I sat in the back of the cab and stared up at the massive mansion. It was out in the middle of nowhere, thick trees surrounding the home, with a long, paved driveway like a landing strip. I wasn’t going to lie and say I wasn’t nervous, even a little bit scared to go in. I looked down at the newspaper that I held on my lap, the classified ad for the housekeeping position circled in red. I’d called last week and had the interview set up for today, and although I didn’t know much personally about the owner of the home, I’d certainly done research.

Rofus Foxwerth was a multimillionaire business tycoon. But the thing about him was he’d been isolated and secluded for the last ten years following a car accident. Although he was only a decade older than my twenty-five years, I envisioned this crusty old man who was bitter at the world and failing in health from being shut in.

But I’d seen his pictures from before the accident as I scoured the Internet. He had been gorgeous, with short dark hair and blue eyes that seemed cold, calculating, but so very intelligent. I supposed you had to be smart as hell to be a millionaire and run a business.

After the accident that left him scarred, no one had seen Rofus publicly for that entire time. What a sad, lonely life he must lead.

But the thing about rumors was you had to take them with a grain of salt.

I also didn’t really care if that was true or not. I needed a job, and the hours and pay—if I got this position—would ensure I could stand on my feet again given time.

At the end of the month I’d be homeless. With the landlord of my rental about to sell, he’d only given me thirty days to find other lodging. On top of that, I’d been laid off my temp position and was currently living off the little savings I had left.

And with no family that was close to me or willing to help me after years of no contact, I knew I was on my own. But I’d always been on my own.

I pushed everything else aside and walked up the stone steps that led to the massive double front doors. I tightened my fingers around the strap of my purse, which hung from my shoulder, and lifted my hand, bringing my knuckles down on the door. My heart was thundering so loud, my nerves alive. I hoped I didn’t screw this up. This job would help me get out of the hole I’d dug for myself, keep me afloat.

No, not keep me afloat. I’d actually be able to breathe.

And when I couldn’t handle cleaning up after someone else, then I could move on. This was a stepping stone, just a speed bump in an otherwise long journey.

It was only a second before the front door swung open and there stood an older woman. Her entire ensemble was dark as the night. Mary Jane pumps, black stockings, and an onyx-colored pencil skirt. Even her cardigan set was black. It looked like she was headed to a funeral.

I must’ve been staring a little longer than necessary because she cleared her throat and I looked up at her, realizing I’d been gawking at her outfit.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered out quickly, feeling my cheeks heat. I was already off to a bad start. “I am…” It was my turn to clear my throat now. “I’m here for the interview.”

The older woman looked me up and down and made this noise in the back of her throat. She moved to the side to allow me to come in.

I stepped inside and heard the door shut behind me. I was too busy looking around to pay attention to anything else. The house was massive, but of course I already knew that from looking at the outside. Hardwood and dark granite made up the floor and trim work. Two staircases, on either side of me, curved upward to meet at the top landing.

This place screamed of money, but what I noticed most of all was that it seemed void of life. It was cold, and that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“This way,” the older woman said, and I turned to face her before following her toward an open doorway. The room she took me into appeared to be an office, with a large oak desk directly across from the entryway and bookshelves lining the entire wall behind that.

Large, curved windows were on either side of the desk, and light filtered in, casting this glow around the otherwise lifeless room.

“Have a seat, please.” The older woman took her place behind the desk, and I followed suit, taking a seat in front of her.

I’d sent over my resume and the pertinent paperwork they’d requested prior to the interview. I could see she had a folder with my name written on it in front of her, and when she opened it, said papers were inside.

For long moments she didn’t say anything as she went through the paperwork, reading about my employment history. I glanced around the room, taking in the decor and furniture, which probably cost more than I would ever be able to afford in a lifetime.

And then I noticed a small video camera stationed in the top corner of the room. But I didn’t think much of it. This was clearly a house that boasted expensive items. It made sense that the owner would want to make sure it was secure.

“Miss…Carleson, tell me why you think you’d be a good fit for this position.”

“Please, call me Britta.”

She didn’t respond.

I glanced at the woman again and straightened. I didn’t think you needed special training for a housekeeping position, but then again, this wasn’t just any maid job. This was working for Rofus Foxwerth. She glanced back down at my resume. “You don’t have any housekeeping experience in the last five years.” She ran her finger over the paper. “And a short employment stint at a motel cleaning the rooms back when you were in high school?” She looked up at me, and I could see this didn’t make her happy.

“I don’t have a lot of experience in housekeeping, no, that’s true.” But it’s not like I need a degree to clean up after someone. “But I’ve been cleaning up after people my whole life, just not getting paid for it.” I smiled at my joke, but her lips pursed harder, and I sobered. Yeah, this woman clearly wasn’t the joking type.

“I’ll be honest,” she said and leaned back. “I wouldn’t have called you in for an interview, but we need someone promptly, and we’ve had a lack of applicants.” She stared at me with her shrewd gaze again. “But it’s not my call. I’ll let Mr. Foxwerth know your qualifications—or lack thereof—and we’ll go from there.” She examined my paperwork again, and I looked away, feeling like I’d been scolded. I stared out one of the windows at the manicured landscaping. With the weather well into fall, there were leaves blowing around the not so vibrant green grass.

The sound of the chair scraping along the floor had me turning my attention back to the older woman. She had my folder clasped to her chest as she stared at me.

“I’ll speak with Mr. Foxwerth. Please wait here.”

She left me alone in the room, and my focus went back to the camera. I felt as if the person on the other end was watching me specifically, which was an absurd notion, I knew, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. I wasn’t sure why Rofus Foxwerth didn’t interview me personally, but maybe that was for the best. It’s not like I especially wanted to see the man who’d gotten the nickname “The Beast,” not just for the scars he bore, but for his attitude toward the human population as well.

I was nervous as hell, and although I knew I’d probably never see the owner of this home—the man behind the rumors and speculations—a part of me was very curious about him.

I was never one to live on the edge, and wanting to meet Rofus Foxwerth should have frightened me, not excited me more.