Page 21 of Unsuitable

“Sorry. I guess I misunderstood. I thought you wanted to know my cleaning experience.”

Again, he says nothing, just does that unnerving staring thing.

I fidget.

Clear my throat.

Avert my eyes.

Then, I try to change tack. “You have a beautiful home.” I cast my eyes around the spacious hallway.

“It’s not mine.”

That brings my eyes back to him, and…yep, he’s still staring. Well, staring is being kind. He’s glaring.

“Who’s—”

“It’s my parents’ house. I live here and run the estate for them.”

“Where—”

“Away,” he cuts me off again. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

He turns on his heel and strides away.

Six

The tour of the house takes a while. The place is like a cavern.

I’m actually worried that I, alone, won’t be able to keep this place clean.

There are a lot of rooms.

Downstairs, there’s a library—yes, a library. A gym. An indoor swimming pool, which Mr. Matis told me he has a guy who comes in to clean it. His office. The biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life with a separate utility room, which is where all the cleaning products are kept. A huge dining room, complete with a sixteen-seater dining table. I guess the Matises entertain often. A living room, which looks like it’s barely used. And a sitting room, which hosts a huge TV and looks like it gets used more often.

Upstairs are six bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. Kas’s bedroom is at the side of the house, overlooking the paddocks. He has a private balcony, and the view from it is gorgeous. There’s also a separate bathroom that hosts the biggest bathtub I’ve ever seen in my life.

I need to work out which rooms get used the most and clean them regularly.

He also gives me a uniform to wear while I work, which means I won’t ruin my own clothes. It’s just a short-sleeved, knee-length plain black housekeeping dress with a white collar and cuffs, and he’s given me two, which is good, as I’ll have one to wash against.

I’ll change into it once we’re done here.

We’re back downstairs and in his office now.

He had a few employee forms for me to fill in with my address and that kind of thing.

Shit, it’s asking for my bank details to pay my wages into.

I press the pen to my lip. “Um, Mr. Matis…I don’t have a bank account.”

He looks from his phone, which he was just staring at, to me, his eyes sharp.

I shift with discomfort under his laser stare. “I, um, don’t remember the details of my old bank account, as I haven’t used it in eighteen months. I’m not even sure the account is still open or if the bank closed it down.”

“Find out.”

“Okay. I’ll call the bank—”