Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

The silence is now deafening, though. He hasn't said a word to me all afternoon other to say that his foot is fine. I've cooked and chatted and helped the children with their homework, all while he stayed solemn and stared at the television. I feel sorry for these kids. He's miserable. He makes everyone around him miserable. Willow was right today; he doesn't communicate at all other than to tell people off. It's like he gets off on the power of reprimanding people around him. I know I deserved a spray about last night, but this is another level of coldness, and it's grossly unfair when he knows I feel so bad about hitting him earlier. To be honest, I don't even want him to talk to me now. My dream of having a boss that I can be friends with is long gone.

He’s not the kind of person I would want to be friends with. He has a mean streak. I may have made a string of errors since I started, but the way he is treating me is making me feel very uncomfortable.

The kids eventually say goodnight to us both and head up to their beds.

I finish cleaning the kitchen and my stomach churns. I’ve never lived in a house where I haven’t felt welcome before. I don’t like it—not one little bit.

He makes me feel inadequate. Just because I’m not a judge, it does not make me stupid. But he loves to insinuate that that’s exactly what I am, making me feel inferior.

I fluff around in the kitchen for fifteen minutes as I psyche myself up for this conversation.

Just do it.

“Mr. Masters, can I speak to you for a moment, please?” I ask.

His eyes rise to mine. “Of course.” He gestures to the sofa beside him. “Take a seat.”

I sit down, and my nervous eyes hold his. “I’m sorry about today, sir.”

He nods once.

“In fact, I’m sorry for everything, and I’m sorry I wasted your time when I applied for this job.”

His face remains emotionless.

“I would like to give you my three weeks notice.”

His eyebrows rise, eyes full of surprise. “You’re resigning?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious why?”

“Not to me.”

I stare at him for a moment. What is he playing at?

“I asked you when you started to let me know if there was a problem before you resigned. If it’s the children...” he says.

"It's not the children. The children are angels." A frown crosses my face. "Wait, what are you talking about? There has been nothing but problems since I arrived," I splutter.

“It

’s only been four days.”

“You fired me on the first day!”

“Because you were looking through my private things.”

I drop my head. “I know, and I don’t blame you for being upset about that. Look, you said I had eighteen days to find another job, and I just wanted to let you know that I will be doing just that.”

He stares at me for a moment. “Is this about last night?’

Regret hits me like a freight train. “Yes,” I exhale heavily. “I’m mortified that I came onto you. It’s not who I am, and every time I look at you I feel nothing but embarrassment.”

He watches me.