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Why is he acting like that? Is he trying to show that I will be his new maid, so I'm the lower-class person while he's not? But I already know that. Since I lost my job, I don't even know how to pay the house bills, while he lives in a mansion. There's no need to remind me of this.
"Take a seat at the sofa," he commands, and I startle at his voice, a shiver running down my spine.
Raphael Darrington has already taken a seat in the chair, intently looking at me as if exploring. The goosebumps don't leave me all the way, and I still feel his tactless stare on me; it somehow becomes more intent with every second.
"You're late, Ms. Burton," he continues as I take a seat.
Our gazes meet, and I swallow. His grey eyes now seem so dark, more like deep taupe, as he studies my face intently. I try not to look away, but I don't know for how long I'll manage to do this.
"From now on, I'm asking you to come fifteen minutes earlier so you can change into the work uniform before the day starts." His body is relaxed as he speaks, with his hands lying on the chair's armrest and his legs slightly spread apart. While my hands are on my knees, digging into them for support. "I need you to finish your work and leave before noon. No exceptions."
I nod slightly in agreement, waiting for him to add more, but he only keeps staring with those intense dark-grey eyes, as if from a movie poster.
And he definitely would be a villain in that movie.
"Do you understand, Ms. Burton?" He speaks again, and that's when I realize that I probably should answer.
"Yes," I say, barely audibly, and then clear my throat. "And you can call me Katie."
"There's no need for that," he retorts with a steel voice, making me understand that I will never be able to call himRaphael. "I need you to start tomorrow. You may take one day a week off; it makes no difference to me which one as long as you tell me in advance. And come on time, of course."
I want to punch him with my fists when he mentions my being late for a minute for the third time. Who does he think he is?
I clench my fists and take a deep breath. "Does that mean that I'm hired?"
It doesn't matter that my new boss is an asshole. I really need this job.
"You're on probation, Ms. Burton," he corrects me and stands up. "I will let you know if you're accepted at the end of the week. Of course, it will be paid in full even if you're not."
He turns around without waiting for my answer. I guess he's not curious about whether I agree to his conditions. Probably the despair of needing this job is written all over my face.
I jump from my seat and follow him, trying to keep up with his pace. This man is almost unbearable to deal with, but luckily I won't exactly workwithhim. I'll workforhim, and that's a big difference. Because he asked me to leave before noon, I guess we're not going to see each other at all.
Suddenly, right after I come out of the living room, some dog barks at me, and I scream in fright. A massive Swiss cattle dog appears from the main door and runs to me. I take a step back out of fear and bump into something. I hear the sound of broken glass.
"Baltazar, stop!" Raphael commands the dog, and it stops right away, a couple of inches from me, staring intently, just like his master was doing a minute ago.
Raphael takes the dog by the collar and gently pulls it to him, guiding it into the living room and closing the door behind. To my surprise, the dog follows patiently, not barking anymore. This dog is very smart. Why did Raphael not teach it not to bark at guests?
I turn around and see crystal vase pieces scattered on the wooden floor. I gasp in surprise. How could I do this? I haven't even started working here, and I have already broken something that costs more than I earn in a month!
I can't believe it.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Darrington." I fall to my knees and start grabbing those pieces with my hands, trying to clean the mess.
"No, don't! You may hurt yourself!" he yells in response, but it's too late: I feel a stream of blood running down my palm.
"Oww." I screw up my eyes in pain.
"I'm gonna get you a bandage." It’s the only thing he says before walking away.
Nothing about the vase. Nothing about the dismissal. What a fool I'll be if I get fired before my first workday even starts.
He comes back in less than a minute with a cheesecloth and a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
"Let me wash the wound." He kneels right next to me and takes me by the wrist.
He begins to pour whiskey on my palm, and I frown again in pain. Doesn't he have a first aid kit?
