The wind shifts and the storm moves with it. A wave of icy water starts sheeting down on top of me, trickling in between where my sweatshirt meets my sopping-wet parka. “Do you think I could come in?”
“You cannot come in until you agree to the terms of this position.”
She’s a ball buster, this Ethel. But, at least she’s not Judith. “Of course I agree.” I think about the piece of paper with the phone number and add, “I’m here to earn my keep.”
Ethel gives me a skeptical stare through narrow eyes, her crow’s feet deepening as she considers my answer. “Let’s just review the terms, shall we?”
Icy water is now dribbling into my shoes. Squishing between my toes. Wonderful. “Yes. We shall.”
Ethel gives a curt nod. “Stipulation One: You will not be paid until your contract has run its full term. Six months. Stipulation Two: On completion of six months of work here, you will receive $100,000 in whatever form you choose. Cash, check, or money order. Stipulation Three: No social media, no calls to the outside world, no visitors. Stipulation Four: You can form no attachments to anybody in this household. Stipulation Five: If you fail to follow the rules, you’re out. No pay, no notice, no reference, no ride. Do you have any questions?”
It sounded amazing on the phone and it sounds just as amazing now. The word stipulation never sounded so sweet. And I’m about to say so, when from the shadows I see him again. Him. The gorgeous man from the window.
But the house is so dimly lit, and so enormous, that I can only catch a glimpse of him descending the stairs. Rugged stubble, broad shoulders. Thick, dark hair. Once again, he looks right at me, making the tips of my frozen fingers tingle and my heart flippity-flop.
“Is that…” I stammer. “Is that who owns this house?” I ask softly. I remember the way Ethel answered the phone earlier. Philipe Residence. “Is that… Mr. Philipe?”
Ethel’s eyes dart to the side but she doesn’t turn her head. “That is none of your business, young lady. You are here to do a job. You are not here to make friends. That is all you need to know. You are the housekeeper, I am Mr. Philipe’s assistant and house manager. I tell you to do something, I expect my instructions to be followed to the letter. So I will clarify my question: Do you accept the terms of this position?”
The man in the shadows has disappeared again. I refocus on Ethel but my heart is still buzzing and fluttering like a hummingbird. I let out a long breath and think of her stipulations and her crow’s feet. Even though her expression is stern, her eyes are kind. There is a warmth about her now. I’m not used to warmth. It’s such a relief.
“I agree to everything you’ve said, but I have a stipulation of my own, actually,” I say.
This surprises her. “Do you, indeed?” Her drawn-on eyebrows arch upward.
“I do. I’m going to be doing the cooking, is that correct?”
“It is. Some of it, at any rate.”
“Stipulation 6: I will cook anything except soft-boiled eggs. Will that be a problem?”
Ethel’s no-nonsense expression wavers for one millisecond. Like she’s almost about to laugh. But she composes herself. “That will not be a problem. Mr. Philipe has no interest in soft-boiled eggs.”
“Then you’ve got yourself a deal,” I grin, sighing with relief sticking out my hand to seal the deal.
“Come in, then,” Ethel says, stepping back with a hint of warmth but she leaves me hanging on the handshake.
I step inside the mansion. It is truly beautiful; such a lovely mix of old and new. Enormous, brilliantly-colored modern art canvases hang on oak-paneled walls. I know nothing of art, but I know it is all so overwhelming. Such taste, such vision. Fancy old furniture is mixed in with sleek rugs and modern sculptures. It’s like something out of a dream or a TV show.
A movement catches my eye from the left side. There he is again. Tailored pants, muscular thighs, a tight-fitting dress shirt that shows off a sculpted waist and broad shoulders, and I suck in a sharp breath.
Ethel guides me in through the doorway, and I watch him disappear again, like a mirage in the distance, coming and going. Flickering and fading. Teasing.
Am I real or are your eyes playing tricks on you? You’ll have to come closer to find out.
I take one step forward into whatever this strange new life is, with a shivering flutter of curiosity pulsing between my legs.
CHAPTER 2
Dane
She’s been here a month now and I’m fucking obsessed. She’s all I think about, all day, every day, every fucking minute of every fucking hour. I have never known hunger, need, or desire the way I know it for her.