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“No, but Vivi, don’t tell anyone where I am. No one knows about this place.”
“By no one, you mean Garrett, right?”
“He doesn’t know about it, but I don’t want anyone knowing where I’ve gone anyway. I don’t know. I don’t want him trying to do some big, romantic gesture and come after me. Things are done between us.”
“I’ll keep your secret, Bree. Be safe, and I better hear from you sooner. Because I might be forced to give the police your last known address if you disappear for another week.”
Vivi has succeeded in making me smile, and I’m filled with just the tiniest bit of optimism as I pull out my laptop and start looking for jobs in the area. There’s a job board filled with babysitting and nannying positions, and it looks like a woman named Stacy has posted a job for a three-year-old.
I start reading the details, my heart thumping.
When I get to the pay at the bottom, my heart nearly drops out of my chest. It’s a salaried position, not an hourly. I’d be paid the same every week no matter how many hours I work, and…
I scan the post again, sure I missed something that would indicate why this job might pay so well.
There, I catch it. The hours are irregular.
Most people are probably hoping for something with strict Monday through Friday hours, home by five p.m. This post specifies that late nights will be expected once or twice per week with an occasional overnight.
I don’t mind that.
I look around my shack of a place. I would love to spend the night somewhere else.
The list of requirements is empty, like Stacy forgot to fill it out. The position starts Monday, which is perfect. I need an immediate job.
Feeling like I might finally be lucky for once in my life, I respond to the job post and receive an immediate answer. Stacy asks a few basic questions about my experience (tons of babysitting experience but no nannying), my availability (completely wide-open), and my last job (I stay vague without giving a city or state).
Then, she sends me the address and tells me to arrive at ten a.m. the following morning.
I stare at the address for a second. It’s hauntingly familiar. Is that…? No, it’s not possible.
I put the address into Google Maps to confirm what I already know.
It’s my next door neighbor.
I stand up from the computer and go to the window in the bedroom that looks toward that house. There is a line of trees between us, but I’ve seen the mansion from the front. It has a circular driveway with a bubbling fountain in the middle of it.
No commute plus good pay? This is the kind of job I need. I won’t be able to pay away all of my debt right away, but I’ll be able to start working on it.
The next morning, I take my time getting ready. Are they looking for someone more like Supernanny with her matching suits or someone more like a best friend for their kid in jeans and a T-shirt to show I’m not afraid of getting dirty?
I go for high-waisted jeans (my thong hanging out at an interview is probably a quick way to not get the job) and a sky blue, long-sleeved shirt. It has a modest neckline. My outfit says “ready to play with your three-year-old.”
Nervously, I debate in my driveway if I should drive over or walk. Walking might be strange. What if they watch me coming up that long, long driveway and think I’m homeless?
But if I drive over and they later find out where I live because they hire me, they might think I’m really lazy for driving over.
I take a deep breath and decide to drive. First impressions are more important than anything else.
Less than two minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway. I loop my car around the fountain and park by the front door, wondering if I’m supposed to park here. The three car garage (plus a detached one on the far right) is closed.
The large wooden front doors are closed, and the sunlight reflects off the stained glass windows on either side, making it difficult to see clearly.
I climb the brick steps, holding tightly to my resume. This is it. This had better be the best interview I’ve ever given.
The door opens just as I’m raising my hand to knock, and I just about fall backwards down the steps.
It’s Harrison Jones, and he looks just as confused to see me as I am to see him.
