"…and it ended up being the second time in the last month that I had to go to Cincinnati for work."
"Oh, really? Crazy."
"Yep. I mean, don't get me wrong – it's a lovely city. But I'd much rather do my work here in New York. Just hate being away from the food for even a day. For instance, did I tell you about this amazing little cronut place in Williamsburg that my coworkers and I went to? The line was out the door, but the cronuts were amazing. I got this one with balsamic vinegar and…"
It took every bit of restraint Ingrid Parker had to not drop her face into her salad, and fall asleep in the middle of the restaurant.
I hate Tinder, she thought as Richard, the man sitting across from her and possibly the most boring of all the dates she'd been on in the last few months, blabbed on and on about one thing or another, his voice a steady drone. His tone was so sleep-inducing that part of her wanted to record it and use it in place of the white noise app she sometimes used to help get to sleep.
"And what did you say you were?" asked Richard, looking his fleshy face up at Ingrid from his salmon salad. "A waitress?"
On top of how boring he was, Richard also didn't have the decency to be mildly attractive. His hair was thinning and combed into a terrible comb-over, his face looked, to Ingrid, like that of a snooty pig, and his terribly unstylish clothes seemed to have been pulled right from the bottom of the hamper.
"A nanny," said Ingrid.
God, she thought, wanting to shake her head in disbelief. If this guy's going to yak about his job nonstop, the least he could do is remember mine.
"Hmm," he said, "not really much room for advancement opportunities in that. Have you considered getting into a different field? I know insurance sales groups are always hiring. Pay might not be that great to start off, but I'm sure it's better than what you're making now."
Holy shit, thought Ingrid. Now this guy's giving me career advice? And managing to insult my job in the process. Real charmer, this one.
Ingrid poked at her salad listlessly, shoving down a few bites quickly in the hopes that the faster she ate, the faster she could arrive at the end of the date.
"I need to use the little boy's room," said Richard. "I'll be back in a bit, cutie-pie."
Ingrid watched him stand up and leave the table, her eyes wide.
He did not just call me "cutie pie," she thought. No fucking way.
As she watched him leave, she took note of the fact that on top of everything else, he was short. Even the tiny, cute waitresses in the place seemed to tower over him.
As soon as he was out of sight, Ingrid slumped down in her seat and let out a dramatic sigh. Her phone buzzed on the table and she shot her hand out to check it, hoping it was anything more exciting than what she was doing at the moment.
How's this one? Another charmer? ;)
Ingrid shook her head and smiled. The text was from Katelyn Abernathy, one of the two teenage daughters of the family where she worked as a nanny. Over the course of the last year that Ingrid had spent in the family's employ, the two of them had become especially close, and now that Katelyn was at the age when boys occupied just about every waking thought she had, Ingrid had brought her in on the gossip, trials, and tribulations of just what it's like to be an adult dating in the city. The PG version, of course, not that she had anything particularly X-rated to discuss. All Ingrid had to report these days was an endless procession of terrible Tinder dates and gross men hitting on her at whatever bar she'd head into for a quick drink on the weekend.
Ingrid: The less said, the better. But you can probably expect me home extra early tonight.
Katelyn: Yikes, that bad? Maybe you can pay me to screen these guys in advance.
Ingrid: You know, that's not a bad idea : )
Richard arrived back at the table as soon as Ingrid fired off the last text.
"I swear, you girls can't go five minutes without playing on those things," said Richard.
Ingrid sighed slowly, part of her wanting to bite his head off right then and there.
"I'm a nanny, so I have to keep in contact with the kids. Just part of the job."
Richard nodded, and Ingrid wondered, for a moment, if he was letting the issue drop.
"That's another nice thing about the insurance industry – you can just leave the job at the office when you're done. You know, you don't have to deal with bratty kids all day."
"They're actually great kids, but I'll keep your career suggestions in mind."
"Good," said Richard. "A girl your age can't afford to waste any time with finding a good job. Not to mention getting married and having children."
Does this guy not realize I'm twenty-three? she thought.
And as far as marriage and children, the thought was almost overwhelming to her. Sure, she'd dreamed of getting married just like every other girl, but the thought of being a mother was just too much for her to handle at this stage in her life. Part of her wanted it, and the other was terrified at the possibility. Most of the time, she felt as though being a nanny was as close as she was capable of coming to that particular subject for the time being.
