Emerson looks me up and down, smiling broadly. “You look exactly how a twenty-five-year-old nanny from Australia should.”
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling stupidly. That was a good answer.
“So, what’s your boss’s name?” she asks.
I rustle around in my bag for my phone and scroll through the emails until I get to the one from the nanny agency. “Mrs. Julian Masters.”
Emerson nods. “And what’s her story again? I know you’ve told me before, but I’ve forgotten.”
“She’s a Supreme Court judge, widowed five years ago.”
“What happened to the husband?”
“I don’t know, but apparently she’s quite wealthy.” I shrug. “Two kids, well behaved.”
“Sounds good.”
“I hope so. I hope they like me.”
“They will.” We move forward in the line. “We are definitely going out at the weekend though, yes?”
“Yes.” I nod. “What are you going to do until then?”
Emerson shrugs. “Look around. I start work on Monday and it’s Thursday today.” She frowns as she watches me. “Are you sure you can go out on the weekends?”
“Yes,” I snap, exasperated. “I told you a thousand times, we’re going out on Saturday night.”
Emerson nods nervously. I think she may be more nervous than I am, but at least I’m acting brave. “Did you get your phone sorted?” I ask.
“No, not yet. I’ll find a phone shop tomorrow so I can call you.”
“Okay.”
We are called to the front of the line, and finally, half an hour later, we walk into the arrivals lounge of Heathrow International Airport. “Do you see our names?” Emerson whispers as we both look around.
“No.”
“Shit, no one is here to pick us up. Typical.” She begins to panic.
“Relax, they will be here,” I mutter.
“What do we do if no one turns up?”
I raise my eyebrow as I consider the possibility. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to lose my shit.”
Emerson looks over my shoulder. “Oh, look, there’s your name. She must have sent a driver.”
I turn to see a tall, broad man in a navy suit holding a sign with the name Brielle Johnston on it. I force a smile and wave meekly as I feel my anxiety rise like a tidal wave in my stomach.
He walks over and smiles at me. “Brielle?”
His voice is deep and commanding. “Yes, that’s me,” I breathe.
He holds out his hand to shake mine. “Julian Masters.” What?
My eyes widen.
A man?