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The air rushes out of me in a flood and I feel like I’m deflating, sagging back into the welcome arms of the chair; the last two hours of my life has taken it out of me.
Holy shit.
I got the job.
I glance down at the paper in my lap, my fingers curving around the sheets.
I got the job.
My eyes scan over the first few words.
NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENTit reads. Already I can feel a headache forming at the base of my skull. Well, she’s going to be an hour. I may as well get stuck in. Who knows what this contract is going to say? If I’m going to keep this job, I need to pay attention and show from the first moment that I’ve got what it takes.
4
Eva
If anyone had asked me in high school if I knew what I wanted to be, I would have stared at them blankly. Because, in truth, I had no idea. I figured I'd fall into something. When part-time jobs proved dead-end, I started taking night classes in Early Childhood Education. Then my plan was to get out of America and over to Europe to be an AuPair. It was, for me, the best and only option. It's not like I could depend on my parents for anything. I'm not sure they noticed when I moved out after high school.
ECE was great for working with kids, but it wasn't good for figuring out the complexities of an NDA. My eyes blur as I try to make sense of the words, and after about fifteen minutes of trying to figure out what it all means, I scan the desk for a pen.
There is no choice for me. I have to sign because I need this job. And I'm good with kids. I get them. They're just tiny adults who don't know how to communicate their needs yet and don't know how to regulate their emotions. Feed them, nap them, clean them, and listen to them. That's been my standard care regime, and it's worked well for me in the past.
This is no different just because it's a duke's child. A real Lady. I grab a blue pen and scrawl my signature on the last page, inking my initials on the corner of every sheet, as a just-in-case. I don't want to give them any reason to take exception to my contract-signing skills.
I'm about to integrate myself entirely into their lives, even if I'm supposed to be invisible. It's going to mean a lot of opportunities to mess things up, so getting it right from the beginning means they won't watch me so closely for every little mistake.
I hope, anyway.
Placing the contract back on the desk, I lean back in the chair and close my eyes. It's so comfortable and quiet in here. Peaceful, compared to my noisy apartment under the freeway overpass at the edge of K-Town.
I could almost...
There's a bang in the hallway. I jerk nearly out of my chair, right out of a sleep that snuck up on me. My heart thuds in my chest, and I stand up, turning around as heavy footsteps sound off in the hallway, coming toward me.
"Where the hell's— oh. It's you?" He's tall, dark-haired with soft curls swept off his forehead, his face tanned from time out in the sun. He's dressedexpensive, in that tailored way that doesn't have logos anywhere, but you know every stitch is worth like a hundred dollars. He's wearing a tight polo that curves hungrily around his biceps, and he looks a few years older than me, maybe in his mid-twenties. He's got light green eyes set off by an incredible set of lashes that would make Gina instantly jealous. She's always trying out new makeup trends.
And there's something about him.
He's hot in that stupidly chiseled way, like he just stepped off the pages of a beach shoot, except less tousled. I can feel how sweaty I am just looking at him. He's a young god, and I'm… I'm garbage, I'm—
"I'm um, I'm the, I'm—" The words turn to potato mush in my mouth as he looks at me, amusement twisting on his lips. He cocks his head, hand lifting, fingers curling in a 'come here' gesture like he's asking me to spit it out.
"Awe-struck in my presence. Of course. Don't feel bad. It happens to everyone. And you didn't curtsey, but I'm not really here for the old ways or anything," he says, leaning against the open doorway, amusement coloring his voice.
Curtsey.
Oh shit.
He's—
The marquis. From the bar. Who grabbed me.
Not the duke.
My eyes bug out as he laughs. I said that last bit out loud.
"No, only his younger brother. For now, anyway, I'm the marquis. But you never know what could happen, and you could soon be addressing me as Your Grace." He steps forward, and it feels like the doorway sags when he moves as if he'd been holding it up and not the other way around. He tops me by a good five inches, and I'm above average for a girl.
