ONE

Until that week, Shyla Bellamy had never been to a single job interview.

At that moment, she was on her way to her third. Her baptism of fire would continue until she acquired a job. Tough as it was to be optimistic, she had to keep going. Without work, she wouldn’t be able to secure an apartment or pay her bills. She’d be homeless and destitute. She had to keep going.

As pep talks went, that wasn’t the most inspiring. Every interview had been a bust, so believing the next would be any different wasn’t easy. But there was no alternative. Anyone who’d agree to see her was a potential employer. All it took was one person willing to take a chance. Just one.

Shyla didn’t make the best first impression. Knowing that didn’t do much for her anxiety. If anything, that made it worse. At that moment, relaxing was all the more difficult because she was on her way to interview for the role she wanted most.

Walking through the entrance into the glass lobby and seeing the valet parking intimidated the hell out of her. While travelling up in the elevator, she reminded herself not to be nervous. Nerves meant rambling and that was unprofessional. She would nail this. Nothing but potential. Nobody rewarded a quitter.

With few vocational skills, and no formal education beyond high school, Shyla wasn’t a catch for any employer. But time was of the essence, she needed a job and had to believe that it would happen. Succeeding in the next interview would put an end to her problems. That was easier to focus on than the opposite.

Losing her job and home had happened almost overnight. Caring for the elderly could be that way. Three years ago, her grandfather’s sudden death hit her hard. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. Adjusting to being without him took time, she’d been caring for him since her teen years.

The person responsible for getting her through that loss was her grandfather’s best friend, Stanley Sedgwick. Caring for him and her grandfather, Bernard, had given her purpose. The three of them had lived together in Stanley’s home. If it wasn’t for Stanley, Shyla wouldn’t have known what to do with herself after her grandfather died. In the years since, Stanley had been her crutch. They’d leaned on each other.

Five days ago, Stanley passed in his sleep. Life as she’d known it was over. Shyla was out in the world on her own, really for the first time.

While in the midst of grief over losing the only person she could count as a friend, Shyla was also coping with being evicted. Stanley’s good-for-nothing son wasted no time in storming into the house to announce that he was selling. Being a generous type, he’d given her a week to vacate.

There were three days left on the clock.

The elevator didn’t ding, it just came to a stop. After a moment of anticipatory silence, which Shyla speculated may have been programmed in for maximum suspense, the gleaming silver doors opened.

As the view was revealed, it took her breath away.

On the opposite side of the room, a glorious vision of the gleaming blue ocean was laid out before her. It wasn’t like she’d never seen the ocean before, but at this elevation, she got a real sense of its vastness.

She stood there dumbfounded for so long that the elevator doors began to close. Inhaling her panic, Shyla grabbed one to hold it in place while bounding out onto the grey ash floor that spread through the sleek modern space. One wall, to the right, was smoked mirror. The wall on the left was a warmer brown color. A low marble shelf, around knee height, ran along that wall and around the corner.

Between her and the view that had first captured her eye was a large square lobby area with a dining table beyond and a terrace on the other side of the full height windows.

The residence was incredible. The ad for a housekeeper said the job included room and board. It said nothing about the room being in an amazing condo. Jumping to conclusions could lead to disappointment. Maybe she was wrong and wouldn’t be living there at all. Shyla didn’t want to get her hopes up. It could just be a business premises used for interviews. They might be miles from the location of the job.

She tiptoed forward to take in more of the open plan space. The living space opened out to stretch far to the left. The terrace wrapped all the way around, as far as the eye could see.

Her mouth dried.

The gleaming white marble kitchen next to the dining table was separated from a hallway by a wall. Contemplating where that hallway might lead, she peeked at the light glowing from the end and wondered if the terrace wrapped around that side of the apartment too.

“Miss Bellamy?”

Caught in her pondering, she whipped around, her anxiety cresting again. Someone appeared at the other end of the apartment. Figuring there had to be another hallway or room down there, she was sure no one had been sitting in either of the two separate seating areas of the living space.

“Yes,” she said to the well-groomed, if somewhat frantic, suited man hurrying toward her. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure where to wait.”

It was a sad state of affairs. At twenty-nine, she was less experienced than most nineteen year olds in how to conduct herself at interviews.

“No, my fault; I was using the restroom. It’s been an insane day, I have to apologize,” he said, coming toward her, his hand outstretched.

Hoping that he hadn’t been too rushed to forget washing his hands, Shyla shook his hand because it was the polite thing to do. She didn’t expect him to tug her toward the closest seating area, guiding her in his haste. More than once, she almost lost her footing. Face-planting hadn’t featured in her interview experience… yet. That would be a brand new low.

Winding around the end of the couch that had its back to the dining table, he let her go and spun around. “Will you sit down,” the businessman said, gesturing to one end of the couch as he sat at the other. “Please.”

