Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns

The house was silent when Althea returned, but the lights in the formal living room were blazing. She walked in, her heels echoing on the marble foyer. Eleanor Harrington was sitting on the high-backed leather sofa, a glass of sherry in her hand. She looked like a vulture waiting for carrion. "You left," Eleanor said, not bothering to look up from her inspection of her manicure. "Easton called. He is furious. Leaving a charity gala before the auction? Do you have any idea how that looks?" Althea kicked off her heels. She walked past the living room toward the stairs. "I don't care, Eleanor." Eleanor shot up from the sofa, spilling a drop of sherry on the Persian rug. "You don't care? You ungrateful little gold digger. My son pulled you out of obscurity, gave you a life most women would kill for, and this is how you repay him? By throwing tantrums?" Althea stopped. She turned slowly. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. "A life?" Althea asked softly. "You mean a life where I manage his schedule, run his household, raise his son, and tolerate his mistress parading around in my clothes? That's not a life, Eleanor. That's a staff position. And I quit." Eleanor's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Mistress? Georgina is a family friend! She has stood by Easton through everything! You are just jealous because she has class and you..." Eleanor sneered, looking Althea up and down. "You are just a placeholder." The front door burst open. Laughter spilled into the hallway. Easton walked in, carrying a sleeping Holt. Georgina followed, her hand resting possessively on Easton's lower back. "Shh," Georgina giggled, pressing a finger to her lips. "We don't want to wake the little prince." Easton saw Althea standing by the stairs. His face hardened. "You," he growled, his voice low so as not to wake the boy. "We are going to talk about tonight. In the study. Now." "Look at them," Eleanor crooned, walking over to stroke Holt's hair. "Such a perfect family unit. It's a shame some people don't fit in." Holt stirred. He opened his sleepy eyes, saw Georgina, and smiled. "Mommy G..." he mumbled, snuggling into Easton's shoulder. Althea felt the physical blow of those words in her chest. It was a dull ache, radiating outward. "Put him to bed, Easton," Georgina said softly, playing the role of the benevolent matriarch. "I'll make you some tea. You look stressed." "You're an angel, G," Easton murmured. He glanced at Althea with pure disdain. "Why can't you be more like her?" Althea didn't answer. She turned and walked up the stairs. "I'm talking to you!" Easton hissed behind her. "Make me something to eat. I'm starving. The gala food was inedible." Althea paused on the landing. She didn't look back. "The kitchen is fully stocked. Or ask your 'angel' to cook. I'm off the clock." She heard Eleanor gasp. She heard Easton's stunned silence. Althea walked into the master bedroom and locked the door. She didn't turn on the lights. She went straight to the desk in the corner, opening her laptop. The screen glowed blue in the darkness. She opened a hidden folder titled Exit Strategy. Inside was a draft of a divorce agreement she had written two years ago, after the first time she found lipstick on his collar. She had never had the courage to print it. She scrolled down to the alimony section. Spousal Support: $50,000 monthly. Her fingers hovered over the backspace key. She pressed it. She held it down until the number disappeared. She deleted the request for the house. She deleted the request for the car. She deleted the request for the stocks. She typed in a single sentence: The parties shall retain their own assets. From downstairs, she heard Georgina laughing-a sound that vibrated through the floorboards. Althea hit Print. The printer whirred to life, the mechanical rhythm soothing in the quiet room. She watched the paper slide out, warm and crisp. Her phone buzzed on the desk. A text message. Bret: The lab is ready. Welcome back, Dr. Morrison. Althea touched the screen, tracing the title she hadn't used in five years. A cold smile touched her lips.