Ingrid dragged herself through the rest of her dinner and thanked the Lord above when the check came. Thankfully, Richard slipped out his card and placed it onto the check as soon as it came; Ingrid was half-expecting him to ask her to pay. But she couldn't help but internally roll her eyes as he handed the checkbook back – he gave Ingrid this sly little look as he did, as though he wanted to make sure she saw he was paying for everything.
"So," said Richard. "Where do you live?"
Please don't tell me he's going to try to make a move or something, thought Ingrid. I don't know if I can take any more of this.
"Just a few blocks away," said Ingrid. "I live with my nanny family here in the village."
"Impressive," said Richard. "And can I ask who the family is?"
"Um, they're called the Abernathys. The parents are Melinda and Paul."
Richard raised his eyebrows.
"Wait a minute," he said. "That wouldn't be the Paul Abernathy, would it? As in, ‘deputy mayor’ Paul Abernathy?"
"One and the same."
Ingrid was, at this point, used to her dates being more than a little impressed when she told them just who she worked for. But she hated most of all what never failed to come next.
"Say," said Richard, drumming his fingers on the table in thought. "You don't think there's any way I could meet with him, do you? My boss has some proposals he's been itching to get in front of government high-ups’ eyes, and this might be just the chance."
Always networking, thought Ingrid. These New York career guys are always the same.
"He's really busy, but I'll see what I can do," said Ingrid.
And as though with superhuman speed, Richard pulled out a business card and shoved it in Ingrid's hands.
"You're awesome," said Richard.
"Um, shall we?" asked Ingrid.
"We shall," said Richard. "Come on, I'll walk you home."
Ingrid was eager to get home, so she agreed. Moments later, they were out of the restaurant and back onto the evening streets of the west village, the night quiet and the weather mild.
"This was a lovely evening," said Richard. "The food was great, and the company was beyond compare."
Ingrid wanted to roll her eyes. She could never understand how she'd get to the end of a miserable date and the guys were always so confident that the evening went perfectly. She swore there was something in the water in New York that made the men both totally boring and delusional.
"Yeah, the food was good," Ingrid said, doing her best not to have to totally lie.
As they walked toward Ingrid's place, she tried to focus on her surroundings. Though she was on the fence about New York, she had found herself falling in love just a bit with the West Village where she stayed. The roads were quiet and charming, unlike the bustling atmosphere of the rest of Manhattan, and the townhouses and apartment buildings were quaint alternatives to the ultra-modern condos springing up all over the city. However, as she looked over the townhomes, she knew that, as expensive as they were, they were probably always out of reach for a girl like her. Staying in one as a nanny was likely the closest she'd ever get.
They eventually reached the stately façade of the Abernathy's townhome. Richard looked up at it appreciatively.
"This is quite the place," he said, raising his eyebrows again. "I suppose when you're a mover and shaker like Paul Abernathy these are the sort of digs you can afford."
"I guess so," she said, annoyed with how much time guys like Richard spent worrying about other men's jobs, and the things they could afford with them.
"Well," said Richard, turning toward Ingrid, the two of them standing in a pool of light from the street lamp above, "I had a lovely time, and I'd certainly enjoy seeing you again."
With that, he closed his eyes and placed his hands on Ingrid's hips.
Oh no, she thought. He's gonna do it; he's really gonna do it.
Sure enough, he puckered his gross little lips and moved in toward Ingrid. But right before he reached the point when she was going to have to react one way or another, a voice called out from above.
"Yo, Ingrid!" shouted the familiar voice of Katelyn. "Get that sexy ass of yours upstairs and help me pack!"
Richard's eyes shot open and he turned up to face the noise. A wave of relief washed over Ingrid as she looked up at Katelyn's face in one of the townhome's second-story windows, a smart-ass smile on her pretty features.
"Sorry, miss!" shouted Ingrid. "I'll be right up."
She turned to Richard.
"So! Nice night, see you around!" she said, already hurrying up the gray stone stairs leading to the front door.
