“Do you know what these people do for a living?”
Struggling to hold my phone between my shoulder and ear as I drove, I replied, “I know the wife said she was into real estate during the phone interview, but she didn’t say what her husband did.”
“Must be something rich if they can afford a full-time nanny.”
“And to pay me under the table,” I tagged on.
Layla huffed in agreement on the other end of the phone. “How old’s the kid?”
“Uh, I think her mom said she was four. Apparently, their last nanny just stopped showing up to work last week. Been with the kid for almost a year and then just ghosted them.”
“Rude, but good for you.”
“Very good for me.”
The more I thought about this job as I drove to the interview, the more I wanted it. Not only was it a chill gig, but it paid a few pocketfuls more than the store did. I’d be able to save up that extra money and put it towards school supplies for Charlotte next year and maybe even a trip to the dentist. She’d never been before, and I hadn’t been since I got my braces off when I was twelve.
“By the way, I should have listened to you about wearing your clothes for this. Next time I don’t listen to you, feel free to slap me.”
“I won’t forget you said that I hope you know.”
Sighing into the phone, I tried not to focus on the outfit I went with and what these rich-ass people might think of me when they see it. I knew the saying was to never judge a book by its cover, but I also knew that people with money were judgemental as fuck.
I ended up going with jeans and a half-button down shirt. Turns out, I didn’t have any dresses that fit anymore since they were all bought before I was 16. That was a fun find as I rampaged through my closet at 1am last night to prepare for today.
The jeans I chose were my only pair without any rips, and the seafoam green shirt was fitted around my waist but not skin-clinging. I just hoped no one noticed the two missing buttons at the top.
Layla rambled on in my ear about Martie’s and how much it sucked without me there to distract her from work. I laughed as she went on, but my attention faded in and out of the conversation as I turned into the neighborhood my GPS told me my potential next job resided in.
My eyes rounded as I drove past the neatly stacked houses on both sides of the road, all designed to look exactly the same. Cookie-cutter perfection and the unmistakable markings of wealth.
Lots and lots of wealth.
It was kind of horrifying how similar they all were, and I felt my lips curling back into a grimace as I drove by. They were all so monotonous and uniform, and the air filtering into my car from the outside stunk it up with arrogance. I could practically hear the houses sneering at my tiny blue Honda that clearly didn’t belong among the sports cars and fancy BMW’s that sat in every driveway.
But hey, I lived in a disheveled shack that lost heat at least once every winter, so who was I to talk?
Layla rattled on about wanting to spit on a customer yesterday for reasons I tuned out as I turned down the street, squinting my eyes out the driver side window as my foot slowed the brake.
224, 226, 228…
And then I pressed the brake to a stop, and my jaw slacked open as my car jolted to a halt.
“Holy shit.”
“What happened?” Layla panicked on the phone. “Did you run over another cat?”
“What? No!” Her question shocked me out of my daze as I snapped my attention back to my phone. “You’re not supposed to mention that incident, remember? It was fucking traumatizing.”
“I was just checking!”
Soothing down my pitter-pattering heartbeat, I set my car in park and shut it off. With a little added force, I popped my car door open and stepped into the South Carolina summer breeze.
“Is the place nice?”
I parted my lips to say yes but fell into a breath of stunned laughter instead. ‘Nice’ was putting it mildly. These were the kind of people that either had huge dicks, or at least wanted everyone in the neighborhood to think they did. The house was two stories, maybe three. Definitely taller than the houses that bookended theirs.
The entrance way was fucking majestic if anything had ever justified the word before. Huge, stark white columns sat guarding the looming black doors that led into the house, and that was just the beginning. Their front yard had a winding brick-paved pathway that went from their driveway, looped around a goddamn fountain at the center, and right up to the intimidating front door.
The fountain was ridiculous. Plainly laughable, and I did laugh as I described it to Layla in all of its gaudy glory. Around it and under the several windows lining the first story of the house were flowerbeds of red, pink, and white.
The structure of the house was so… stiff.
Every angle was hard, every cut was rigid, and nothing about this house spelled out home sweet home. What it did spell out, however, were money signs between every stone-faced line that created the outside of this massive house.
The flavor of money wafted through the breeze and right under my nose, and with a pointed grin, I said my goodbyes to Layla and let the smell of money lure me up to the home.
Somehow, the structure grew more imposing the nearer I got, and I fought down the rumblings of nerves in my stomach. Remembering back to the phone interview I had with the wife—Heather—my gut pulled harder as I hoped first impressions didn’t stick.
Please Lord, let’s pray they don’t stick.
