This is the first time I've written a follow-up story to one I posted earlier. It was written in response to some of the constructive comments and feedback I got to the original story, "The Disappointing Son."
As usual, there's no graphic content. I don't think good romance stories need that. All of the persons described as participating in sexual activity in the story are over the age of 18. The story is completely fiction Any resemblance of a person in the story to an actual person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I welcome constructive comments, feedback and criticism. I hope you enjoy Megan's viewpoint of Rick's and her romance.
THE DISAPPOINTING SON - MEGAN'S STORY
I had known this day was coming since I first accepted the position as the Sullivan family's nanny. An American family doing a two-year stint in Mr. Sullivan's investment bank's London office, they had hired me straight from nanny training school to care for their four children, who ranged in age from fourteen down to almost six. Mrs. Sullivan, an international law attorney, had worked in her firm's London office during Mr. Sullivan's rotation to London. Now, more than ten years later, the youngest Sullivan, Ryan, had turned sixteen and no longer needed to be cared for. I had no grounds for complaint. The Sullivans had been extremely generous. When Mr. Sullivan's rotation had ended, they had arranged a green card for me so I could continue caring for their children when they returned to the U.S. They had then helped me obtain permanent residency and sponsored me for U.S. citizenship. They'd enrolled me in driver's training and gotten me a U.S. driver's license, then provided a car for my use both in caring for the children and my own times out. I'd lived in their homes, most recently a large home on the Main Line outside Philadelphia, for the entire time of my employment, traveled with them on vacations all over Europe and the U.S., and even been given two weeks vacation a year with tickets back to Britain to visit my family. When my father died a few years ago, the entire family had dropped what they were doing and flown to Britain for the funeral. Then Mrs. Sullivan's law firm had handled dad's estate at no charge to my mother. The Sullivans had been more than wonderful employers and I would be sorry to leave them.
Ever the planner, Mrs. Sullivan had arranged for me to be added to the candidate pool of a nanny placement agency. I'd been selected as one of three candidates to interview as the caregiver for a four year old girl whose home was only a few miles from the Sullivans. I was excited for the opportunity, as I had come to love the area and I'd be able to maintain a relationship with the Sullivan family if I were hired by this Richard McDonald to care for his child.
The day before my interview, the service had provided me with the name of my potential employer, the number of children involved and their general location. At breakfast the morning of the interview, I asked Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan if they knew the McDonald family or could give me any information about them that might help me either with the interview process or make a decision about accepting the position if it were offered. All four of the Sullivan children were at breakfast that morning, a fairly unusual occurrence.
Mr. Sullivan thought for a moment, then said to Mrs. Sullivan, "McDonald. Isn't that the family that was killed in a car crash in Philadelphia a few weeks ago? The mother was an attorney with one of your competitors, as was the son. The father was a retired doctor and I think the daughter-in-law was a doctor, too. Their only survivors were a ne'er-do-well son and a little girl, neither of whom was in the car."
Beth, the oldest Sullivan girl, piped up. "Dad, do you mean Rick McDonald, the boy who was four years ahead of me in school? The one who decided not to go to college because he wanted to build houses? He's kind of a legend at the school. No one could understand why he did what he did. According to what I heard from one of my girlfriends, who overheard her mother and his talking, his parents told him college or hit the road and make it on his own. He walked away from his family's money and status, went to work for Wilson Homebuilders and has worked for them ever since. Some of the teachers still talk about him as a guy who wasted his talents and his life to pursue some kind of fantasy. I didn't know he was still around. He must have done pretty well if he can afford to hire a nanny to care for his child. I hadn't heard he was married or that he'd had a baby."
I responded, "According to the information packet from the nanny service, the child was his brother's, not his. He's the only surviving family member capable of caring for her. They are living on his family estate. That's where the interview is scheduled."
After breakfast, Beth pulled me aside. "Megan, be careful of this guy. He cut a wide swath through the coed population locally after he left home. He used to crash local college parties and he rarely went home alone. A number of my girlfriends knew him. They tell me he's good looking, polite, charming and those who have had experience with him tell me he's dynamite in the bedroom. Several of them would have gladly had a long term relationship with him if he weren't working construction. And at least a couple probably would have ignored that if their friends hadn't teased them about it so much that they folded. Something else. A lot of the kids in school secretly envied Rick McDonald. He knew what he wanted out of life and he had the courage and guts to pay the price to get it. Not a lot of my peers have done that and a number of them are almost jealous that he did."
"Don't worry, Beth. Remember what I told you about my training. 'You're the caretaker for the children, not their parent. And you never, never become intimate or anything less than professional with your employer.' It's ingrained into my nanny training. If I get the job, I'm going to be his employee and that's all." Famous last words. But the last comment also stuck in my mind. Here was a man who had a dream and had given up his entire lifestyle to realize it. And he'd apparently succeeded. I was prepared to be impressed, particularly as my one and only relationship had died when my then-fiancee chose his parents' wealth and privilege over a nanny when his father told him, with me present, that I was unworthy of him. After that painful ending, I'd vowed that I'd never be with another man who wouldn't give up all he had for what he loved. And so I hadn't dated for over ten years, pouring all my attention and affection into the Sullivan children.
My appointment was at the McDonald estate at 10:00 that morning and I arrived a few minutes early. I'd dressed in a suit with a frilly blouse and moderate heels, hoping to make a professional impression. I rang the bell and the door was opened by a grandmotherly woman in her early seventies. "You must be Megan. I'm Mrs. Parker. I've been helping Rick care for Sydney since the accident. Welcome. Rick's in the den. Let me take you to him. And can I get you anything to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea?"
"Thank you very much, but I don't need anything. I'll follow you."
The den's pocket doors were open and Mrs. Parker knocked softly on the door frame. The man behind the desk looked up, then stood and walked around the desk to greet me and shake my hand. "You must be Megan Young. Welcome. May I call you Megan? And please, call me Rick. Come, sit down over here and let's get to know each other."
With that, Mrs. Parker withdrew pulling the doors to the den closed behind her.
I'm not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn't the man sitting across from me about to interview me. He was about five feet nine inches, slender with the kind of wiry musculature that comes from hard physical labor, not a gym. He was deeply tanned. His clothes were those of a common laborer: badly worn blue jeans, an equally worn t-shirt with a logo for a band I'd never heard of, and scuffed and worn work boots. Not the high end khakis, dress shirt and custom footwear I generally expected to see as casual wear on the Main Line. When he shook my hand, his palm was so calloused it felt like stiff leather. This was the man who was going to hire me to care for a child? Who was he?
"Thank you for coming. As you know, I'm looking for a nanny to care for a four-year-old little girl. She's my niece. Mrs. Parker has been helping me care for her since her parents and grandparents were killed in a car accident. She and Mr. Parker have delayed their retirement in order to care for Sydney and I'm eager to find someone to take over Sydney's care and let them get on with enjoying their golden years."
