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In all honesty, if she quit, he didn’t know what he’d do for help. The temp agencies had blacklisted him after he’d gone through a dozen temps in the past couple of months. But he’d make do, one way or the other. He always had in the past. “You’re sure?”
“I am.”
“Then I will let you review the document that I’ve emailed you. It should explain everything including the fact that I work late into the night, but I don’t expect you to. However, I will have work waiting for you each morning.” When sleep evaded him, he found it best to keep his mind busy. It kept the frustration and worries of the unknown at bay.
“Does anyone else work in the office?” she asked.
“No.”
She didn’t immediately respond.
He hadn’t considered that she wouldn’t like working alone. It had been one of his requirements through the temp agencies, but Gabrielle hadn’t given him time to get in to specifics when they’d spoken on the phone. Maybe this was his way out—even if the voice inside his head kept saying that he needed to watch out for her.
He cleared his throat. “If working alone is going to be a problem, we could end this now.”
The silence on her end continued. He really wished he could look into her eyes. For the first time, he found communicating via the phone frustrating.
“No. It won’t be a problem.” Her voice sounded confident. “But I have a stipulation of my own.”
“And that would be?”
“I need to speak with my father at least once a day—”
“That’s fine.”
“Would you reconsider letting me visit him? He will miss me.”
This separation was to punish her father—not her. He’d cost Deacon and now the man had to pay a price—even if it wasn’t dictated by a judge. Her father would learn not to take Gabrielle for granted.
“He should have thought of that before he allowed you to pay the price for his actions. Our arrangement will hold. You will stay here and work for three months.”
Deacon knew what it was like to be alone. Both of his parents had passed on and he had no siblings. Other than Mrs. Kupps, the housekeeper, he was alone in this big rambling estate—except now Gabrielle was here. And somehow her mere presence seemed to make this place a little more appealing and less like a prison.
“My father didn’t make me do anything. I volunteered.” Her indignation came through loud and clear.
“Now that everything is settled, I’ll let you get to work.” Deacon disconnected the call.
Something told him this was going to be a very, very long three months. But it definitely wouldn’t be boring.
CHAPTER TWO
THIS DEFINITELY WASN’T her best first day on the job.
In fact, it ranked right up there as one of the worst.
And the day wasn’t over yet.
A loud crack of thunder shook the windows at the same time as lightning lit up the sky around the guesthouse. Gabrielle rushed to close the French doors. Somehow the weather seemed rather fitting.
She had one more piece of business before she curled up with a book and escaped from reality. She had to file her first report with QTR.
Gaby sat down at the granite kitchen bar and opened her laptop. She stared at a blank screen with the cursor blinking at her...mocking her. What would she say? She didn’t even know what format to use. Did they expect her to tell a story or stick to bullet points?
Sure, she’d earned a bachelor’s degree in journalism, but with a downturn in the economy, she hadn’t been able to land a position in publishing, so she’d returned to school. She’d gone on to get a second degree in library science. Books had always been her first love.
And as much as she loved words, right now they wouldn’t come to her. She typed a couple of words, but they didn’t sound right. She deleted them.
This is ridiculous. It’s not an article for the public to read. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to be the facts. So start writing.
