Randall or Raymond or whatever his name is wades into the chaos like Super Nanny, unfazed even when I explain the laundry fiasco to him.
Ten minutes later, the kids are in front of the TV re-watching a movie about a blocky world, Jer is dressed in clean clothes, even if they're a size too large, and Randall-Raymond-Whoever hasn't even said a word about her bunny ears and cat whiskers coming and going.
He acts like this is just a normal Monday, and even politely offers to have someone do the laundry for me. But I shake my head, cognizant of my phone burning a hole in my pocket.
It isn't like the random someone can do my laundry and my mission.
"I'm fine. I'll go on my own."
Randall-Raymond-Whoever frowns. "High Alpha wouldn't be pleased—"
"There's nothing wrong with doing a load of laundry."
"I'm here to keep you safe—"
"The children are our biggest concern."
"If you'll wait a moment, I can call someone—"
