She leaned against the doorframe, shaking her head. "You spend money like water—what man will ever be able to afford you?"
The irritation I'd been suppressing all night finally snapped.
I slammed my bowl onto the table.
"Mrs. Lawrence! I will say this once: You are an employee. Not my mother. Not my elder. You have no right to lecture me."
I glared at her, voice rising. "I spend my own money on what I please. And frankly—do you really think I need a man to support me?"
Violet flinched, her face flushing, but she wasn't done. "Once you're married, that money belongs to your husband's family. Who would allow a wife to spend like this? You young people never listen. I'm doing this for your own good..."
My appetite vanished. Rage burned in my chest. I was seconds away from firing her on the spot.
But then my gaze drifted to the balcony.
There sat Mochi, my reddish-brown Alaskan Malamute—a hundred-pound giant, quiet in the evening light. To me, he wasn't just a pet. He was family. I'd raised him for six years. He was my heart.
Catching my eye, Mochi panted, tongue lolling out in a goofy, adorable grin.
The tension in my chest loosened. My heart softened, and the words of dismissal died in my throat.
Mochi was a hundred-pound Alaskan Malamute with an insatiable need for exercise. Since my role at Swanson Group kept me buried in work, walking him was the most critical part of the nanny's job.
With that in mind, I headed toward the study, tossing a command over my shoulder.
"Clear the table. Don't disturb me today. I have work to finish."
Once inside, I pulled out my phone and dialed the agency. I needed a replacement within three days. After confirming the request, I exhaled slowly, tension easing from my shoulders.
For Mochi's sake, I'd tolerate Violet for just a few more days.
The next morning, a man's low rumble pulled me from sleep.
My pulse spiked. I threw off the covers and hurried to the living room, tightening my robe.
A stranger was sitting on my sofa.
Hearing my footsteps, Violet emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron as if nothing were amiss.
"Zoey, you're up?" She beamed, gesturing to the man. "This is my son, Isaac Whitney. Since you're both young, I brought him over so you could get to know each other."
My gaze shifted to Isaac.