“The placement agency requires a written record of all medical visits,” I said, keeping my face smooth and blank.

Christopher stared at the line where I had written about yesterday’s tea spill and Dr.

Wallace’s unused syringe.

He adjusted his gold cufflink again with two quick clicks of his thumb.

“Your job is to change sheets and feed that noisy baby,” he said, stepping close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne.

“You’re not a doctor, and you don’t audit this house.”

“I only keep the logs I was hired to keep,” I said.