"Um, same to you!" he said. "Don't forget about the business ca-"
But before he could finish his sentence, Ingrid had already shut the door behind her. Leaning back against the door, she spotted Katelyn and her twin sister Annie standing on the grand spiral staircase leading to the second floor, eager smirks on their faces.
"Oh my God," said Ingrid. "Thank you so much."
"Don't worry about it," said Katelyn. "That guy looked like a total dork."
"Yeah," said Annie. "If I had to kiss that guy, I'd probably throw up or something."
"I was probably about two seconds from that," said Ingrid.
Minutes later, the three of them were in the sleek, modern kitchen of the townhome, seated at the kitchen bar and dishing about the date. The two fraternal twins, both blonde, with slim, attractive faces and wide, blue eyes, listened to Ingrid go over the details. Ingrid always thought it was cute how they lapped up every detail of Ingrid's life in the dating world, as though she were some expert on the subject and not someone who seemed to be destined for romantic failure.
"Ugh, he wanted to meet with dad too?" asked Katelyn, rolling her eyes. "These guys are such losers."
"Yeah," said Annie, "don't guys know that's, like, the lamest thing to talk about on a date?"
"That's New York for you," said Ingrid. "Every guy only thinks about one thing. Um, well, two things. One being his job."
"And the other?" asked Katelyn.
"That," came the voice of Paul Abernathy from the other room, "is something that neither of you is going to need to worry about for a long, long time. Forever, hopefully."
Paul Abernathy strolled into the kitchen, his slim frame clad in his usual stylish suit.
"Shouldn't you two be finishing packing?" he said. "We're driving to Massachusetts first thing in the morning, after all."
A pang of sadness hit Ingrid at the reminder that this was the last night of her time with the Abernathy's. Both of the girls had been accepted to Harvard and were driving up tomorrow morning to begin the semester. Ingrid couldn't believe she'd already been working here for a year and a half, and was wondering just what she was going to be doing next.
"Fine," said Annie, getting up from her seat.
"We'll talk later," said Ingrid as the two girls left the kitchen.
Moments later, it was just Ingrid and Paul in the kitchen.
"So," he said, pouring himself a small glass of whiskey. "Last day on the job. And I'm assuming that if you're already back, your date didn't go all that hot."
He gestured to Ingrid with the bottle, and after a moment of thinking, she nodded and he poured her a glass.
"The less said about the date, the better," she said. "And yeah, I can't believe tomorrow's it – they're gone in the morning."
"Well," said Paul, "like I said, this place is going to be empty as can be with just me here, so you can stay for as long as you need to while you look for a new gig."
"Thanks, Mr. Abernathy," said Ingrid, wondering how a handsome, well-connected man like Paul had managed to stay single for so long.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "And if it's your last day, the least you could do is call me ‘Paul,' like I've been saying you should for the last year."
He flashed her a warm smile as he sipped his whiskey.
"Sorry…Paul," said Ingrid, blushing a little bit.
Trim and handsome-faced, Paul was definitely what Ingrid would consider a "silver fox." But he wasn't really the flirting type, and always kept their relationship friendly but professional. And Ingrid was fine with this, though she couldn't help but fantasize every now and then about making it something more.
"Let me ask you something," said Paul, leaning back on the kitchen counter behind him and raising his glass thoughtfully. "How do you like living in the city?"
"As in New York?"
"As in New York. And be honest – just because I work for it doesn't mean I can't take an honest opinion."
"Um, well," said Ingrid, looking away. "it's...nice."
Paul chuckled.
"'Nice' is what people say about things when they're too afraid to share their real opinions," he said. "Now, let's hear it. Or I'm gonna do some shots with you until the booze loosens your tongue."
Ingrid smiled. "Well, to be honest, I don't really care for it," she said, dragging her finger along the rim of her glass. "I mean, I always dreamed about moving here since I was little, and, well, the city's beautiful and there is all sorts of cool stuff here, I just never felt like I could make this place a home. I know that's vague, but that's just what's been gnawing at me for the last year. I mean, I love working with you and the girls, but I keep thinking about what I'm going to be doing after Katelyn and Annie go to college, and it just seems like everything I want involves me leaving."
Paul nodded.
