Strange nanny

The first day I got back home, the housekeeper's daughter declared war on me. She swaggered around like she owned the place, bringing random people into the house, calling it “upcycling.” Her mother, the housekeeper, acted like she was the homeowner, constantly calling me a greedy capitalist. I've always believed, live and let live. But cross me, and you’ll regret it.

1.

“Who are you? And who gave you permission to be in MY house?”

The girl’s shrill voice shattered the quiet. She stormed over and shoved me, sending me stumbling back.

I stared at her, totally bewildered. My grandma looked uncomfortable, grabbing my arm awkwardly.

"Oh, honey, this is my granddaughter," Grandma said, her voice thin and apologetic. "She's just home for a visit.”

The girl scoffed, eyeing me up and down. Her eyes lit up when she saw my brand-new designer bag.

Grandma explained in a low voice that this girl was the housekeeper's daughter, a real piece of work named Brittany.

Our housekeeper, Mrs. Davis, had been complaining to Grandma about how her daughter’s college dorm was a dump and how rent was too high. Grandma, being the sweet lady she is, invited Brittany to stay for a few days while she looked for a place.

“A few days” had turned into over a year. Grandma had tried a few times to hint that it was time for Brittany to move on, but Brittany would break down, claiming she was bullied at school. Grandma was too soft-hearted to kick her out.

Brittany breezed past me, heading upstairs. “Don’t just bring random people into the house, okay? Have some manners.”

She didn’t sound like someone who’d been bullied, that was for sure.

A few minutes later, Brittany came tearing back downstairs, clutching a seriously expensive alligator skin bag. I was sure I’d seen it somewhere before, but I couldn’t place it.

It was just Grandma and me in the house. Mrs. Davis was nowhere to be found.

Mrs. Davis came back when it was almost dinnertime. When she saw the table wasn’t set, she was about to throw a fit. But then she noticed me.

She rushed over. "Oh, sweetie, you're back! You should’ve called.”

I raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to check in with you? Where were you all afternoon?”

Dinner time was approaching, and Grandma was making dinner herself because the fridge was almost empty. Mrs. Davis couldn’t give me a straight answer, and the strawberry-shaped hickeys on her neck were hard to miss.

I didn't want to start an argument, so I just asked her to get dinner ready.

As soon as Brittany heard me telling her mom what to do, she slammed the bag on me, berating me for being demanding.

“Why are you making my mom work? Can’t you do anything yourself?”

I was amazed at her outrage. Was this woman supposed to be running my company instead of cooking and cleaning?

Mrs. Davis didn’t stop her. In fact, she looked kinda pleased. “Brittany, don’t be rude! I am just a maid, after all, a working girl.”

“Your mom is our housekeeper,” I interrupted. “That’s what she’s paid to ...