Chapter 4
Chapter Four
marlowe
F riday night’s fiasco puts me in a bad mood for the rest of the weekend.
I hate that I can’t stop thinking about Mr. Tall, Dark and Creepy. I hate that I can’t stop reliving the way he felt inside me, the way he made me beg and moan and come all over his fingers. It was the hottest sexual encounter I’ve ever had in my life. Which makes his deception all the more infuriating.
I’m still seething by the time Monday rolls around. On top of everything else, I dread seeing my boss. By now she would’ve heard about my disastrous non-date with Dawson. I’m sure she thinks I’m a total flake, and she probably regrets playing matchmaker for me. I just hope it won’t affect our working relationship.
I drag myself out of bed to shower and wash my hair. After a quick blow-dry and makeup job, I slip into a white button-down shirt and slim gray slacks. The office dress code is super casual, so most of my coworkers wear jeans and flip-flops. Not me. I grew up watching my mother march off to work every morning in a power suit and heels, her designer briefcase swinging at her side.
You have to dress for success , she would tell my sister and me. If you want to be taken seriously as a professional, you have to look the part.
We both internalized the message. But Ember went a step further and became an attorney, following in our mother’s footsteps. That’s why she’s the apple of her eye and I’m not.
Grabbing my purse and a yogurt from the fridge, I head out to catch my bus. My old car gave up the ghost the week I moved here, so I’ve had to rely on public transportation. Thanks to heavy traffic compounded by two accidents, I end up being thirty minutes late.
As I hurry into my work area, there’s an undercurrent of tension in the air. People are huddled around their cubicles, whispering among themselves and glancing furtively around.
Reaching my cubicle, I drop my handbag on the desk and poke my head over the cubicle wall to speak to Quinn, my coworker and bestie who’s tapping away at her keyboard. She has long lavender hair and sparkling brown eyes outlined in black.
“Hey.” I don’t know why I’m whispering. Maybe because everyone else is whispering.
Quinn looks up at me. “Hey.” She sounds nervous. “You’re here.”
“Yeah. Traffic was really bad. What’s going on?”
She glances around before saying in a hushed voice, “Apparently management had an emergency meeting late Friday night.”
“About what?”
“No clue. But, um, Barbara was looking for you.”
Shit! Of all days to be late! “I left her a voicemail?—”
“I don’t think she cared about you being late,” Quinn interrupts. “She just told me to send you back when you get here.”
The fine hairs on my arms prickle with unease. Am I in trouble? Is she going to yell at me for standing Dawson up?
Quinn gives me a look I can only describe as sympathetic. “Good luck.”
I can feel everyone staring at me as I walk through the maze of cubicles, heading in the direction of the supervisors’ offices. I feel like a condemned prisoner marching to the scaffold.
It seems an eternity before I reach my boss’s office. The brass nameplate beside her door reads barbara yoon, cnp, ph.d, director of events . Through the glass panels, I can see her sitting behind her desk with her phone to her ear.
I knock hesitantly on the closed door.
She looks up and waves me inside.
I step into the office and close the door behind me, then cross the room to sit in the chair facing Barbara’s desk.
She ends her call and sets the phone down. She looks stressed out, strands of black hair coming out of her usually neat ponytail.
I lick my dry lips. “Sorry for being late?—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Her smile is strained. “How was your weekend?”
“Um. Not great.” I decide to address the elephant in the room. “I don’t know if you’ve already heard, but Dawson and I didn’t meet on Friday night. There was a mixup and I, uh, left the bar before he got there.”
Barbara nods. “The bartender told Dawson that you left with another man. Is that true?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you’re thinking,” I say in a rush. “I mistook the guy for Dawson, and he didn’t correct me.”
Barbara raises an eyebrow. “He let you think he was someone else?”
“Yes!” My face burns with renewed anger. “As soon as I realized he wasn’t Dawson, I told him off and got away from him. I was too upset to call Dawson back, so I just went home.”
I can’t tell if Barbara believes me or not. She’s looking down, her manicured fingernail tapping a card on her desk. It’s one of her business cards.
I twist my hands together in my lap. “I’d love a do-over with Dawson, but I’ll understand if he’s no longer interested.”
