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“Oh no, that doesn’t sound judgmental at all. Do you really think you know me, Mr. Armchair Psychiatrist?”
    “I’m sorry, but you’re twenty-nine years old, and based on the résumé Marie sent me, you’ve never held down a regular job.”
    “I do website development and maintenance on a contract basis so I can be available for climbing trips and sponsor development,” she said through gritted teeth. “Sometimes I have to travel unexpectedly or do a photo shoot when a reporter’s in town. It doesn’t lend itself to a nine-to-five existence. My degree is in information systems, so I’m doing exactly what I planned.”
    “Your résumé said you were trained as an EMT. Why don’t you do that?”
    “Have you ever ridden in an ambulance?” she asked.
    He shook his head.
    “It’s one of the hardest things a person can do. If you’d ever had to respond to a fatal car accident, you’d know what I mean. I keep my certification up to date because it’s important for our trips. It was never a job I ever wanted to do full-time.”
    She had to fight to keep the rising anger under control. Defending her life choices hadn’t been on her morning’s agenda.
    He paused, obviously derailed by the force of her comment. “But you haven’t worked as a nanny before?”
    “No.”
    “And judging from what I found in the garbage this morning, you can’t cook a box of macaroni and cheese.”
    “That’s correct.” She straightened, rigid with hurt. Her voice trembled with the effort of containing the other words that threatened to spill out. “I also have a junker car and I don’t carry Legos or fruit snacks in my purse. Anything else you want to point out?”
    “I’m not trying to insult you,” he said. “I just think we need to have some ground rules if you’re going to keep working for me. To keep the kids safe.”
    The irony of his statement was overwhelming. She might not know a thing about cooking or cleaning, or living the kind of life that most people her age lived, but that didn’t mean she was irresponsible. Had Mr. Too-Good-for-Himself Bencher ever had another person’s life hanging on the end of a rope while he climbed a fourteen-thousand-foot peak? Had he ever had to plan the meals for a six-week trek where there were no resupplies, and limited water available? Had he ever had to make the decision whether to evac someone with altitude sickness or to press on, hoping they’d acclimatize along the way?
    In his world, responsible meant remembering to pick up the milk on the way home from work. In hers, it meant remembering to secure a buckle so no one fell out of a harness while thousands of feet in the air.
    “Ground rules.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Sort of like you would give to a three-year-old?” Deliberately, she forced her voice to stay calm and pleasant. She refused to give him the satisfaction of her anger. It wasn’t as if he would understand, anyway. Marie had never understood how a cautious person like Kelsey ended up halfway around the world, on a mountain that killed almost as many people as it let summit—and she was Kelsey’s closest friend.
    Some days, Kelsey barely understood herself.
    He jerked a quick look at her, eyebrows drawn together as if concerned she might explode. “No, not like that,” he said carefully. “I just want to make sure the expectations are clear.”
    As much as she wanted to argue with him, the fact remained that he was right. Hadn’t she just been arguing to Marie yesterday that she had no idea what to do with kids? “Makes perfect sense,” she said, her smile plastered in place.
    He cleared his throat before he began. “No more handstands or gymnastics. I’d prefer that you only run short errands with the kids in the car. I went grocery shopping this morning and got lunch meat and sandwich fixings, so you don’t need to cook.”
    It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was unexpectedly painful to realize how little he