"It's not vague – it makes total sense. If you don't feel at home somewhere, then you're not going to do the things that make that place into a home for you. You know, like make friends, find a significant other, all that. The dissatisfaction this creates makes building a foundation difficult."
Ingrid knew there was truth to Paul's words, and that during her time in the city, she hadn't even bothered to make a single friend. And her dating life had been an endless string of go-nowhere Tinder dates she forced herself to go on. She told herself it was because she was busy with work, which she was, but deep down, she knew it was because she really didn't have any sort of desire to put down roots here.
"You're probably right," said Ingrid. "But what can I do about it? I mean, this is where I live now; it's not like I can just pick up and move somewhere else."
"Well," said Paul, walking over to his bag and pulling out a slim, silver laptop. "I didn't bring this up just to pick your brain."
He opened the laptop on the bar and took a seat next to Ingrid. After a few clicks, he opened up an email from some place called ‘Ladon Nanny Services’.
"I was meeting with some guys from DC the other day and one of them mentioned this place when we got to talking about our kids. I told him I had a nanny I was about to let go with my girls going off to school, and he mentioned this place."
"Looks fancy," said Ingrid, looking over the website and noting it looked more like a site for some kind of upscale private school.
"They have locations in all the major cities, and they work with very, very exclusive and wealthy clients. The guy told me he thinks they're booked up here in the city, but a friend of his in DC is looking for a nanny at the moment."
Paul looked away for a second, his expression taking on a look of confusion.
"What?" asked Ingrid.
"Oh, nothing," said Paul. "Well, just that the guy was kind of weird, now that I think about it."
"'Weird' as in ‘keeps nannies in a basement'?" asked Ingrid.
Paul chuckled.
"No, not that kind of weird. Like, very intense. This guy was loaded too – they're not kidding about the kinds of clients they work with; they're real ‘masters of the universe' types."
"Anyway," continued Paul. "I said you'd be perfect for the job, but that I didn't know how open to the idea of moving to DC you were. So, I figured I'd bring it up to you and see what you thought."
"Yeah," said Ingrid. "I mean, moving sounds a little scary, but it might be fun. And it's not like I have anything else going on."
"Awesome," said Paul. "They said that, with my reference, you'd just need a quick interview just to make sure you're on the level. But otherwise, they could have you in DC within a few days."
Ingrid sipped her drink again, marveling at how fast all this was happening.
"There’s one little catch, however," said Paul. "This guy that they'd be pairing you with…evidently, he has a bit of a reputation as something of a hardass."
"A hardass?" asked Ingrid.
"Yeah," said Paul. "He's apparently gone through a few nannies already. Something about having a short temper. But I think he just loves his daughter and is very uncompromising about it. But if it makes you feel any better, I think you'll do fine."
Ingrid couldn't shake the idea of moving to a new city only to get fired for getting on her new boss' bad side. But still, it was a great opportunity.
"And pay is great, benefits - all that. Believe me, I wouldn't be recommending it to you if I didn't think you could handle it. I mean, you've been watching over a pair of teenage twins – I think that means you could handle anything."
"Okay," said Ingrid. "I think I'm sold. What do I do next?"
"Next, I send them an email and they set up an interview. Give me a sec…."
Paul typed up a quick email and fired it off.
"There," he said. "Hopefully, they'll get back to me before too long."
He glanced down at Ingrid's drink.
"Want another?"
"Sure," said Ingrid, holding out her glass.
Paul walked over to the bottle of whiskey and poured a new pair of drinks. But just as he put the cap back on the bottle, a chime sounded from his computer. Crinkling up his eyebrows, he went back over to it and looked it over.
"What the," he said. "They emailed me back already."
"Seriously?" asked Ingrid.
Paul clicked the email and gave it a read.
"Wow," he said. "Tomorrow at nine on the dot."
"Tomorrow morning?" she asked.
"Yep," he said, standing back up. "These guys really aren't screwing around."
"Then…let's do it then, I guess," said Ingrid, her stomach tightening with anxiety.
She had a strange feeling about all of this.
***
The next morning came and went. Ingrid saw the girls off to school, and Paul wished her good luck as they all took off. Once they were gone, Ingrid rushed into the house and put on her interview clothes, one eye on the clock the entire time she got ready. The building where the interview was being held wasn't too far off, but how suddenly all this was happening still hadn't settled with Ingrid. She felt as though she was caught up in a whirlwind over which she had no control.
