I collapse down on the sofa the second I get in from work. There’s no time to relax; it’s eleven at night and I need to cram in a few more hours of writing. Maybe I can rest for just a few minutes.

“You look beat,” Tami says, as she pushes my feet to one side and sits next to me on the sofa. “Anyone would think you were the one up until four o’clock in the morning at a sex party a couple of nights ago.”

Tami won’t let me forget that night in a hurry. Not that I’m going to forget it. She thinks I bailed early and let her have all the fun by herself. I left out the part where a stranger brought me close to orgasm while we watched a man spank his woman on the bed.

I don’t know what came over me. I wasn’t drunk, so I can’t blame the alcohol. One minute I’m digging around for my coat, and the next I’m walking over to a complete stranger just because he told me to. His voice had so much power, so much authority, that it never occurred to me to disobey him. Not that I wanted to. The lighting wasn’t great, but what I saw of him ticked all the right boxes. Tall, muscular, tanned but not bronzed, and with a bit of stubble. I have a type, and that type is him.

He half undressed me and touched me while other people were in the room. That’s the truly insane part. I let other people watch. And I watched other people. I’m not sure which part turned me on more. I don’t feel comfortable watching porn because it feels invasive, but that night I watched a woman get spanked and then start sucking a man’s cock.

Tami had some fun of her own that night and she won’t shut up about it. Occasionally I’m tempted to mention what I did just to keep her quiet, but I don’t know if I’d be able to look her in the eyes again. It’s hard enough looking at myself in the mirror. I don’t recognize the person I see in the reflection.

That might be why work has been so hard these last few days. When you’ve experienced that level of excitement it’s hard to go back to normality. What’s that guy doing now? I bet he’s not waiting tables.

“That shift was a bitch,” I tell Tami. “Every single customer had it out for me.”

“Yeah, I overheard a few tough conversations. Did they at least tip well?”

“What do you think?” The customers you go to the most effort for always tip the least. I learned that after just a few shifts. “I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. I never have the energy to write. How do you do it?”

Tami shrugs. “I don’t know. Most of the roles I play don’t require me to get overly creative. And with auditions, casting directors don’t like it if you get too fancy. I generally just read the lines I’m given. I either get the part or I don’t. You, on the other hand, have to think up stories and execute them. I’m sure that’s challenging when your brain is fried.”

“I need a job that’s less tiring. Or one where I can write while working. Maybe I should be a security guard?”

“Honey, you would be, like, the least intimidating security guard ever. No offense. Can’t you write on your breaks? Or when it’s not busy?”

“I scribble down notes on my breaks, but it’s hard to get much of substance done. And the second Tomas sees me writing while on the clock, he finds me a menial task to do.”

“I must admit, Tomas has it out for you. You get all the worst customers.”

“Tell me about it.”

Tomas is the front of house manager, and he tries his hardest to make my life a living hell at work all because I had the nerve to reject his advances. He hit on Tami as well, but she pretended to be a lesbian and he took that better than an outright rejection.

“Tomas won’t last much longer,” Tami says. “Give it another month or two and he’ll be fired. I’m amazed he hasn’t been already. In the meantime, get that annoyingly curvy ass of yours on your seat in front of your laptop. You can’t write while you’re lying here on the sofa.”

“I know, I know.” I force myself up and stretch. “I’m going to need coffee. You want anything?”

“No thanks. I have an audition at eight in the morning, so I’d better get an early night. The character is supposed to be ‘bubbly and cute.’ Pretty sure that’s code for ‘dumb blonde with big tits,’ but I’ll give it a shot anyway.”

I make a cup of coffee and sit in front of my laptop as ordered. Despite what Tami says, I’d rather be a writer than an actress. The hard part of my job is getting the words down, but at least I don’t have to deal with constant rejection and being told I’m not the ‘right fit.’ Tami’s a beautiful woman, but she’s not the exact type of beautiful most casting agents are after.

When my script is finished, I’ll likely get ignored by every agent I send it to, but I can pretend they were too busy to read it. No one’s going to tell me I’m not good enough; I can keep writing and imagine my big break is just around the corner.

My outline is detailed and complete. I know exactly what I’m supposed to write, so why can’t I put the words on the page? The coffee doesn’t keep me from yawning, and no matter how much I stare at my outline, I can’t bring myself to write anything. This can’t go on. I’m never going to make it as a writer when I get home from work each day utterly exhausted.

I flick over to a browser window and search the job site I used to land the waitressing gig. There’s a list of categories down the left-hand side, but I’m unqualified for most of those jobs. A search for ‘no experience required’ brings up the usual assortment of manual labor jobs that will leave me just as tired as my current job, if not more so.

Then I see a listing for a babysitter position. I did that job back in the day but had to give it up. The agency treated me like shit and took most of the money. Looking after kids can pay well on paper, but once the agency takes its cut you don’t make a single cent more than minimum wage unless you have a lot of experience. With my tips, at least I make enough to pay rent.

This job’s different. It specifically mentions that no experience is required and it pays well. Really well. Suspiciously well. The ad is signed by a man named Parker Kaye—father of a girl called Olivia—and there’s an address and contact number. You don’t usually get all that information on a job ad which, combined with the ridiculous amount of money on offer, makes me think that this Parker guy is new to hiring babysitters.

I don’t stand a chance. Every experienced babysitter in Los Angeles is going to want this job. I love kids, but my limited experience isn’t going to get me this position.

Screw it.