Over the phone, Heather was a harsh-toned tight-ass, and even that was being nice. The first interview—if you could even call it that—lasted less than two minutes. All she asked for over the phone was my name, age, and a photo and resume. Didn’t even bother asking about my experience with kids. She didn’t seem to even like me by the end of the interview when I told her my WiFi was out, and I couldn’t email a resume or photo, but she gave me a slot for today anyhow.
The husband must have been a special kind of pushover to put up with a wife like that, and fingers crossed I could sway him to my side during this thing. I had the experience, I could do the job well, and I just needed the chance to prove it.
As I reached the heavy-looking, black front doors, the tips of my fingers tingled in anticipation, and I shook my hands out and tried to control my breathing. I ran my prickling fingers back through my thick hair, and the ring on my right hand snagged on a tangled strand and fucked up my loose curls that I’d spent the morning taming.
With a growl, I unstuck my ring and fluffed my hair up again, passing my tongue over the front of my straight teeth. Thank you, braces.
“Well, here goes… everything. Like, literally everything.” I breathed a sharp sigh. “Fuck, I suck at pep talks.”
Without letting another anxious beat pass by, I lifted my hand and rasped my knuckles against the solid wood door. Not but seconds later, the unmistakable sound of a door being unlocked startled my jostling nerves, and I took position.
Shoulders back, eyes bright, smile wide.
Showtime.
I polished my plastic grin and prepped a brown nosing comment about how lovely the house was as the front door swung wide open, and I awaited greeting Heather for the first time.
Except this wasn’t Heather.
My smile stumbled as shock and an immediate swell of desire pulsed through my chest.
Holy fuck me.
I watched as his perfectly thick eyebrows jumped just so in what seemed like surprise of his own. A pair of exacting, smoke-gray eyes flashed up to meet mine, and for the faintest of seconds, we were both silent.
Not even the uncomfortable kind of silence that I hated, but the type that melted into your bones and engraved everything about the memory into your brain.
Like the soft nip of breeze at my exposed arms, and the way blood rushed to my cheeks to warm my goosebumped skin. The prickling at the back of my neck as this stranger’s eyes swept over me just once, a quick up and down, and how I wanted to tug at the bottom of my shirt to fix any imperfection about my appearance for him. In the marrow of my bones, I felt his severe stare, and it was as explicit as a slap and flushed my whole body red-hot just the same.
Finally, the slight tick of his prominent jaw that was dusted in a 5 o’clock shadow shattered our pin-drop silence and kicked reality into high gear again.
“Hi!” I smiled wide, and the man in front of me knitted his dark eyebrows together.
“Are you here for an interview?”
“I am.” I nodded and kept on smiling even past the second-guessing his obvious confusion inspired in my gut. “This is for the nannying job, right?”
The handsome stranger nodded slowly, running a large hand over his mouth and down his strong jawline as he stared at me. “It is.”
He cleared his throat and readjusted his stance to something straighter; more confident. “Sorry, I’m just surprised to see my wife let someone so… young interview for the job.”
“Oh.” Simmering offense tickled the back of my throat, and I forced myself to swallow it down. “Well, we spoke on the phone, and she knows my age. The only thing I couldn’t get over to her was a digital resume and photo. My internet has been busted for a bit.”
And I haven’t paid the bill in months.
Tomato. Potato.
Something clicked in place behind his eyes of melted steel, and strange amusement consumed his expression. A grin pulled up half of his pink mouth, turning his lips into a weapon of visual taunting.
“That makes sense.”
My brows struggled not to sky rocket to my hairline just the same as my tongue fought not to lash out and skewer him until he told me what the fuck he meant by that. The man set his hands loosely on his hips, bringing my focus to his black slacks and tidied, pale-blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms looked strong and his hands were huge, but I didn’t miss the glint of a wedding band that made itself known around his ring finger.
Hello, Heather’s other half.
Figures the man that had the balls enough to marry a woman as barbed as Heather would be a little off-putting too. Family dinners at this house must be a blast.
Heather’s husband let out a stiff laugh while staring at nothing. The sound was knifing, and it wasn’t even aimed at me. I shifted from foot to foot in front of him.
“Well, this should be fun.” The man stole a glance at me, one that intensified the restless feeling in the pit of my stomach before he stepped aside and gestured with his head. “Come on in.”
I swallowed the ball of nerves in my throat. “Thanks.”
I followed behind the man on timid feet, prepped and ready to run in case my gut instinct that was already whispering that this might be a bad idea started to scream it. This house was massive, and I was only treading deeper into it with a man that was at least a foot taller than me and had a real American Psycho vibe about him.
And a flawless ass, but that was beside the point.