Barbara chuckles grimly. “I’ll let you two work that out. Right now I have bigger fish to fry.”
I eye her nervously. “Is everything okay?”
“Not exactly,” she says, folding her hands on top of her desk. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. You may have heard through the grapevine that we lost crucial funding this past quarter. As a result, we’ve been forced to make drastic budget cuts. Unfortunately, that means reducing staff.”
My heart plummets to my stomach. “Are you firing me?”
“Laying off,” she rephrases.
I stare at her. “Is this because of what happened with Dawson?”
“Of course not!” She looks offended by the suggestion. “This has nothing to do with Dawson.”
All I can hear is my sister saying I told you so . She was right. Going on a date with the son of my boss’s best friend was a colossally bad idea.
Even though said date never actually happened , I think bitterly .
“You’ve been a wonderful employee, Marlowe,” Barbara assures me. “You’re a self-starter, you work hard and you always have a positive attitude. I wish we didn’t have to let you go. Ultimately, the decision came down to seniority.”
“So I’m a casualty of the last hired, first fired rule.” I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.
Barbara regards me sympathetically. “If our financial situation improves in the future, I wouldn’t hesitate to hire you back.”
I say nothing, trying to tamp down the panic clawing at my stomach. I have bills to pay. Rent, utilities, tuition, not to mention a pesky little need to buy food for sustenance. What am I going to do without a job? What the fuck am I going to do?
“I’m more than happy to give you a good reference,” Barbara tells me. “And I’ll keep an eye out for any openings that might interest you. In the meantime, I have a job lead for you.”
Hope flares in my chest. “Really?”
She picks up her business card and hands it to me. “Look on the back.”
I flip the card over to read the information she’d jotted down.
“A maid?” I try not to sound as deflated as I feel. “You want me to apply for a job as a maid?”
She looks uncomfortable. “I just thought . . . well, you’ve done housekeeping before, so you already have experience . . .” Her voice trails off.
I swallow hard and force a smile. “Of course.”
“The employer pays very well—above market, actually. He also offers tuition reimbursement.”
That perks me up. “For domestic staff? Really?”
“Really. He’s a very wealthy man who runs a major corporation. He definitely won’t have any trouble filling this vacancy.” Barbara pauses. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of updating and submitting your resume over the weekend. Since I hadn’t told you about the layoff yet, I didn’t want you to be blindsided by another employer calling you. So I provided my phone number instead of yours. Yesterday I heard from the private agency that screens applicants for the employer. She told me that his head housekeeper will be interviewing candidates for one more day. There were limited slots available, so I scheduled an interview for you.”
“I—oh.” I don’t know what to say.
“It’s just temporary, until something better comes along.” Barbara gives me an encouraging smile. “Go to the interview. If you decide you’re not interested, no harm done.”
I stare at the card in my hand, mulling over her words. I put myself through college working as a housekeeper at a luxury hotel in downtown Pittsburgh. It was a nasty, grueling job and I hated every moment of it. Do I really want to go back to scrubbing toilets and changing dirty sheets?
You might not have any other choice.
“When’s the interview?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“This morning?” I squeak.
Barbara cringes apologetically. “I know it’s short notice, but I didn’t want you to miss out on the opportunity. Like I said, this job opening won’t last very long.”
I glance at my watch. I have less than an hour to get to the interview, and I still have to clear out my desk and turn in my ID.
Barbara’s intercom buzzes. “We’re waiting for you in the conference room,” an impatient voice says.
“Be right there.” Barbara mutters something in Korean, then gives me a rueful look. “Guess we’d both better get going.”
I muster a smile. “Thanks for looking out for me. You didn’t have to, but you did and I appreciate it.”
“No thanks necessary. It was the least I could do.” She smiles kindly. “Good luck, Marlowe. Keep in touch.”
i have to take an uber to the interview, so Quinn offers to drop my things off later. She feels awful for me, but I can tell she’s secretly relieved to still have a job. So are several other coworkers who gather around my cubicle to commiserate while I pack.
After saying goodbye to everyone, I head out and climb into my waiting Uber. We’re halfway down the street before I realize I don’t even know the name of my potential new employer. I was so rattled by getting canned that I totally forgot to ask Barbara, and now it’s too late.
