her temples. “Fuck, I’m not selling it, am I? He needs someone to come in and sort out the whole bloody mess, and when it’s tidy, he needs help to keep it that way.”
“Oh.” She didn’t mince her words, did she? “Well, I do like a challenge.”
“We’ll see if you’re still saying that after you’ve seen the place. Let’s eat, then we can take a drive over there.”
My ears perked up. “So you mean there’s still a chance I could get the job?”
“Of course. You’ve already got the job if you want it. Bradley likes you, and you had enough balls to walk in here looking like you travelled by tornado rather than going home. Nick needs someone tough enough to put up with him.”
Tough? I wasn’t tough. I wasn’t about to tell Emmy that, though. Not when she’d offered me a job. Why on earth would she think I wouldn’t want it? As long as it paid my rent, I’d take anything. Surely the house couldn’t be that bad? I mean, I’d had to pick a man’s toenail clippings out of shag pile carpet the other day, the same man whose aim was a little off when it came to the toilet.
I blocked out that memory as Claude walked towards us carrying a tray full of gourmet delights—crustless sandwiches, scones, and tiny cakes. As I dug in, the taste was enough to make me want to renounce my citizenship and move to England.
“The pastries are good, huh?” Emmy said as she helped herself to a second plateful.
I nodded and snuck another scone onto my own plate, catching the look of disgust on the face of the woman at the next table. Emmy and I were the only people in the restaurant actually eating food—the others were just pushing it around with their forks while they gossiped.
“You want me to order more?” Emmy asked.
“No, this is plenty.”
“Stick this on the tab, would you?” she said to Claude, who’d materialised at her elbow.
A tab? Who had a tab in a place like this? I barely had time to marvel before she pushed her seat back and got to her feet, then air-kissed Claude on both cheeks. Guess we were leaving.
“Uh, you forgot your eggs.” I spotted the jar on the table, hiding behind a vase of white orchids.
“That’s intentional.” She carried on walking.
I gave up on the idea of making sense of today. I felt like Alice, fallen down the rabbit hole. That experience only continued as I followed Emmy through the kitchen and out to the staff parking lot where a Corvette was backed up next to the steps.
“This is us.” She bleeped the doors open.
I’d just clicked my seatbelt closed when Emmy mashed her foot on the gas and sped out of the lot. My fingers gripped the edges of the dark purple leather seat all of their own accord as she hurtled past the speed limit and overtook a minivan, then screeched back onto the right side of the road with inches to spare as a truck came the other way. Did she have a death wish?
I risked a glance in her direction. She seemed perfectly relaxed, tapping the steering wheel in time with the rock blaring from the stereo. She had a Bluetooth earpiece in, and occasionally she paused the music to speak in code for a few seconds before returning to her imaginary Grand Prix.
With the speed she was driving, it wasn’t long before we left the city limits, and half an hour later, we flew past a sign for Rybridge. I did a double take. Sylvia worked in Rybridge, and she said it was so exclusive potential homeowners got vetted by a committee before they were allowed to purchase a property. The minimum income was seven figures. Even her maid’s uniform was designed by Tom Ford.
Emmy braked sharply and swung the wheel to the right, screeching to a halt in front of a pair of imposing iron gates. She wound down her window, tapped a code into a keypad, and the gates slowly swung open.
Around a kink in the driveway, a huge house came into view—peach coloured and Mediterranean in style, with four white columns rising the full two storeys on either side of the front door. The smell of fragrant blossoms drifted in through the open car window, reminding me of the flowers my pop used to buy Momma when I was small. Stunning was an understatement. I felt as if I should be