Private Property (Rochester Trilogy 1)

“I know,” I murmur to her, my back turned to Mr. Rochester. It feels like me and the kitten are in this thing together. Sure, the guy saved the kitten’s life, but he doesn’t seem very invested in her survival. He stands there watching me like we’re a television show. Like a survival reality show where they throw a girl and a kitten in the ocean to see if they live. “I know you’re cold right now. And probably freaked out. This place is scary, but you’ll be okay.”

“Are you planning to cook him for dinner?” Mr. Rochester asks amiably.

“Listen.” I carefully lift the kitten from the water and dry her off using the dish towels, one by one. I try to move quick so she’ll get warm, but I also have to be careful. She feels like he’s made of toothpicks. One wrong move, and she’ll snap. “There’s no business underneath, so I think we can assume she’s a girl. And you could be helpful by getting some warm milk or whatever it is cats like to eat instead of just criticizing what I’m doing.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back.

I don’t have a ton of experience with job interviews. I worked at the diner near my foster home and as a cashier at a grocery store when I moved out, but those weren’t really interviews. I filled out an application and got a call back. The nanny agency interviewed me several times, but they seemed okay with my rambling answers about taking care of my foster siblings and babysitting and volunteering at the food bank. Despite my relative inexperience with interviews, I feel like talking back and asking him to get a bowl of milk is probably not the best thing to say.

But when I turn around, he’s already reaching inside the wide stainless steel fridge. Even in this quick glimpse I can see that it’s mostly empty. He does find a carton of milk, half full. In a few moments he’s found a saucer that he pours into.

“Thanks,” I murmur, accepting the saucer from him. I wrap the kitten like a burrito using the last dry dish towel and then set her down in front of the milk.

She shoves her face into the liquid, making her nose white.

I can’t help it. It makes me laugh, but then I catch Mr. Rochester’s eye. He has a strange expression. Strange because it’s less severe and judgy than the one he’d had a minute before. As soon as he sees me looking at him, he grabs the milk and stows it back in the fridge.

Once the kitten understands the way milk works, she laps it up.

I’m going to have to find some cat food and probably google a million pages about caring for kittens, but I think she’s doing okay. I have to hope that if a bone were broken, I’d be able to tell. Maybe it’s true what they say about cats having nine lives.

She probably used up a couple of them falling off that massive cliff.

“Sorry,” I say without looking up. I’m sitting with one leg under me, the other curled up beneath my chin, watching the kitten. “About saying you should be helpful.”

I read the fine print in the contract. Enough to know that the penalty for breaking it early would be severe… for me. I only get paid the bulk of it after the year is over. And I don’t get that if I leave before then. Of course the strictness only works one way. He can fire me anytime. I just didn’t think he’d consider doing it on the first night.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I just wasn’t expecting the whole kitten interview thing.”

“You can keep the job. For now.”

I let out a huff of exhausted laughter. “Thanks.”

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you to your room. You can share with the kitten.”

Great. My suitcase has been dripping onto the marble floor this whole time. I grab the warm bundle of fur and the suitcase and follow him down the hallway. We pass a series of rooms with sofas and dining tables and pianos and then more sofas. The place is massive. It’s more like a hotel lobby where hundreds of people could pass through, instead of a house for two people.

Everything looks expensive and even comfortable, but it doesn’t feel like a home.

A full wall of windows exposes the storm in all its glory. Maybe some people like watching nature use the earth like a drum, but after being out in it I’m still shivering. There’s a trail of muddy water behind me that I’ll probably have to clean up tomorrow. Right now I’m just desperate for a chance to get into some dry clothes.

He turns a corner and we head down a long hallway with a series of closed doors. Like the windows outside, they’re dark and nondescript and innately full of secrets.