He lived in the penthouse of the X's building. His real name was Caleb, but in my head, he was the embodiment of every Ivy League crush I’d ever dreamed of. He was tall, had messy brown hair, and possessed a smile that made me forget my own name.

The next morning, Mrs. X called me into her pristine, white living room. She had found a nanny cam recording I didn't know existed. It didn't show me doing anything wrong—it showed me hugging Grayer, telling him he was loved, and letting him eat pizza.

"Perfect. You look sensible. Not like the last one who tried to steal my husband's vintage watch collection," she said, pulling a leather-bound planner from her Chanel bag. "Can you start Monday? Little Grayer needs a firm hand, and I need to go to a fundraiser for endangered moss."

And just like that, I was initiated into the bizarre, high-stakes world of the Manhattan elite.

"This is unacceptable, Annie," she said, her voice cold and trembling. "You are staff. You are not his mother. You have overstepped."

Navigating a romance with a gorgeous guy from the penthouse while cleaning up toddler vomit and dodging the piercing glare of Mrs. X was a masterclass in comedy and chaos. Caleb was sweet, grounded, and fiercely protective of me, often pulling me away for late-night walks in the park just to let me vent about the absurdities of my day. But the bubble had to burst eventually.