Once she was ready, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror in her room and took a look at herself.
Ingrid had always felt she was a plain girl, though plenty of the guys who'd she'd gone on terrible Tinder dates with had told her otherwise. She had straight, auburn hair that draped over her shoulders, sparkling green eyes that were the same color as grass wet with morning dew, and a small but full mouth that always reminded her of a feature a doll might have. And she was a fuller girl, with a thicker, shapelier physique than most of the rail-thin girls she saw around the city. But this didn't bother her – she was proud of her curves, at times even liking the attention men paid to her "assets".
"Okay," she said aloud, looking over her outfit of a crisp, white blouse, black pencil skirt, and matching heels. "I think this is about as professional as I'm gonna get."
Grabbing her things, she headed out of the house and into the sunny New York day. It was early fall, the weather was mild, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. New York could have its problems, but during days like today, Ingrid found it hard to let the city get her down too much.
After a brief walk, she arrived at the looming tower of glass and steel where the nanny service was located. She entered the spacious lobby, the place bustling with men and women in expensive suits, all darting here and there like they had someplace very important to be. Ingrid knew this was just the lobby, but it still struck her as a little strange that this was the building where a nanny service would be located, even a high-end one like Ladon appeared to be.
"Um, I'm here for an appointment with Ladon," said Ingrid to the sharp-faced, pretty, young woman at the front desk.
"Ladon?" she asked. "One moment."
She typed on her computer for a time, a very, very serious expression on her face. Eventually, after checking two forms of Ingrid's ID, she gave her the okay to proceed to the elevator and make her way up.
That was a little...much, thought Ingrid as she walked over to the elevators. It's like I'm walking into the FBI or something, not some nanny service.
The elevator was sleek and silver, and quickly brought Ingrid up to the fifty-fifth floor. The doors silently opened, revealing an office as sleek and modern as the rest of the building. Ingrid stepped into the lobby and was immediately overwhelmed by the bustle of the busy workplace. Feeling a bit nervous, she stepped up to the front desk and gave her information. The receptionist, just like in the lobby, took all her information and methodically cross-checked it.
"You're meeting in conference room five," said the girl. "Now."
Her tone was stern, and Ingrid hurried off toward the conference room. Her heart was pounding.
This is so weird, she thought to herself. What kind of nanny company is this?
Eventually, she reached the stately conference room doors and checked the room plaque to make sure she was in the right place. All around her, employees darted here and there; Ingrid felt somehow even more out of place, like at any moment someone might tap her on the shoulder and ask her just what the hell she was doing here.
Gathering her courage, she gave the conference room door a rap. The door was solid, and she felt as though her knock didn't make the slightest sound.
Should I knock again? she thought.
But before she could make a move, a voice called from within. It was a deep, booming voice.
"Come in."
Ingrid's heart continued to race as she opened the door. Once she pulled it open enough to look inside, she revealed a large, elegant conference room dominated by a long table. The walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, and afforded an amazing view of the city. If the effect was to intimidate and impress, Ingrid considered the mission of the room accomplished.
At the end of the long table was a tall, well-built man dressed in an exquisite, black suit and blood red tie. His hands were folded on the table in front of him, and he regarded Ingrid with a skeptical expression.
"Ingrid Parker?" asked the man, his voice deep and commanding, yet smooth as honey.
And, he was totally gorgeous.
"That's…that's me," she said, standing spear-straight at the doors to the room.
"Come in, have a seat," he said, gesturing to a chair to his left.
Ingrid approached him with careful steps, getting more and more of a sense of his appearance as she did. His face was slim but sculpted, with a strong jaw and cleft chin set below sensual, red lips, an aquiline nose, and two blue eyes that sparkled like twin frozen lakes. His hair was as black as pitch and styled in a hard side part. His mouth was a flat line and his eyes were fixed on Ingrid. He struck her as stoic and professional, without a trace of humor to him.
As Ingrid reached the seat, he stood up and extended his hand. She took it, and he gave it a firm shake.
"Please," he said, gesturing to the chair.
He crossed his legs and folded his hands on his lap.
