Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns

Easton woke up with a pounding headache. His hand groped the bedside table for the glass of water and two aspirin that were always there.

His hand hit empty wood.

He frowned, peeling his eyes open. The room was bright with morning sun. The curtains hadn't been drawn. There was no water. No aspirin. No smell of coffee wafting from downstairs.

"Althea!" he croaked.

Silence.

He kicked off the covers, irritation flaring. "Althea!"

He stomped into the bathroom. No fresh towels laid out. The toothpaste tube was uncapped.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She's actually taking this strike seriously."

He pulled on a robe and went downstairs. The scene in the kitchen was chaos.

Holt was sitting in his high chair, screaming. A bowl of cereal had been overturned on the floor, milk pooling around the table legs. Mrs. Higgins, the elderly housekeeper who came in on weekdays, was looking flustered, trying to clean up the mess with paper towels.

"I want pancakes!" Holt shrieked, kicking his legs. "Mommy makes dinosaur pancakes!"

Eleanor was sitting at the island, clutching a cup of tea like a lifeline. "Make the boy stop crying, Easton. My migraine is splitting."

"Where is Althea?" Easton demanded, ignoring his son.

Mrs. Higgins looked up, her face pale. "She... she's not here, sir. Her side of the bed wasn't slept in."

Easton froze. He checked his phone. No texts. No missed calls.

"She actually left," Eleanor scoffed. "Probably at a hotel, waiting for you to call and apologize. Don't give in, Easton. It sets a bad precedent."

Holt threw a spoon across the room. "I want Mommy G!"

Easton rubbed his face. "Holt, stop it."

Holt grabbed his iPad from the table. His little fingers swiped expertly. A moment later, a video call tone chimed.

"Hi, buddy!" Georgina's face filled the screen. She was in bed, wearing a silk sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, looking effortlessly glamorous.

"Mommy G!" Holt stopped crying instantly. "Daddy won't give me pancakes. And the Nanny is gone."

Georgina's eyes widened. "Oh no, poor baby. Is Althea still acting out? That is so irresponsible, leaving a child like that."

Easton stepped into the frame. "She's gone, G. Took a suitcase."

"Oh, Easton," Georgina's voice dripped with sympathy. "I'm so sorry. She's clearly unstable. Who abandons their family?"

"Can you come over?" Holt pleaded. "Please?"

Georgina bit her lip, looking at Easton through the screen. "I have a spa appointment... but for you, my brave boys? I'll be there in an hour."

Easton felt a wave of relief. "Thank you, Georgina. You're a lifesaver."

He hung up. He tried calling Althea again.

The number you have reached is not in service.

He stared at the phone. She hadn't just turned it off. She had disconnected the line.

"Fine," Easton slammed the phone onto the counter, cracking the screen protector. "You want to play hardball? Let's see how you like sleeping on the street."

Across the city, in a glass-walled breakroom on the 40th floor of the Morrison Institute, Althea took a sip of black coffee. It was hot, strong, and exactly how she liked it-not the weak latte she drank to be polite to Easton.

She was wearing a white lab coat. It felt like armor.

Bret Morrison walked in, carrying a bag of bagels. He looked tired but energized. He was tall, with the same dark eyes as Althea, but his were harder, worn down by years of running a billion-dollar empire.

"You sleep okay in the guest suite?" he asked, tossing a bagel to her.

"Better than I have in five years," Althea said. She caught the bagel one-handed.

"HR has your badge ready. Security clearance Level 5. Only you and I have access to the core data." Bret sat down opposite her. "Are you sure you want to start today? You can take a week. Go to the villa in Como."

"No," Althea said. "I need to work. My brain feels like it's been atrophying."

She pulled her new phone out of her pocket. It was on Do Not Disturb mode. The screen showed 15 blocked notifications from the Harrington landline.

She swiped them away without reading them.

"Besides," she said, biting into the bagel. "I have a lot of catching up to do. Dr. Fuller's heart drug data... I looked at it last night. There's a variance in the beta-blocker sequence."

Bret grinned. It was a sharp, wolfish grin. "That's my sister. Welcome home, Allie."