Such Great Heights - Sydney Logan Page 0,4

to your son . . . and to you. I’ll even volunteer my services this first week. After seven days, if you aren’t happy with my job performance, fire me. And you won’t owe me a dime.”

Mr. Healey seems a little dazed by my rant, but I can see the slight smirk at the corner of his mouth. That simple smile transforms his entire face.

So pretty.

I shake my head.

“Very good, Miss Stuart. We have a deal.”

“Thank you, Mr. Healey. And I would prefer you call me Olivia . . . sir.”

“Well, Olivia,” Mr. Healey says as he rises from his chair, “you've handled this interview like a pro. I think it's time to see if you can handle my son. Are you ready?”

I stand up and square my shoulders, hoping I look braver than I actually feel.

“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

Mr. Healey leads me through the living room.

“I trust Hazel is helping you get settled in your room?”

“Yes, sir. She’s been very kind.”

He nods. “By the way, if you insist I call you Olivia, I would prefer you didn’t call me sir. That’s my father.”

I grin slightly. Did he just sort of make a joke?

“Yes, Mr. Healey.”

We continue down the hallway, until he stops at the room right next to mine. He gently knocks on the door.

“Come in,” a little voice calls out.

Mr. Healey opens the door, and from the moment I walk in, I feel my stomach fall to the floor. Ryder’s bedroom looks just like the rest of the house.

White. Cold. Unwelcoming.

There are toys, and they’re all stuffed in gigantic toy boxes that line the walls. There are books—all nice and neat and arranged by author's last name on the bookshelf. I’m all for keeping a room neat and organized, but this? This is nuts. The room is completely void of color. Even the comforter on his bed is black. Solid black with white pillows.

But nestled against the pillows on that bed is the cutest five year old I've ever seen.

“Who are you?”

Ryder’s little voice is pained and hateful. I nervously glance at Mr. Healey, who nods in encouragement.

“I'm Olivia. I'm your new nanny.”

Ryder stares at me for a few moments, sizing me up.

“Go away,” he spits angrily, pulling one of the pillows out from under his body and throwing it at my head. I dodge, but there’s really no need. The kid’s aim is terrible.

“Go away!”

I hold his gaze while he glares at me with his dad’s bright blue eyes. Daring me to say something. Just waiting for me to turn tail and run.

This is Ryder’s test.

Not a chance, kid.

I square my shoulders and glance at Mr. Healey. He’s watching me expectantly, waiting for me to work my magic. To make myself invaluable.

Kneeling down, I pick up the pillow and gently toss it back onto the bed.

“Rule number one, Ryder—we don’t throw things, unless they are things that can’t hurt others.”

His eyes brighten. This piques his interest, excited at the prospect that he’s allowed to throw something.

“Like what things?”

I step closer to the bed. “Soft things.”

“Like . . . popcorn? Or feathers?”

“Popcorn and feathers are soft. But they can be messy. We’d have to promise Hazel that we’ll clean it up.”

An excited Ryder climbs to his knees. I can feel Mr. Healey’s eyes on me.

“Pillows have feathers.”

I smile.

“That’s true. But feel this?” I run my fingers along the seam of the pillow. “Pillows can have hard edges. We have to be careful not to hit someone too hard. But yeah, I think pillows are okay, as long as we aren’t trying to hurt someone. Pillow fights can be a lot of fun.”

Intrigued, Ryder slides his tiny finger along the pillow’s seam.

“So what’s rule number one?” I ask.

“Don’t throw hard things.”

“Good job.”

I hold my breath and pray this rule doesn’t come back to bite me.

Mr. Healey clears his throat. “Ryder, Mrs. Langham will be here soon for your piano lesson. Please wash your hands and head to the living room. Olivia and I will be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Ryder climbs down from his bed and walks toward his adjoining bathroom. He quietly closes the door behind him.

“Can he reach the sink?”

“He has a step stool.”

I nod.

“That was . . . interesting to watch. That’s the longest conversation I’ve ever heard between my son and his nanny.”

“Really?” I’m surprised. I mean, what was that? A minute? Maybe two?

“He’s sometimes a handful for his piano teacher. Maybe you’ll have a calming effect on him. And if not, you’ll have