“Heather’s in the living room,” her husband threw over his shoulder at me. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was an added pep in his step as he led me back. The floors we walked were a stunning white tile so squeaky clean, I could see my uneasy reflection in them. The ceilings were vaulted and daunting, the furniture reds and blacks that felt as cold as the temperature this place was kept at. We passed a dining room and what I assumed was a sitting room for… cocktail parties? Orgies? Fuck if I knew.
All I knew was how it all felt to me, and that was staged. This place was a house, not a home.
I felt stupidly out of place with my flip flops and purse where the faux leather binding around the handle had been fraying for the better part of a year, but I refused to let it show. In fact, I gripped the disintegrating handle of my purse even harder as we rounded a corner, and my eyes fell on a brunette haired woman sitting with her petite nose pushed into her laptop.
Her posture was perfect and her styled attire even more perfect, but her face was set in what looked like a permanent frown, and I pegged her right away.
Heather.
Her husband stopped walking so suddenly, I almost smashed into him. “Your next interview is here.”
Heather’s head snapped up from her computer, her short, sleek bob not daring to move an inch. Cold, pale blue eyes locked onto mine and immediately narrowed into unkind slits.
“Who are you?”
“Kat Sanders? We spoke on the phone.”
“Did you not send the required photo?” Heather’s voice was as accusing as her gaze, and I wanted to crawl inside myself and implode. Why couldn’t she have been nice like I hoped? Stupid good for nothing hope.
Plastering a smile on my cheeks, I moved around her husband. “I didn’t, but we actually talked about that on the phone, and you were kind enough to give me an interview anyway.”
Shit eating grin and remark, check.
Heather’s nostrils flared, and the blue of her eyes got so hot, they could be flames. “I see.”
Muffled laughter sounded from behind me, and it took every bit of strength to keep from whipping around and asking him what the hell was so goddamn funny. What was with this couple?
“How about we get started?” her husband suggested, casually walking around me to sink down in the blood-red chair next to his wife. Heather dug her stare into the side of his face as he walked towards her, trying to blister his skin using just her fire-blue eyes.
With them seated, I hesitantly made my way over to the long couch arranged in front of their chairs. I winced as soon as I sat, the piece of furniture more like a sheet of rock under my ass than a couch. Shouldn’t expensive furniture at least be comfortable?
“What did you say your name was?” Heather asked, her tone clipped and her eyes calculating.
“Kat.”
She blinked at me, quiet for a beat. “Is that your real name?”
About a hundred different insults swelled in my lungs as I breathed deep, but I smartly swallowed them all down with a polite smile. “My full name is Katerina.”
“That’s an odd name,” she replied dryly.
Bobbing my head, I said, “Yeah, my mom thought she was being unique and that it sounded elegant. I just think it sounds like an 18th century prostitute.”
A brief chuckle—so soft it was barely audible—got caught in the tension in the room; and it came from her husband. His lips were tilted into a ghost of a smile as he played with the back of his thick, nearly black hair, eyes off to the side as he listened in.
“Very well. Ms. Sanders, you’re 20, correct?” Heather waited with her fingers hovering over her laptop keyboard for me to fill in the blank.
“Yes.”
“Where do you attend University?”
“I don’t, actually. I worked full time until last week.”
Heather stopped typing away on her keyboard to raise her superior stare to mine. “And what happened with that job?”
“I worked there for three years, but unfortunately the hours were sometimes difficult to meet with my schedule at home. That shouldn’t be a problem here since you mentioned this job doesn’t start until 9am.”
Smooth.
I couldn’t even pretend I didn’t feel the pride swirling around my chest like a warm hug, telling me I’d aced my explanation. That was, until that warm hug turned into more of a suffocating death grip as I caught the flicker of cruel joy passed across Heather’s pretty face.
“So, would I be correct in saying you were fired from your last job?”
Bitch.
My mouth rolled together as I hung in the silence of her comment. Against their couch, I curled my fingers into the rich material until I thought I might rip the thing open and tear out its stuffing just for fun. Every instinct inside of me was blaring to give this wife a verbal lashing and stomp out of here.
I needed this job though. Charlotte needed me to behave. She needed me to not so much be me right now, but a well-mannered, pushover version of myself. Be a ‘yes girl’ with a charming smile and the right words on my robotic tongue. For Charlotte, I would let this woman politely berate me with her carefully chosen words as much as she pleased.
“Yes. You would be correct in saying that.”
Victory plagued Heather’s perfectly symmetrical face, and she became ugly for that second. Truly hideous. She sat back in her chair just so, crossing her noticeably well-toned arms over one another.