"Welcome to Ladon," he said. "My name is Damien Kennedy. I'm the client you'll potentially be working for."
Holy shit, thought Ingrid. This is him? I was expecting to meet with a manager or something, not the client himself.
"I, uh, thought you were going to be in DC?" she asked.
"I am," he said. "But you happened to catch me during a trip to New York. I'm leaving this afternoon, and the timing is perfect."
"Oh, great," said Ingrid, her heart still beating, but now for different reasons – she just couldn't get over how attractive this man was.
"So, I assume you know all about the details, that you'd be working and living with me and my daughter, and that I have need of your services as soon as possible."
As he spoke, Ingrid took note of his demeanor. He was calm and professional, yes, but there was an edge to him, something that gave her the impression he was holding something in restraint. It intrigued her and set her on edge all at the same time. Paul told her that the man he met seemed a little strange, and sitting here, she began to realize what he meant.
"You come highly recommended," Damien continued. "Your current employer had nothing but good things to say about you."
Ingrid's face turned red; she was never all that great at receiving compliments.
"Yes, it was great working with Mr. Abernathy."
"'Was'?" asked Damien. "I was under the impression you were still in his employ."
"Well, I am," said Ingrid. "Technically. I've been watching his two daughters for the last couple of years, and the two of them just left for college today. So, I'm trying to find a new client."
Damien raised one eyebrow.
"Then the timing is perfect for both of us; I'm looking for someone to start as soon as possible."
This is just what Ingrid wanted to hear.
"One issue, however," he said.
"Oh?"
"Yes," he said. "But first, would you care for something to drink?"
"Um, a black coffee would be nice."
He nodded and pressed a button on the intercom.
"Samuel, a black coffee and a latte with extra milk, please. And extra foam."
"Very good," came the voice on the other end.
"Here at Ladon, they work with extremely…exclusive clients. Clients whose lives they prefer to keep from others, lives that involve careers in which the utmost discretion is required."
Ingrid nodded, wondering where he was going with this.
"To that end, any further discussion of the job will require you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I assume you're familiar with the concept?"
"Just from what I've seen on TV," she said. "I'm basically not allowed to talk about anything. With anyone."
"Precisely," said Damien. "Certain details about my life are simply not for the public to know, and I need to make sure that loose lips don't let anything slip."
Ingrid wracked her brain for a brief moment to think of anyone she could possibly tell. After all, it's not like she had a wide circle of girlfriends in the city that she got together and gossiped with.
"I…don't think that'll be a problem," she said.
Damien raised an eyebrow.
"If you're confident in that, then I can have you sign the NDA right now and we can get on with the rest of the interview."
Ingrid considered it for another brief moment.
I mean, I'm not agreeing to anything but not talking about it, she thought. What's the harm?
"Sure," said Ingrid. "Let's do it."
Damien nodded and pressed another button on the intercom.
"Send in the lawyer."
With that, the doors to the conference room opened and a trim man in a sleek suit entered, a leather folder in his hands. He approached Ingrid, placed the folder in front of her, and opened it up to reveal an official-looking document packed full of tiny letters in legalese that she couldn't hope to understand.
"Shouldn't I read this first?" she asked.
"You certainly could," said Damien. "But it's nothing I haven't already told you. Trust me – we're not in the business of screwing people over by getting them to sign baffling contracts. You put your name down and you get up and leave right afterward, no harm, no foul."
Ingrid looked at the contract one more time, then picked up the pen tucked into the folder and jotted her name down. Once she was done, the lawyer wordlessly snatched the folder back up and left the room as quickly as he came.
Coming in just past him was the assistant that Damien had spoken to, two cups of coffee in his hands.
"Two lattes with extra foam," he said, setting the drinks down on the conference room table.
Damien flicked a harsh glance at the assistant, who was a trim young man dressed professionally.
"Now, Stefan," said Damien, drumming his fingers on the table. "This isn't what I ordered."
"Hmm?" asked the assistant.
"One latte, one black coffee. You've gotten her order wrong."
"Oh, sorry," said the assistant.
Damien took in a slow breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Ingrid could tell there was rage boiling behind them.
"Not ‘oh, sorry'," he said, his voice now razor-edged. "Apologize, and fix the fucking order."
