My Boss Told Me to Babysit Her Kids or Lose My Job – I Said Yes, but She Had No Clue What Was Coming
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When my boss, Harper, gave me an impossible choice—babysit her kids or lose my job—she thought she held all the power. But that smug ultimatum turned out to be the greatest mistake of her career… and the unexpected turning point of my life. She wanted control. What she gave me was freedom—and a front-row seat to her unraveling.
Let me start at the beginning.
I’ve always been driven by my career. While my friends in college were going on spring break and sleeping in till noon, I was juggling two internships and a weekend barista job. So when I graduated, I was more than ready to climb the ladder.
That first step was landing a marketing assistant position at a mid-size architecture firm in Austin. It wasn’t flashy, but I genuinely liked the team and appreciated the room to grow. That is—until Harper became my new manager six months ago.
Let me paint a picture of Harper for you.
She was sharp, confident, and walked into our building like she owned it—despite having just transferred from a more prestigious firm in New York. Her wardrobe screamed success. Her confidence was magnetic. She’d show up in her navy blue Audi, stride in with sunglasses on, and throw out buzzwords like “synergy” and “personal brand” within minutes of stepping into any meeting.
At first, I’ll admit, I admired her.
"Naomi, you’re incredibly detail-oriented,” she told me once during a brainstorming session. “Exactly the kind of person I need beside me."
For someone used to being invisible under previous managers, it felt nice to be noticed.
But Harper’s charm was a mask—and it slipped quickly.
At first, she just overshared a little. Complaints about her ex-husband, Lucas. Rants about how hard it was co-parenting their daughters, Audrey and Grace. Stories about how Lucas had cheated on her with his paralegal and now wanted more visitation rights.
“They’re better off without him,” Harper said one afternoon, leaning against my cubicle while I tried to review campaign metrics. “He never understood what it meant to be a father.”
Then came the day during a Zoom team check-in where Audrey and Grace stormed into her home office mid-call, yelling over who got the last cookie. Harper didn’t mute herself—no, she launched into a live tirade about Lucas.
“This is why I can’t trust that man!” she yelled, as the rest of us stared in horror, unsure where to look.
From that point on, things only escalated.
She started emailing me screenshots of her divorce paperwork. I saw everything—from custody schedules to arguments over who got the lakehouse.
At first, I felt bad for her. She looked exhausted all the time, chewing protein bars between meetings and massaging her temples when she thought no one was watching. I figured she was just stressed and leaned in to be supportive.
That’s where I made my mistake.
Harper took my compassion as consent.
“Naomi, can you drop this off at the dry cleaner for me during lunch?” she asked one day, shoving a $400 blazer into my arms. “You’re so great at multitasking.”
I thought it was a one-time favor. Then she started asking me to book her daughters’ dentist appointments.
“You’re great at that online stuff,” she said breezily. “I swear, I still can’t figure out Google Calendar.”
Then it became 6 a.m. text messages and 11 p.m. Slack pings. "Can you revamp my deck for the Tyler proposal by tomorrow morning?” or “Totally forgot to prep for Monday’s pitch—can you pull together a summary tonight?”
It never ended.
Any time I hinted at boundaries, she gave me those patronizing compliments. “You’re my rock star, Naomi! I know I can count on you.”
At first, I told myself it was temporary. She was dealing with a lot. But I began to dread opening my inbox. One night, while eating dinner, she sent me a long message with an impossible deadline—and signed off with a heart emoji.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t just overwhelmed. I was being manipulated.
So the next day, I decided to speak up.
I walked into her office, shut the door, and said as calmly as I could:
“Harper, I’m your marketing assistant—not your personal concierge. I can’t keep managing your life.”
She stared at me like I’d told her I’d set the building on fire.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said with a saccharine smile. “You know what they say—happy boss, happy team.”
Then she leaned back and dropped the bomb.
“Actually, I’m glad you brought this up,” she said. “Because I need you to babysit the girls tonight. I’ve got a date. Either you help out, or don’t bother coming in Monday. It’s that simple.”
I blinked.
“You’re threatening to fire me over babysitting your kids?” I asked.
“I’m not threatening,” she said smoothly. “I’m giving you an opportunity to show you’re a team player. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”
What Harper didn’t know? ...
