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Summary
That was her nanny. Her son’s dowdy, sunglasses-wearing nanny, who dressed like a Victorian dominatrix and towered over both Harriet and Thaddeus. And she was wearing the slutty black gown that Harriet hadn’t had the courage to try on herself.
“Oh my God,” she heard herself say.
The nanny and her gentleman friend both turned to her, surprise blooming across their faces.
“Oh shit,” said the gentleman friend, which was rich coming from the human incarnation of a marshmallow.
Or, Harriet Dowling makes a deal with—well, not quite the devil.