The Billionaire's Nanny

Life is hard; you make a plan, and life says 'no'; that's not what will happen. Life is not very merciful or considerate; things only go their way and no other way. You make a plan to be great, but life tells you that you are going to become a maid. Life happened to me, and I ended up a nanny. Finish with the dishes. Take out the trash. Give Camille a bath. Put her to sleep. Clear up her play area. Go to bed. I repeated these sentences; my hand was deep in the soapy water as I tried to hurry up. I stared outside the window for a bit, then at my phone lying on the fridge. ‘I should write this down,' I thought about the list. No! I shook my head, my hands were wet, and it was a shortlist so that I would remember. All I had to do was: Finish doing the dishes. Take out the trash. Give Camille a bath. Put her to sleep. Go to bed. It was simple. I would soon be done with the dishes anyway; Camille, the child I was watching over, was a good little girl. I had not heard any crashes or noise from the living room since I began working; she was not only reasonable but also intelligent, and she understood that I was exhausted and needed some rest. I placed the last bowl on the stack of plates and moved to unplug the sinkhole so that I could begin rinsing. I stopped when something clicked in my head. No noise, no crash, and I knew it. I was in trouble, and as I wiped my hand with the dishtowel, my head began spinning with the possibility of what she could be up to. Camille was not a quiet girl, and I understood that bitter truth for the two years I have had to care for her. She was only silent when she was asleep or up to no good, and I knew she was causing a disaster in the living room. The last time she went quiet, the dishwasher stopped working, and being too scared to tell Mr. Black, I settled with using my hands to wash the dishes. "Camille!" I yelled out, "I see what you are doing." I hoped I was wrong, and she wasn't doing anything. "I'm not doing anything, Anna," She answered quickly, and my hope was crushed. Getting to the living room, my mouth dropped wide open at what I saw. In front of me, Camille was standing with a paintbrush in hand, head to toe, covered with a series of colors, and that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the once white fur rug that lay solo on the floor, in the middle of the living room, with so much prestige and grace, had been ruined. I could barely see a patch of white on it; all I saw were colors. After giving her a very long bath, I tucked her into bed and wished her goodnight. I switched off the light and stepped out of the room; I didn't leave until I was sure she had stopped tossing and turning, a tell-tale sign that she had maybe fallen asleep. With the silence from her room, I walked back down the stairs and dropped on the black leather chair. I was done with all of my work, and I just needed to catch my breath for a little bit and go up to bed. Mr. Black's dinner was in the microwave already, and he knew that, but it didn't mean he would eat. As the cool air from the AC came down and touched my sweaty face, I began to doze off. I tried to keep my eyes open, but it only proved futile. The room was silent, except for the noise in my head. I could hear shots being fired in the distance, but my eyes didn't leave the injured soldier lying on the ground. There was suddenly a loud bang stopping the gunshots from going off in my head. The sound didn't stop the scene from playing out, though. On the muddy ground was the soldier, wrapped up in mud and blood, clutching onto his chest with shaky palms, trying with so much gusto to stop the blood from leaving his body. Surrounding him was a soldier or two, clutching his chest, trying to stop the blood spurting from his friend's chest. The other had accepted his fate and merely held the legs of the dying one. The scene disappeared before anything could happen as I heard footsteps retreating far from me. They were low but bold, and they had me jerking up from the couch, where I had fallen asleep. My nostrils were filled with the fragrance from 'Another 13', and I knew then that my boss was back. I took a sniff of the air and his fragrance one last time, the smell doing wonders to my stomach Mr. Black was only noticed in the house twice a day, in the early morning and after midnight. Either he wasn't at home, or he was locked up in a room where no one else was allowed. He was a hard-working man with an intimidating presence that always had me shook. I had no idea what exactly made him intimidating. Was it the way he carried himself, no smiles on his face that was 6ft up there and only grunting in response to whatever anybody said. Or maybe it was because he smelt so much of all the mad money he had. Mr. Black was wealthy, and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it. Even with how intimidating he was, it didn't stop my heart from beating every single time I laid my eyes on him or managed to hear his voice. His voice would do many things to any girl, and it did something to me. I shook my head and pushed out every thought of him. Feeling refreshed, I decided to just sleep in my room and enjoy my comfortable bed. On my way to my room, I noticed that the kitchen lights were still switched on, so I went to turn them off. On getting to the kitchen, I let out a low groan. I was not done with the dishes; I had forgotten.