“This is Celine,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s… the nanny. For my kids. I brought her to carry coats and bags. You know how these events are.”
The silence was thunderous to me.
Harrington choked on his champagne. His eyes widened, flicking from Grant’s clueless smile to my unreadable face.
“The… nanny?” Harrington repeated, voice strained.
Grant laughed again, sweating now. “Yes. Good help is hard to find, right? Anyway—about Q3 projections…”
Harrington looked at me, waiting for a signal. If I gave it, he’d end Grant’s career right there.
I held his gaze. One eyebrow lifted. A tiny shake of my head.
Not yet.
“A pleasure to meet you, Celine,” Harrington said, voice layered with meaning. “I imagine… cleaning up after Grant is a full-time job.”
“You have no idea,” I replied smoothly, calm over the fire in my chest. “But I’m excellent at taking out trash.”
Grant missed it completely. He clapped Harrington’s shoulder and steered him away, leaving me alone in my “plain” silk dress.
