Page 25 of One Sweet Lie

He looked at my offering like it was an insult.

Fine then. I stuffed them back into my pocket and stepped onto the elevator.

Tonight, an attendant was waiting inside. He gave me a slight nod and hit the penthouse button for me.

When the doors glided open, he rolled my luggage to the front door.

“Have a goodnight, Miss.”

Anxious, I pressed the doorbell and waited for Mr. Dawson.

No one came.

I pressed it again.

The door swung open, revealing a woman in all grey.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Dawson,” I said.

“At this hour?” She looked me up and down. “Forwhat?”

“He hired me to be his new nanny.”

“Oh.” She snorted. “Come right in, Miss. I’m Mr. Dawson’s executive house manager. I’m assuming you start in the morning, so I’ll show you to your room.”

I followed her through a long hallway and past a spiral staircase, into a grey and white room three times the size of my entire apartment.

I looked from the panoramic windows to the king-sized bed to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.

“This entire room is mine?” I was in disbelief.

“It’s yours for as long as you last here.” She nodded. “You have a private shower and a clawfoot tub in the adjoining bathroom suite, but you’ll never get a chance to use the latter, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Is Mr. Dawson a good employer?” I asked. “Like, is he nice?”

“You will use the freight elevator whenever it’s raining and leave wet shoes in the hallway.” She ignored my question. “That’s so the housekeeping team doesn’t have to do a double-clean on the floors.”

“You’ll have access to a personal town car driver—usually Mr. Michael at all times, and if you ever need to call Mr. Dawson, don’t. Call his chief of staff, Mr. Jerry instead.”

“How long have you been working here?” I tried to engage her in another topic. “Months? Years?”

“The children have a list of contacts atop your desk that you’ll need to save to your cell phone,” She ignored me again. She spoke like she’d said these words a million times before, like she didn’t care whether I understood.

“There is a directory of staff numbers as well if you need any of us.”

“Did you hear any of my questions?” I asked. “I’m just trying to get to know a fellow coworker.”

“You don’t need to know me.” Her voice was terse. “Since you’re stupid enough to take this position, I don’t need to know you either. Clear?”

I swallowed.

“Do your job and do it well,” she said. “The only personal thing you need to know is that the children’s mother passed away while she was on the verge of marrying someone else, and that Mr. Dawson doesn’t date. He just fucks, although he hasn’t done any of that since bringing his children home.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“That’s your Bible while you’re employed here.” She pointed to a thick black binder marked “Mr. Dawson’s Guide for the Nanny.”