Whoa, thought Ingrid. He's not fucking around.
The assistant froze in his place.
"Um, it's fine," Ingrid said, not wanting someone to get in trouble on her behalf. "I can drink a latte."
"That's not the point," said Damien. "I don't excuse incompetence."
The assistant had a very, very worried look on his face. He turned to Ingrid, hardly able to meet her eyes.
"Um, so-sorry-I'll-be-right-back," he stammered out before grabbing Ingrid's coffee and rushing out of the room.
"Now," said Damien. "Where were we?"
Holy shit, thought Ingrid. This guy doesn't fuck around.
"We were talking about the NDA."
"Ah, yes," said Damien, nodding. "The NDA primarily refers to my job. You see, my line of work is…unusual. I work with some of the most powerful men in DC, but I'm not in politics or lobbying or anything like that. I'm a mercenary."
A what? asked Ingrid internally.
"A…mercenary?"
"Yes," said Damien. "My company is called Red Moon Mercenary services. I run it, and have for nearly a decade at this point."
That…wasn't at all what I was expecting, thought Ingrid.
"You look surprised," said Damien.
"I am," said Ingrid.
Before she could continue, the assistant returned and, with lightning-quick speed, placed a cup of black coffee in front of her before hurrying off.
"Well," said Ingrid, "when someone says they work in DC, you're expecting something like a politician, or a lobbyist, or, hell, even a journalist. You're not exactly thinking of a mercenary."
"Someone has to keep the important people in the city safe. And my crew and I do a damn good job at it. You might be surprised to find out just who I've worked for in the past."
"Really?" asked Ingrid, intrigued.
"Yes. Let's just say my clients go all the way up the ladder in that city."
Ingrid didn't need to press further to understand what this meant.
I guess the NDA makes sense now, she thought.
"I'm going to get right to it, Ms. Parker," said Damien. "As I said, you come highly recommended. And I need a nanny post-haste. If you're willing, I'd like to take you to DC as soon as possible, bringing you on board on a probationary basis. I reserve the right to dismiss you at any time, and, assuming your performance isn't exceptionally galling, will make sure you have some money to fall back on should you not be a good fit."
He pulled a notepad out of his briefcase and jotted something down. Once done, he ripped the paper free, folded it in half, and handed it over to Ingrid. She opened it up and saw it was a number. A very, very large number.
"This would be your salary for one year. Living expenses, health care, all of that would be taken care of, of course. Along with whatever spending money you need when with my daughter."
Holy shit, thought Ingrid. This is…way, way more than what I was making with Paul. This is more money than I'd know what to do with.
"Oh, your daughter?" asked Ingrid.
"Her name's Adeline," said Damien. "She's six. Wonderful girl – the most important person in my life."
"And…the mother?" asked Ingrid.
"No longer with us," said Damien. "We can leave it at that for now. But Adeline is an easy girl; a little shy but nothing beyond the pale. I'm sure you'll get along with her just fine."
The more Ingrid spoke to Damien, the more she realized that, just as she'd heard, he'd likely be the hard part of this job. Though he seemed professional now, the little incident with the coffee made it clear to her that there was something of a temper lurking just below the surface, along with a total impatience for incompetence. But the opportunity was too good for her to pass up.
"Okay," said Ingrid. "I'm on board if you are. Let's do this."
The smallest trace of a smile formed on Damien's gorgeous lips.
"Perfect. We can leave now."
"Wait, what?" asked Ingrid. "Now?"
Damien stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
"That's right," he said. "When I said ‘post-haste,' I meant it. Do you have many things in the city?"
"N-no," said Ingrid. "Just some clothes at my previous client's house. And I need to turn in my keys, and I made kind of a mess making breakfast, a-"
Damien held up his hand.
"All of that can be taken care of," he said, his voice clear and stern. "If you're truly finished with your previous client, then there's no reason why we can't simply begin our working relationship now."
Ingrid thought hard. He was right – things were all done with the Abernathy's, and though she'd be missing out on saying goodbye, with the girls gone to college, there was no reason for her to stick around. Especially since she was only there until she could get a new job lined up.
"How are we getting to DC?" asked Ingrid.
"Come with me."