I upload a résumé and draft a quick cover letter where I admit my lack of experience, but promise that I’ll be the perfect fit for the job. I leave out mentioning that I plan to write my screenplay any chance I get when the child is asleep.

You can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket.

I have an interview.

Parker must be desperate, because when I wake up in the morning I find an email inviting me to his house the same day.

I’m still convinced I have no hope in hell of landing this job, but there’s no time to worry about it now. I settle on a dress that looks sensible and motherly. It’s a little low cut on top, so I throw on a sweater to cover up some skin. I can always take it off if the situation calls for it. There are limits to what I’d do for a job, but these days I’m all about pushing my limits to new places.

Parker lives in a huge house in Rancho Park, which doesn’t come as a huge surprise given the amount he can afford to pay for a babysitter. My beat up Ford Focus looks completely out of place in his driveway, but it’s too late to go and park on the road. A man walks past walking his dog and gives me an evil glare, as if I’ve lowered the value of the neighborhood just by parking here.

Keep focused, Carly. This job is worth all the evil looks in the world. With the amount he pays, I can lease a new car after I’ve paid off some credit cards.

There’s a large gold ornamental knocker on the front door which I use to bang loudly on the door before noticing the doorbell by the side. Oops. I’m about to ring the bell when the door opens.

“Ms. Wicks?”

I stare open mouthed at Parker for what I hope is only a few seconds. His large biceps stretch the fabric of his blue polo shirt to the breaking point, and it clings tightly to his firm chest. “Huh? Oh, yes. I’m Ms. Wicks. Carly. Call me Carly.”

Holy crap, he’s hot. I don’t know where to look. My tastes in men aren’t original. Tall, dark, and handsome. Boring, I know. Still, it’s not often I meet men who look like they’ve been created from my imagination. Now I’ve met two in a week.

“Come in, Carly,” Parker says, standing to one side.

Even his legs are nice. His shorts hug his lean thighs, and his calves are sculpted, like a runner’s. His legs aren’t as noticeable as his arms and chest, but it’s clear he doesn’t neglect leg day at the gym. Come to think of it, there’s probably a gym in this house—it’s certainly big enough. Parker leads me through three rooms until we get to an office where we sit down either side of a large wooden desk.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Parker says, his voice deep and sultry. There’s something familiar about his voice and even his appearance. Perhaps he’s an actor—it would hardly be a stretch. This is LA after all. I’m dreadful at remembering faces; I served an Oscar-winning actress once and didn’t even know who she was until Tami told me.

“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply. “I’m sure you received a lot of applications.”

“Not really. Not many people want to work here, as I’m sure you understand.”

That’s odd. Why wouldn’t people want to work here? From everything I’ve seen so far, this job looks nearly perfect. Large house in a lovely neighborhood and a boss I’d happily stay late for. It certainly beats being a waitress.

I’m about to ask him what he’s talking about when I decide it might be best to keep my naïveté to myself. I’m already vastly underqualified for this job, and I don’t want to give him any more cause for concern.

Most interviewers take the lead, but he isn’t asking many questions. I should be grateful, because I don’t have many answers. “You have a lovely home,” I say eventually.

“Thanks. Where do you live?”

“Downtown. I can get here in twenty minutes if I avoid the worst of the traffic.”

“Easier said than done in LA, but we can arrange your hours so that you miss the busy periods.”

Parker glances down at an iPad on his lap which I assume has a copy of my application. Not that there was much to it. My résumé barely takes up one page, the cover letter contains little information of use, and I only have one letter of recommendation instead of the two he requested.

“Why did you give up being a babysitter and become a waitress?” Parker asks. “I assume you like looking after children or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I could only get a position by working through an agency and that didn’t pay well. Not after the agency takes its cut.”

It’s probably bad form to talk about money during an interview, but it’s the truth. If you work your ass off as a waitress in LA you can make a decent income, especially if you work at an expensive restaurant like Tami and I do. It doesn’t pay anywhere close to this position, though. And I’d much rather have Parker bossing me around.

Apparently, I like being bossed around these days. Christ, don’t think about that right now. It’s hard enough to control myself opposite Parker without thinking about the man I met at the party and what we did. I’m never going to see him again, but Parker would be a great replacement. He’s stern and attractive; I’ve no doubt he could give orders that I’d obey without hesitation.

“I’ve used agencies before,” Parker says, “and I’ve not had much success with them. I’m more than happy to skip that step for the right candidate.”

Here’s my time to shine. I hate bragging, but this is an interview and I have to sell myself.

“I know I don’t have a great deal of experience, but I’m a fast learner, I work hard, and I love kids. I’m sure everyone says that, but I actually do.”

“Olivia is a handful like any kid, but if you can handle working with the customers at New River Grill then you’re definitely capable.”

“You’ve been to New River?”

“A few times for work. That place definitely attracts a certain type. I hesitate to refer to them as adults.”

“That explains why you look familiar.”

Parker smiles, flashing a row of straight white teeth. “Yeah, I knew I’d seen you before somewhere too. I guess that’s it.”

Except… maybe not. If I’d served Parker, I’d remember him vividly. The second I laid eyes on him in the doorway, I knew I’d never forget his face or his body shape. I’ve got that image firmly locked away in my mind; it might come in use during moments of alone time.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” I ask. Parker seems pleasant enough and he keeps smiling at me, but he’s not asked many questions and I haven’t done enough to convince him I can look after his child. He’s bound to interview other candidates who are better than me.

“Let’s be honest,” Parker says. “It’s not me you have to impress. I think it’s time for you to meet Olivia.”