I’ve never felt so unprepared for a job interview.
It’s barely ten o’clock and the temperature has already reached a sweltering eighty-five degrees. I’m roasting in the backseat of the Prius. Sweat trickles down my spine, gluing my shirt to my back. The car’s air conditioning couldn’t have picked a worse day to go on the fritz.
The driver sheepishly apologizes and cranks the windows down, but the stifling breeze doesn’t offer much relief.
I uselessly fan myself as I stare out at the passing scenery. The employer lives in a wealthy enclave just west of downtown. Nestled along Lake Austin, the sprawling estate is tucked away behind an imposing iron gate.
After my driver identifies himself to a video camera, the gate swings slowly open. As we head up the mile-long drive, I can’t help feeling dazzled by the lakefront property. The grounds are dotted with live oaks that form a canopy over the road, and the perfectly manicured grass is so green it looks fake.
I pull out my compact and almost shriek at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed from the heat, and not in a flattering way. The wind tugged strands of hair from my bun, plastering them to my damp forehead. I look like I just trekked across a desert under a blazing sun.
I hurriedly tuck the loose strands back into my bun, refresh my lip gloss and check my underarms to make sure I don’t have sweat stains.
As we near the end of the drive, an enormous mansion comes into view. It’s sleek and modern with lots of glass and chrome. Totally stunning.
The driver pulls around the circle and stops in front of the stone staircase leading up to the front door. He starts apologizing again for the AC, but I’m already jumping from the oven of a car and hurrying up the steps to press the doorbell.
An actual butler opens the door and peers down his nose at me. “Miss Somerset?”
“Hello. I’m here for an interview with Mrs. Calder,” I say, referring to the head housekeeper.
The man ushers me inside a gigantic entrance hall with a checkered marble floor and abstract modern art on the walls.
“This way, please.”
I follow the butler, looking around with a mixture of amazement and dread. I don’t mind hard work, but this is a lot of square footage to clean.
The butler leads me to a high-ceilinged sitting room with sleek couches and chairs. A huge picture window offers a spectacular view of the lake.
I’m greeted by an elegant fiftysomething woman with blondish gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. She takes in my wilted appearance and purses her lips with displeasure.
“Miss Somerset, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Feeling intimidated and self-conscious, I move forward to shake the woman’s hand.
Her fingers are cool, her pale gray eyes critically appraising me from head to toe. “You sounded older on the phone.”
“I get that a lot,” I say, assuming she wouldn’t approve of my boss impersonating me.
She studies my face another moment and then motions for me to sit in one of the two armchairs next to the large marble fireplace.
She takes the other chair and opens a folder on her lap to peruse my resume. “I see that you worked at the Fairmont Pittsburgh,” she remarks.
“Yes, ma’am. For almost five years.”
“Are you from Pittsburgh?”
“I am. Born and raised.”
“Hmm, yes. You have an accent.” Her tone makes it clear it wasn’t a compliment. “You graduated with honors from the University of Pittsburgh. How did you balance the demands of working and going to school full time?”
“I sacrificed a lot of sleep and social activities, and I had to learn how to manage my time. It wasn’t easy, and it took me an extra year to graduate. But I’ve never backed down from a challenge, and nothing was going to stop me from getting my degree.”
Mrs. Calder looks up from my resume to evaluate me through narrowed eyes.
I unconsciously straighten my spine. After years of playing the piano, I have pretty good posture. But compared to this woman’s rigid bearing, I might as well be slouched down and manspreading.
She starts asking me questions about my housekeeping experience at the Fairmont. I answer as honestly as possible without dwelling on the negative aspects of the job. Like having to clean up after rich assholes who trashed their suites and left no tips. Like going home after every shift with aching feet and a sore back. Like getting yelled at and having my pay docked for the smallest infractions. I focus on the positives, sounding as chipper as a cheerleader.
Mrs. Calder listens in silence, never interrupting. Her impassive expression makes it hard to tell what she thinks of my answers, which is super unnerving.
“I understand that you studied music in college,” she says.
“Yes, that’s right.”
She nods. “Mr. Ransom is a patron of the arts with season tickets for the symphony.”
I smile, mentally seizing on the employer’s last name. Ransom. Now I just need a first name so I can google him on my way home.