“That’s a shame.” And then she fucking smirked. “Now, back to the fact that you only have your High School diploma. That’s not ideal as we’d prefer someone with a higher level of education to be around our daughter eight hours a day. You have no idea how susceptible children’s minds are to the people they’re around.”
Poor people like me.
She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to.
Well. There was no use lying. “Actually, I had to drop out of high school my senior year. Personal reasons.”
Thanks Dad.
Heather’s sapphire eyes rounded, and I’ll be damned if a tiny sliver of glee didn’t slice through her gaze. Piercing. Obvious. A clear stab right through any chance I had here today.
“Okay, so just to be perfectly clear—” Heather shifted her computer from her lap and slid forward in her seat, excited energy coming off of her petite body in waves that tried to drown every last hope I had. “You were fired from your last job, and you’re a high school dropout?”
She was practically vibrating, and the man next to her hadn’t said a damn word since we sat down. He wasn’t even giving either of us his focused attention. Nope, apparently the goddamn floor was more interesting than a perfect stranger being verbally stripped down by his wife right in front of him.
Staring at them both in tight silence, I realized I’d actually stopped breathing to keep from producing any of the nasty words I wanted. I felt the words trying to brew as Heather challenged me with her stare, and I wanted to fucking scream. I wanted to rage. I wanted to know why the hell she’d decided before I even sat down today that she wouldn’t give me this job.
No matter how right I was for it, it was becoming crystal clear that I never had a shot.
Maybe that’s why her husband was laughing when I got here. Because he knew. He knew my time was about to be wasted, and my pride was about to be stomped all over by his bitch of a wife, and he was going to sit there and enjoy watching it happen.
God, I hated rich people.
On a quick conclusion, I sucked air back into my lungs. If I wasn’t getting this job with these god awful people, then there was no need to keep up with the niceties, now was there?
“Yup. That’s me.” I slouched back into the stiff sofa, throwing my arm over the back. “An unemployed high school dropout. I tried pot once at a party if you wanna add that to the list.”
Heather chuckled, a very genuine chuckle that curled up my spine with razored teeth. She was clearly more than amused by my failures and didn’t even bother to hide it. Her enjoyment was palpable, and my fists were already clenched.
“Well, I think that’s more than enough for us—”
“What about kids?”
Both Heather and I snapped our attention over to her husband, who was giving me all of his. Charcoal eyes were expectant on mine, and every bit of my runaway rebellion screeched to a dying halt. Confusion tugged at my eyebrows and held my tongue still.
“Dom, don’t.” His wife dismissed him with exhaustion in her haughty voice, not even bothering proper eye contact as she folded her laptop closed. He shifted in his chair towards her, relieving me of his acute focus.
“You haven’t asked her a single question about child care. She deserves a full interview.”
Heather sat straighter, gifting him a cursory glance. “I happen to disagree, and I think this is over. Ms. Sanders, you’re free to go—”
“Ms. Sanders—” Her husband cut her off, chewing up my name and spitting it at his gobsmacked wife. “Don’t leave.”
Every muscle in my body twisted tight and froze at the severity of his throaty voice. The authority in it was a loaded gun, the open end aimed at Heather as he held his wife’s furious stare.
What the fuuuuck.
Dom, I took it, woke up from his open-eyed slumber ready for war, going from zero to a hundred fast. My eyes were so wide with shock, I could feel them enlarging in my head as I regarded the married couple with caution. Okay, so maybe my initial assumption was wrong, and they were not on the same side. Maybe they were on opposite sides. In which case, I was totally being used as a pawn by them both in whatever fucked up game they were playing with each other.
Swell.
“I… is this like a trick answer kinda situation or…?” I drifted off, my fingers slowly tapping absent-mindedly in front of me as a distraction. It was like I was in a minefield, and any step I took was directly on top of a waiting bomb.
The husband, Dom, turned his heavy stare to me. “Do you want this job?”
Honestly? I don’t know now. Still, I said, “Yes.”
“Then you’ll stay and finish the interview.”
It wasn’t a question either. I got the feeling that if I argued with him, those warring eyes of his would roll over white, and I’d be running for the door.
“You’re being ridiculous. You know perfectly well that we are not going to hire a high school dropout,” Heather spat.
Before I could think not to, I quipped, “Don’t forget about the pot.”
Heather flashed a bright blue warning my way, her mouth pinched and small. The urge to laugh clamoured up my throat, and I just barely kept it down. Both the glare she was giving me and this entire interview were so fucking laughable, though.
This was such a shitshow.
There was nothing else I could do but laugh my way all the way to the unemployment office.
