Instead, she studied the tower for another second, then turned back toward them.
“All right,” she said. “Here’s my offer. I don’t touch your city. You don’t throw things at my head. And nobody in this room pretends they are scarier than rent.”
The boy with the balloon narrowed his eyes. “What’s rent?”
“A monthly threat.”
That earned the smallest crack of interest from Nico. The one in the toy chest climbed out, his socks mismatched and his chin lifted like a prince insulted by weather.
“I’m Matteo,” he said, not because he was being polite, but because he wanted her to know whose territory she was entering. “That’s Nico. That’s Luca.”
Luca was the scarred one. Of course he was.
Claire looked at each of them carefully. “Claire Beaumont.”
“You’re supposed to say Ms. Beaumont,” Luca said.
“Only if you’re planning to behave like gentlemen.”
“We’re not.”
“Then Claire works fine.”
Henry looked as though he had swallowed a paperclip.
Matteo stepped closer, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. “How much money did my dad pay you?”
“None yet.”
“He pays everyone.”
“Then your dad is late.”
That stopped them again.
Children from rich houses always expected poverty to look ashamed when it entered the room. Claire had no time for shame. Shame did not pay rent. Shame did not buy Rosie new sneakers. Shame did not turn $11.43 into groceries.
Luca jumped down from the desk with a soft thud. “You’ll leave.”
“Maybe.”
“Everyone leaves.”
“Maybe they had better options.”
Nico looked up sharply at that, like the sentence had hit something hidden.
Claire crouched, not too close, just low enough to meet their height without invading their world. “Listen. I’m not here because your house is beautiful. I’m not here because your father’s lawyer has charming interview skills. I’m here because I need a job. You need a nanny. That means none of us are getting our dream today.”