“I’ve heard nothing but great things about the Austin Symphony Orchestra,” I tell Mrs. Calder. “I hope to attend a concert someday.”
She hums a noncommittal note as she looks back down at my resume. “In addition to your regular duties, you would be expected to perform other tasks as needed.”
“Other tasks?”
“Mr. Ransom does a great deal of entertaining,” she explains. “Charity balls, art showings, dinner parties. You may be called upon to serve guests and assist the catering staff during these events.”
Sounds reasonable. “Okay.”
She closes the folder, sets it aside and primly folds her hands in her lap. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Um, is the neighborhood accessible by bus?”
“Heavens, no.” She practically shudders at the idea. “A private vehicle would be provided for you to run household errands and shop for groceries.”
“Great,” I say slowly, “but how would I get to work? I don’t own a car, and taking an Uber every day would get pretty expensive.”
Mrs. Calder frowns at me. “Are you not aware that this is a live-in position?”
“ It is? ” I squeak.
“It was clearly stated in the job posting.”
Shit! How did Barbara leave out such an important detail?
“Is this going to be a problem for you?” Mrs. Calder asks imperiously.
“Um, well, I have four months left on my lease.”
“I see.” She purses her lips until they disappear. “Anything else?”
I shift nervously in my chair. “I have a cat.”
She draws back as if I just revealed that I’m a cannibal. “Mr. Ransom doesn’t allow pets. Especially cats.”
What does he have against cats? I want to ask.
“I don’t have to live here to do my job,” I say instead. “I worked at the hotel without?—”
“Mr. Ransom is a stickler for punctuality,” she cuts me off. “He doesn’t tolerate tardiness. At the office, if anyone shows up late to his meetings, he makes the offender stand up and apologize to the whole room.”
Holy crap. What a douchecanoe.
“One of our previous housekeepers was consistently late due to car trouble. After she was terminated, Mr. Ransom decided to make this a mandatory live-in position.” Mrs. Calder’s tone is firm. “It’s nonnegotiable, Miss Somerset.”
“I understand.” Living in a lakefront mansion wouldn’t exactly be a hardship, and not having to pay rent would help me save a ton of money. But if I accept this job, I’ll have to find another home for Sansa. The thought depresses me.
“Mr. Ransom is very particular about the people he hires,” Mrs. Calder informs me. “Whether they work in his company or his household, he holds them to the highest standards and compensates them accordingly.” She pauses. “For a few years, we used a cleaning service that we were very pleased with. But after some confidentiality breaches, we were forced to terminate their contract. Since then we’ve had difficulty finding a suitable replacement.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say with appropriate solemnity.
“It’s regrettable. Having to hire and train new housekeepers so frequently can get tiresome.” She pins me with a direct look. “I’ve been interviewing candidates for a week now, and I believe you’re the best fit for us. So I’d like to offer you the job.”
I feel a leap of excitement despite the fact that this interview is raising all kinds of red flags. “How soon would you need me to start?”
“As soon as possible,” Mrs. Calder says crisply. “Mr. Ransom is going away on business this week, and he expects the position to be filled before he returns.”
“Oh.” I chew my lower lip while running through a mental checklist. I’ll have to break my lease. Pack up my apartment. Put my stuff in storage. Find a new home for Sansa.
“Based on your background and qualifications,” Mrs. Calder continues, “your starting salary would be one hundred thousand a year.”
I gape at her in stunned disbelief. I couldn’t have heard right. “Did you say one hundred thousand dollars ?”
“That’s correct.” There’s a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “Your salary includes a benefits package and a year-end bonus that you’ll find more than generous.”
My head is reeling. I’m speechless. Completely freaking speechless.
“The offer is contingent upon successful completion of reference and background checks, and a drug test. You would also have to sign a nondisclosure agreement, given Mr. Ransom’s high-profile status as CEO of Pantheon Global Solutions. The NDA is very important, for reasons I’ve already discussed. Confidentiality violations won’t be tolerated, nor will any other forms of inappropriate behavior.” Mrs. Calder pauses to examine my face before rising with her hands clasped in front of her. “I’ll give you a day to?—”
“No need,” I blurt out. “I’ll take the job.”