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“And the—” I pause, noticing another incoming call from Derrick on the screen. “For f—” I stop myself, remembering I still have my kid in the backseat who loves parroting every single profanity that slips out of my mouth, taking a deep breath, instead.
“What is it?” Mira asks.
“He’s been calling me like six to eight times every day!” I snap. “Countless texts and mentions on social media. He is so persistent; I cannot, for the life of me, understand why he won’t leave me alone.”
“He’s a narcissistic sociopath, honey. You dumped him. That caused an injury to his over-inflated ego,” she says. “He will do everything in his power to get you back just so he can be the one to dump you. That’s all there is to it, and I’m sure your couple’s counselor told you the same thing.”
“God, yes,” I groan, my face burning as I remember that one and only couples therapy session that Derrick and I did together.
“I’m just glad it’s over,” Mira says. “And I’m glad you’re getting your life back on track.”
“I will, provided I get this job. It’s been a while since I’ve actually practiced as a yoga instructor.”
“That’s okay, I’m sure you’ll do just fine. It’ll be like riding a bike.”
She’s always been so supportive. Always. And I pushed her away. It will take some time for me to fully forgive myself, but I am grateful that Mira never held it against me. She understood. She never made me feel guilty in any way.
“Thanks, girl. Is there anything else I need to know about the Golden Sequoia Estate before I go in?” I ask.
On both sides of the road, the lush, green hills of California rise proudly, vineyards rolling past me in shades of purple and pink as the grapes reveal their juicy beauty in the morning sunlight.
“Only that it’s the place to be for every finance and tech mogul and executive out there,” Mira says. “The guys really thought it through down to the last detail. It’s the ultimate retreat—cozy and brightly-lit working spaces, infinity pools and tennis courts, a big-ass gym and fitness center, the yoga studio, the spa and beauty treatments, the restaurants and bars—don’t even get me started on the living suites, sister. Hilton’s got nothing on them, I’ll tell you that much. If you get the job, you’ll be working in one of the finest establishments in all of Cali.”
As I arrive at the Golden Sequoia Estate, I am instantly taken aback. It is infinitely more beautiful than what I saw in online pictures. The website, although superbly designed, fails to do it justice, at least in my humble opinion. A sprawling property that complements surrounding hillsides and a wide valley, it’s flanked to the north by a massive natural reserve of ancient sequoia trees that stretch generously beyond in either direction.
The property is enclosed within a tall metal fence with hi-tech security cameras mounted practically everywhere, along with motion sensors and night-lights. According to Mira, it’s one of the safest places in the entire state. Many of their guests’ are of high status, and it’s clear there was a gargantuan investment in absolutely everything—furniture, décor, security systems and entertainment, equipment and well, everything.
I could never afford to come here as a client. Ever.
The gates open wide, allowing me to enter the property. The main driveway is lined with beautiful dogwood trees, their gorgeous blooms magnified by the morning sun making its way higher in the eastern sky.
I’m already in love with the estate and praying that I do well in the interview and land the job. Mikey sleeps comfortably in his carseat as I pull up into the employee parking lot, the reception building the size of a Greek villa.
Behind it, the main structure unravels with a fusion of modern and Brutalist architecture—square and round buildings with white walls and tall, black-framed windows, each connected to the other through a series of black steel and glass suspended passageways, and cobblestone pathways.
I reckon about two thousand people could live here in absolute comfort and bliss if the world were to end tomorrow.
“Welcome,” the receptionist greets me as soon as I walk in, holding my still sleepy son’s hand.
“Hi, there,” I reply with a light laugh. “I’m here for the—”
“Interview, yes,” she says, getting up from behind her black stainless steel desk with a warm smile. I can’t help but admire the soft pinks and oranges of her smart-casual uniform, complete with a sleek black nametag pinned to her bosom. “I’m Tanya, and I’ll be escorting you to Mr. Magnusson’s office.”
“Right, right. You were expecting me.”
“Yes, and our facial recognition software system recognized you from the gate, so I knew you were on your way,” Tanya says with a smile before glancing down at my son with slight confusion.
“I am so sorry, but I couldn’t find a babysitter for Mikey today. What are the chances that I could—”
“Please, don’t worry about it. Our daycare center is open, and we have staff available to keep an eye on him while you attend the interview. Free of charge, of course,” she replies.
It’s as if the weight of the whole world has just been lifted from my shoulders. “Oh, I’m…. Thank you so much, I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s our pleasure.”
I follow her quietly through the first passageway, briefly marveling at the most beautiful blue sky stretching above us before we reach the daycare center. I’m introduced to a lovely young sitter who Mikey is immediately crushing over from the moment he sets eyes on her. We’re off to a good start, I realize, as I promise my son that I’ll be back in a jiffy.
“Can I play with Anna?” he asks, then smiles at his sitter.