Sitting on the edge of the couch with her knees tight together, Shyla clutched her purse in her lap. The heavy chess board in the middle of the central glass coffee table snagged her attention. The pieces appeared to be hand-carved wood. Shyla was impressed. Bernard, her grandfather would be elated to see such craftsmanship.

Frantic Man shifted an inch closer and opened his hand. “Do you have your resume?”

This was the part of the interview process that she hated. Not that she’d found an enjoyable part yet. Most online vacancies required her to attach a copy of her resume. So far, not one of those employers had got back to her.

Opening the front pocket of her purse, Shyla slid out a folded document that she handed over. “Uh… sort of.”

He unfolded it and began to read. Just as she expected, his optimism began to fade fast. “This is…” He turned it around to show her what she’d given him. “Your birth certificate.”

“Yes,” she said, trying to make her smile seem genuine. No matter how hard she tried, her anxiety must have been obvious. She pushed her interlinked fingers together and raised her hands, pulling and twisting at her fingers as she did. “It is… I… I did try to make up a resume, but after I got past name and date of birth, well… things get a little… sparse.”

“Did you graduate high school?”

Shyla grinned. “Yes!” Nodding, she squeezed her twined fingers around each other. “Yes, I did that. I did graduate high school.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding too like they were making progress. “That’s good, that’s… something. College?” Wincing, Shyla kept working her fingers and shook her head. He sort of cringed, but was polite enough to try to hide his reaction by glancing down at her birth certificate. “According to this you’re… twenty-nine.”

“Yes,” she said, showing her teeth in more of a grimace than a grin. “I am twenty-nine. I did graduate high school. I didn’t go to college… and I’ve never had a real job.”

“Let me guess,” he said, folding her birth certificate and handing it back to her. “Knocked up by your high school boyfriend, married young, pushed out a couple of kids, and now he’s split… probably dumped you for another teenager.”

“No!” she exclaimed, pointing her index fingers to the ceiling in firm disagreement. “No, I have never been married. I don’t have any kids.”

The businessman frowned at her. “So what the hell have you been doing for the past decade?”

Inhaling, Shyla held her breath for a minute. She shouldn’t be disappointed, it wasn’t like the interview had ever been on course to go well.

“Caring for my grandfather and his best friend,” she said. “He just died last week.”

“Your grandfather?”

“His best friend… My grandfather died three years ago. He raised me,” she said, twisting and squeezing her digits again. “And my brother…” Her next admission had a tendency to cause her to hyperventilate. “Who’s in prison…” Taking a shot at laughing it off was her go-to maneuver. As always, she got nothing from the blank person seated in front of her. No one ever reacted well to that part. Her desperate, last-ditch effort was begging. “I can cook, and clean, and sew… I know how to get red wine out of soft furnishings and blood out of bedsheets…” Rubbing her lips together, Shyla kept working her fingers and raised her shoulders. “I work hard. I work long. I can do anything that’s required of me. Anything… All I need is a safe place to sleep, that’s it… and maybe an allowance for food and medical. I can take care of everything. I live frugally. I don’t drive, so there’s no expenses there. I don’t smoke or do drugs. I don’t have any addictions… I…” The guy hadn’t stirred, even his expression was static. “I’m not getting through, am I?”

She sighed, coming to terms with the truth. The interview was another waste of everyone’s time. All she needed was for someone to give her a chance, but she didn’t blame anyone for being hesitant. Anxiety was not her friend. When she was fidgety and rambling, she might not give herself one.

“Hire her.”

The deep voice came suddenly from the recesses of the apartment.

It was so unexpected that even the man opposite her jumped. “Jesus, Score, do you have to loiter like that?”

Twisting around, Shyla didn’t see anyone. Only a slight movement in the mouth of the hall she’d been peering down earlier proved there was someone there. The wall between the kitchen and that passage created an angle of shadow. This Score had used that cover to his advantage.

With his arms still folded, he moved into the light at the end of the hall, and propped a shoulder on the wall. Shyla was stunned by the picture he presented. Her wide eyes couldn’t remember how to blink. The view of him didn’t even compare to that of the ocean. She forgot about the watery dullness in a flash.

At least six foot four or five inches tall, the broad man was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt that didn’t seem to know how to contain his biceps. His hair was thicker on top than at the sides, and he had stubble across his jaw. Nothing about him appeared forced; nothing about his look or manner gave the impression he’d made any effort at all.

Shyla kept her lips clamped shut to ensure her tongue didn’t roll from her mouth. How could a guy look so mean and dangerous just standing there, leaning on a wall?

“Where’s your brother at?” Score asked, his expression registering nothing.