Choosing to ignore his wife and the transparent reality that this interview had gone to total shit, the husband went on. “Do you have any previous experience when it comes to caring for a child?”
This time, I allowed my lips to part and a soft laugh to fall out. This was insane, but I’d play along if not for the sheer satisfaction of just how much experience I had and to watch the realization dawn on the husband.
“I have a lot of experience, actually. I have a five-year-old sister, and I’ve been her primary caregiver for the last three years.”
Heather scoffed. “What about your parents?”
“My dad’s not in the picture anymore.”
“And your mom?” That question came from the husband.
My eyes locked onto him and his oddly curious gaze, and I readied myself for the lie.
“She does her best.”
His head angled just barely, the slight gesture intensifying his steel-cut stare. The simmering at the back of my neck from when we first saw each other started again, sizzling and prickling, and I wanted to squirm beneath his locked focus. I decided I didn’t like the way he stared at me. It was dissecting and… almost intimate? As if his eyes were a cold sweat dripping down my spine, pulling me to attention and trying to seep beneath my layers of skin and baggage.
“Daddy, can I come in and watch T.V. yet?”
All three of our heads turned as a small voice rang through the living room. Standing with her front hunched into the wall that led into the living room was a little girl with brown ringlet curls and the sweetest big blue eyes set on her father. She appeared nervous as she carried a pout on her lips and refused to look at anyone but her dad.
“Maya, go to your room. We’re not done yet,” Heather snapped.
The little girl’s eyes dimmed, and a flash of Charlotte blazed in my mind. Sad, scared, dismissed by her mother. My heart frowned for the little girl hiding against the wall.
“I’ll come up and get you in a moment when we’re done, okay, Munchkin? Then we can watch the movie together.”
A small smile tried to dent into my cheeks at her father’s sweet tone and eventually succeeded as his daughter beamed. This might have been one of the most twisted interviews, and this couple clearly needed heaps of therapy, but the husband got points over Heather in that moment. Dads who loved their daughters fucking ruled.
Getting comfortable in my new position staring over the back of the couch, I casually asked, “What movie are you gonna watch?”
Maya regarded me for the first time, timid eyes finding mine.
“Anastasia…” Her voice was so tiny, and she immediately jumped her focus back down to her colorful socks.
“Oh, I love that movie! Anastasia is absolutely the best princess. Hands down.”
Maya’s head flew up, her eyes almost comically large with newfound excitement. “Yeah… I love her, but Mommy doesn’t like the movie.”
To that, I scrunched my nose and shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah well, some people don’t have very good taste.”
At the same time, there was a sharp, feminine gasp and a riotous bark of deep laughter, but I didn’t bother turning my attention to the couple’s reactions. I was too busy winning over this little girl and shoving it in her mom’s face.
“I love the song where she dances in the yellow dress!” Maya squealed, ecstatic energy bubbling beneath her skin. “And I want to get a puppy so I can name it Pooka!”
“Oh, you’ve gotta love Pooka.” The little girl nodded vigorously and ran up to meet me at the edge of the couch. “You know, I actually dressed like Anastasia for Halloween when I was around your age.”
This time, I got a full-blown smile. “Really? I want to be her so much!”
“Just gotta get yourself a puppy named Pooka, and you’re set!”
“What about a Demetri?” Then she shot her wide eyes back to her dad. “Daddy, you could be him!”
Quickly, I waved her off and leaned in close. “You don’t need a Demetri. Remember what Anastasia says about men?”
She thought it over for a moment, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. Then, her cute little face burst with recognition, and we recited the line at the same time.
“All men are babies!”
Maya exploded in a fit of precious giggles, and I even heard an offended “Hey” come from her father behind us. Now if this had been the crux of today’s interview, I’d be walking out of here feeling pretty damn good about my chances at getting the job.
Unfortunately, Heather had to jump in and ruin the fun.
“Maya, go to your room. Now.”
Maya’s joy zapped out of her face in seconds as her mother’s frigid voice hit the air, and she scurried off into her room without question.
Without even having to turn around, the anger in the husband’s voice was enough to paint a furious picture in my head of his attractive face.
“Why did you have to do that?”
“What? She would have talked for hours about that movie and you know it. I’ve already got a headache, Dom. Don’t start with me,” she spat back.
Just before things got back on the toxic tracks, I was thankfully dismissed and somehow left with my head still intact despite Heather’s best efforts. The husband wished me well and said they would be in contact within the next day or two if I got the position.
I knew he was only saying it to be polite.
A literal miracle would have to fall out of the sky for me to get that job after that interview, and I wasn’t stupid enough to believe in miracles.
I was a realist.
I was a young, poor, jobless realist.
Fuck me.
