…in a terrifying, untouchable way.
“You must be June.” The voice matched the rest of her: measured, controlled, giving nothing away. “Perfectly on time. Please, come in.”
“Thank you. Yes. Hi. I’m June Hollis.”Stop talking.“Thank you for having me.”
She stepped inside, and the house was exactly what she’d expected from the outside: spotless and tastefully decorated. The living room was all cream-colored upholstery, as if it had to match the senator’s outfit, and the art looked expensive but saidnothing. There were no toys visible, no clutter, not a single sign that a child lived here.
Senator Brandt led her through to a kitchen that made June’s fingers itch with longing—six-burner stove, marble countertops, a double oven, all of it gleaming. Did they ever cook in here?
“Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?”
“Water would be great, thank you.”
June perched on one of the stools at the island while Senator Brandt retrieved a glass from the cabinet. Even her movements were precise, nothing wasted. June felt suddenly aware of how much space she took up by comparison—her curves, her expressiveness, her tendency to gesture when she talked. Everything about her felt too big for this pristine, careful house.
“Your resume mentions culinary training.” Senator Brandt set the water in front of her. “But you’re not currently working in a kitchen.”
“No. The restaurant industry wasn’t the right fit.” June wrapped her hands around the glass, grounding herself. “I loved the work. The culture was harder. I’m taking some time to figure out what comes next.”
Senator Brandt’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered with something that might have been understanding. “Your references are excellent. Mrs. Davis said you were the only person who could get her son to eat vegetables.”
June relaxed a fraction. “He was four and deeply suspicious of anything green. I made it a game—monster food. If you ate the broccoli, you became a broccoli monster with special powers.”
“Did it work?”
“He ate an entire plate of spinach once and then chased his sister around the house roaring for an hour. His mom was thrilled.”
The corner of Senator Brandt’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
“You’ve put down quite a bit of babysitting experience here,” she said.
“It was the best way to make money when I was a teen,” June said. “I started when I was thirteen, and kids have always seemed to like me.”
Senator Brandt nodded, though what that meant, June didn’t know. “My daughter is seven. Lila. She’s very independent. Good at keeping herself occupied.” A pause, the faintest hesitation. “But summers are long, and my work schedule is unpredictable. This is a live-in position because I need someone who can be here consistently. Someone who can keep her engaged.”
Engaged.The way she said it made June wonder what Lila’s days usually looked like. How much time she spent alone.
“What does Lila like to do?”
“She reads. She colors. She’s very self-sufficient.”
That’s not an answer,June thought.
“Does she like being outside? Parks, nature, that kind of thing?”
“I’m not sure. She hasn’t had many opportunities.”
Senator Brandt’s fingers traced the edge of the countertop, a small unconscious gesture that seemed out of place on someone so controlled. Then, just as quickly, she straightened, and the cool professionalism returned.
“Let me explain the position in more detail.” Senator Brandt pulled a folder from a drawer—of course she had a folder prepared—and slid it across the island. “The guest room at the end of the hall would be yours. Private bathroom, access to the kitchen, use of the common areas. You would be welcome to have visitors during your time off, though I’d ask that you let me know in advance if anyone were to be staying overnight.”
June nodded, flipping open the folder. Inside was a single typed page outlining the terms.
“Working hours would generally be seven in the morning until Lila’s bedtime at eight, with breaks during her quiet time after lunch. Sundays are yours entirely, and you’ll have one additional day off per week—if the position is something you’re interested in, we can determine which day works best once we establish a routine.” Senator Brandt’s voice was crisp, efficient, as if she were presenting to a committee. “I’ll need flexibility for evenings when I have events or late meetings. Those will be compensated as overtime. Payment is biweekly, direct deposit.”
June glanced at the salary figure and kept her face neutral, though it was more than she’d expected. “I… that all sounds good.”
Senator Brandt gave a curt nod. “Caring for Lila is my only requirement. I don’t expect housekeeping or cooking for me—there’s a cleaning service that comes twice a week, and I manage my own meals. Your responsibility is Lila: her meals, her activities, her general wellbeing. I’ll provide a household credit card for groceries and any outings or supplies you need for her, and I ask that you keep receipts.”
