vanillateafox

“Daddy?”

Adrien looked down at his four-year-old. He gave her a smile then picked her up and set her on his lap. “What is it, Emma?”

She hugged him tight in a way that got him to worry. “I don’t like the new babysitter,” she whispered.

His eyes shut as he sighed. If Adrien recalled correctly, they were on nanny number eight. Ever since the original nanny—the one he wouldn’t dare belittle by assigning a number—had given her two-week’s notice, he’d been desperately trying to find another nanny for Emma. His father had immediately given Nathalie the task of finding a suitable replacement, but no matter how qualified the nannies Nathalie had found were, Emma just didn’t like any of them.

She was a picky child, a trait courtesy of her mother. But, if Adrien was being honest, he wasn’t certain he liked any of the replacements, either.