Chapter One #2
The waiter arrived then with Ana’s tea and set it down in front of her, and Ana took that moment to steal a glance across the table at Ransom Towers, but he wasn’t looking at her.
He was staring down at his watch, his brow furrowed, looking intensely displeased.
Had she said something wrong already? Ana slid her sweaty palms against the thighs of her khaki skirt.
“And what are your hobbies?” Jacqueline asked.
“My hobbies?” Ana repeated, confused.
“Yes, what do you do for fun?”
“Oh, I, um, I read. And I love horseback riding.”
“Horseback riding—that’s perfect,” Jacqueline said, jotting something down in her notebook.
“Yes, my uncle owns a cattle ranch,” Ana said. “I grew up riding. Is that, um, relevant?”
Jacqueline laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You must think my questions rather odd. I suppose I should explain myself. The position you applied for was caretaker—and that’s true, to an extent, but it’s probably different than what you were expecting.
You’ll really be more of a . . . companion .
. . for Ransom’s younger sister, Saoirse.
She’s seventeen. As a companion, it would be helpful, I think, to have some common interests with her.
And Saoirse, you see, loves horseback riding. ”
“Oh,” Ana said. Saoirse Towers’s face flashed in her mind.
Over the past few years, she’d seen Saoirse’s visage—heart-shaped face, steely gray eyes, and swollen lips—splashed across the covers of countless glossy gossip magazines, Saoirse smiling mischievously at the camera as she ducked into Lutèce, arm in arm with Eve Vanderbilt.
Ana had read a story somewhere—she couldn’t remember where now—that once the ma?tre d’ at a fancy restaurant had refused to seat Saoirse because she was wearing trousers, and without batting an eye, Saoirse had stripped out of her pants right then and there and marched to an open table in her heels and blazer, her long bare legs on display for all to see.
The ma?tre d’, red faced and dismayed, had simply handed her a menu and recited the daily specials.
But Ana couldn’t make any sense of it—that beautiful young girl she’d seen on the cover of magazines needed a caretaker? The thought seemed hard to square.
“And what . . . care . . . does she need exactly?” Ana prompted.
“Are you familiar with long QT syndrome?” Jacqueline asked.
Ana shook her head.
“It’s a heart condition,” Jacqueline said. “Saoirse’s prone to fainting and seizures. She’s had to withdraw from school and social activities over the last year due to her condition, and she’s been confined to the house.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ana said. “I didn’t know—I hadn’t heard anything about that.”
“Yes, well.” Jacqueline tapped the nondisclosure agreement before her with the back of her pen and smiled. “Discretion is very important to us. We do our best to keep private matters private.”
“Of course,” Ana said.
“Anyway, with Saoirse’s condition, she needs constant supervision,” Jacqueline went on. “That’s why your medical training is of particular interest to us. I assume you know CPR?”
“Yes,” Ana said.
“Lovely,” Jacqueline said, making another note in her book. “But I’m afraid Saoirse’s isolation has made her quite miserable, and the caretakers that Mrs. Talbot has hired in the past haven’t been quite the right fit.”
“Mrs. Talbot?”
“The housekeeper,” Jacqueline said. “Ransom and I thought if we could find someone with the right medical background who was closer in age to Saoirse and shared some of her interests, things might go more smoothly.”
“I see,” Ana said. “So I wouldn’t be the first person to fill this position?”
“Not the first, no,” Jacqueline said. “Milk?”
“I’m sorry?”
“For your tea,” Jacqueline said. “You haven’t touched it. And I’ve been such a boor over here, drilling you with questions. I haven’t offered you cream or sugar or milk, and you’ve been too kind to interrupt me. Would you like some milk, dear?”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Ana said and reached for the small pitcher that Jacqueline handed her. She poured some into her cup, anxious not to spill and look totally inept in front of Jacqueline and her potential future employer.
“The accommodations for the position are quite good,” Jacqueline went on, smiling broadly.
“You’d be staying at the family home, Cliffhaven, near San Luis Obispo.
There’s a full staff there to take care of you.
All meals would be provided. You’d be six days on, one day off.
We’re looking for someone to start immediately and go through the end of September. ”
“Yes,” Ana said, setting the pitcher down. “I could do that.”
