what I should call him. Or smirk-the-jerk. I laugh to myself.

He looks at me like I'm crazy.

I am. Him and his stupid hair, and his stupid uniform, and his stupid smirk-the-jerk face have made me crazy.

His head tilts to the side as he leans over me, his eyes never leaving mine. Then I do something that's legit crazy.

I sniff him.

"Did you just—"

"No."

"I thought I just heard you—"

"No." I square my shoulders. "What do you want?"

He reaches over me, lifts the phone off the base and presses a few buttons. His eyebrows bunch as he takes me in, eyeing me up and down. He clears his throat, the sound repeating through the speakers of the building. "Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, please return yourself, and all your Good Vibrations, back to your office. There's a beautiful girl sitting at your desk. No need for alarm. Apparently she's just here to sniff around."

A moment later, Mark walks in. He tries to contain his smile, but it's evident he found it just as funny as I did. I don't laugh though, or even smile, because if I did... smirk-the-jerk wins.

He smacks Cam on the back of the head. "What did I tell you about using the PA system as your own personal microphone?" He winks down at me. "You want me to tell the beautiful girl at my desk about that time when you were ten and you thought you could beat-box? And how I had to upgrade the entire phone and PA system because you spit so much saliva into the receiver there was a permanent crackle in all the speakers?"

Cam's smirk disappears.

And I laugh.

All out laugh.

It completely takes over me.

I've laughed a few times since Mom died, but not like this. Not so hard that I can't control it. I hold my sides, trying to ease the pain. When I finally settle and open my eyes, Mark's gone. Cam is leaning back against the desk watching me with an emotion on his face I can't decipher. He pushes off the desk and blows out a long, heavy breath. "You make my world stop, Lucy."

***

He's changed out of his baseball uniform and into workout shorts and a loose tank. Apparently, he works at the dealership sometimes—washing cars and whatnot.

I don't watch him just outside the office window. I don't note that boys like him shouldn't look like that at fifteen. I don't constantly zone out thinking about the way he kisses me. I don't stare at him at all. Nope. Not for a second.

I'm not even watching him as a girl comes up and starts talking to him. He stops what he's doing, drops the hose, and walks up to her. I don't notice that he glances into the office quickly. He won't see me watching, because I'm not.

She cocks her hip to the side and crosses her arms just under her breasts, pushing them higher. I recognize the girl—she goes to our school. A junior.