“Miss Rojas,” Ransom said, and his voice took Ana off guard, partly because it was the first time she had heard him speak since he had introduced himself, and partly because his tone was less than friendly. “Of all the summer jobs you could apply for, why did you want this one?”
Ana looked straight into his steely gaze, and for a moment, she thought about telling him the truth.
“To be quite . . . blunt,” Ana said. “I applied because of the pay. Eight dollars an hour for a caretaker is a very good rate. I’m putting myself through school while helping to take care of my family, and I really need the money. ”
Ransom seemed to consider this. “I appreciate your honesty, Miss Rojas,” he said.
“So I will be honest as well. My sister’s condition may be delicate, but Saoirse is headstrong and difficult to manage.
We’ve eliminated three caretakers in as many weeks, and I’m quite desperate to find someone who can last through the summer.
And to be as . . . blunt . . . as you were with me, I’m not sure you have the constitution we’re looking for. ”
“I’m sorry—the constitution you’re looking for?” Ana repeated, confused.
“Yes, between Mrs. Talbot and my sister, you wouldn’t last a day,” Ransom said. “Now, I don’t enjoy wasting anyone’s time, particularly my own, and I know you have a long drive ahead of you, Miss Rojas, so I’ll do you a favor and cut this short so you can beat the afternoon traffic.”
Ransom turned and signaled the waiter for the check.
Ana sat there for a moment in cold disbelief as the reality of what had just happened washed over her.
It was over. Just like that.
The interview had seemed to be going so well—the position was in her grasp—and then, just as suddenly, it had been ripped away from her.
But that was the story of her life, wasn’t it?
The things she wanted—really wanted—were always out of her grasp.
This was as close as she was ever going to come to them—right to the gatekeepers, close enough to peer in, close enough to see what she was missing out on, only to be told no, to be turned away.
Anger seared inside of her; tears stung the backs of her eyes.
“Please don’t cry, Miss Rojas,” Ransom said. He handed her the cloth kerchief from his jacket pocket. “You’re a nice girl. But that’s the problem, you see? We’re not looking for a nice girl.”
A hot flash of resentment flickered in Ana’s chest, that he could misread her tears as a sign of sadness, disappointment—no, weakness. She wasn’t sad, and she most certainly wasn’t weak. She was furious.
“Do you know what it’s like, Mr. Towers,” Ana said, leaning forward, eyes narrowing, “day in and day out, to care for someone who you love very much and watch them die, little by little, knowing that there’s nothing you can do to stop it?
To hold their hand and tell them everything is going to be all right, when you know it’s a lie?
If you had deigned to ask me, I would have told you I can manage difficult things.
Rude, self-important assholes like yourself—those are certainly an annoyance, but not such the insurmountable hardship that you seem to think. ”
She stood, the legs of her chair scraping noisily against the parquet floors.
She was aware she was drawing people’s attention now; they were starting to stare.
She could feel their judgmental gazes on the back of her neck.
Let them look. She didn’t care. What kind of people had tea at three o’clock on a Thursday anyway?
Rich, rude, self-important assholes, that’s who.
To hell with them and their currant scones.
“And, might I suggest,” Ana went on, “for the next nice girl you interview—if that is all the consideration you are going to give her: a few paltry questions about her interests and her hobbies and then a cold dismissal—a simple phone call will do? When you factor in the two hours of driving, both ways, the money for gas—and five dollars for a valet! That may not seem like much to you, but to me, it’s something.
It’s not trivial, the hoops you make people jump through, all so you can tell them no.
” She balled up the kerchief he had handed her and dropped it on his plate.
“So if you really want to do me a favor, Mr. Towers,” Ana said, “you can fuck off.”
Ana turned on her heel and marched across the parquet floor into the hotel lobby and out the front doors without a backward glance.
She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn she caught a glimpse of Ransom’s face before she turned—he had almost seemed to smile, the corners of his lips twitching up nearly imperceptibly, as she left the table.
Or had she just imagined that? No, he was probably laughing at her, the asshole.
Ana was out of breath when she handed her card to the valet. She stood off to the side to wait and jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Jacqueline standing behind her.
“Miss Rojas,” Jacqueline said.