He was talking to her; he’d asked a direct question. His eyes weren’t wide like hers, but Shyla guessed he was looking at her too.

After a couple of false starts, Shyla got her tongue to respond and forced her reluctant mouth to open. “Raiford,” she inhaled the word in a desperate breath.

“Florida State.”

“Haven’t had the pleasure, have you, Score?” the businessman opposite her asked.

Staring was rude, but Shyla couldn’t tear her attention away from the man at the end of the hallway. So tall and dominating, so powerful and so… unlike any man she’d ever seen in real life. Though real life for more than a decade had featured men enjoying their retirement.

“No,” Score said, though she didn’t see his lips move.

His response was more like a sound than a word.

Amusement bled into the businessman’s words. “Of all the things she said, how come the only word you heard was prison? Her brother could be a rapist, you know? A kiddie fiddler. Don’t other inmates pound on guys like that? You want to cut some slack to the sister of a pedophile?”

“Oh no,” Shyla gasped, turning back around to address the businessman. “It’s nothing like that. He would never… It was just burglary, he got a seven year sentence and…”

Twisting to ensure Score could hear her too, she stopped talking when she discovered he’d vanished.

The businessman sighed. “Okay, well, I guess you’re in…” Suffering whiplash, Shyla was still trying to orient herself and barely registered his false smile. “I’m Amos Beeks, Score’s lawyer…” He continued by muttering, “Among other things.” Before Shyla could react, he returned to his smile. “Everyone just calls me Beeks, so Beeks will do… What do we call you?”

“My… my name is Shyla Bellamy.”

“Well, I suppose, that’s, uh… what we’ll call you then.”

Which he would know because he’d read her birth certificate; Shyla wanted to kick herself. He was asking about nicknames and preferences. She’d done what she always did and said a stupid thing by opening her mouth without thinking first.

With Bernard and Stan, it hadn’t mattered if she’d spoken without thinking. Even if she said something shocking or ridiculous, the pair laughed it off. Shyla had lived quite a closeted life; she knew that. Being on call required her to be at home night and day in case either of the elderly men needed her. They came first. Shyla’s primary responsibility was to them.

That meant no social life. No nightclubs. No boyfriends or lunches with friends. Shyla had dedicated herself to caring for the men who’d always been there for her. Stan had been like an uncle, and had been there as often as her grandfather for school shows or life events. Losing him was going to be a difficult thing to get over.

“Miss Bellamy?”

Beeks leaned closer, giving her a whiff of his cologne.

Only then did Shyla realize she’d lost herself in her thoughts. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

Already he’d be regretting the decision to hire her. After promising to be a hard worker, she’d zoned out only seconds into the job.

“I asked if you have many things to move in? We have a storage area on one of the lower floors if you have larger items. All of your bedroom furniture and linens will be provided… unless you have special requirements.”

“No, I don’t have any special requirements or large items,” she said, shaking her head, almost unable to believe this was actually happening. “Is this where I’ll be living?”

Beeks retrieved a phone from his pocket. “Yes. You’ll be on call twenty-four seven for whatever is required. You will have to do the cooking and cleaning. All of the errands, including grocery shopping, etc. We’ll give you a credit card… Just keep your receipts for anything household related, I’ll collect them whenever I’m around.” He was typing into his phone. “There won’t be anything too strenuous, the building has maintenance for household repairs. You can dial the concierge from any phone or intercom.”

“Concierge?” she asked.

Beeks looked up from his typing. “Yes,” he said, lowering his phone to his knee. “There are ten units in the building, one on each floor. We’ll have your fingerprint added to the system so you can use the elevators, and access the apartment from either of the two stairwells. There’s a pool and lounge area downstairs, as well as a bar and a restaurant too. We have valet—”

“Oh, I don’t drive.”

“Okay, well, there’s a gym. You’ll have full access to that… Everything you need is right here.”

“Laundry?”

He pointed to where Score had been. “Laundry room’s second right in the hall. This place has all the mod cons, built in coffee machine in the kitchen, everything you could need. We can control all of it from the smart panels dotted around.”

Standing up, he seemed more at ease when he put his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

*
*
*

The apartment was breathtaking.

Shyla learned there was a second hallway at the far end of the living space. From there, they had access to one stairwell, a powder room, and a third bedroom. Oh, and it turned out that the terrace did sweep around every side of the apartment.

The trash chute was first on the right of the longer hallway. A small offshoot after that led to the second stairwell as well as their full-stocked laundry room. Beeks took it all in his stride, but she was overwhelmed.

At the end of the longer hallway, two doors faced each other. Two bedroom doors. To the left, the master suite. Beeks didn’t take her in there; she supposed because Score was home. If she was going to be looking after the whole place, she’d have to go in there sometime. Stripping the beds and cleaning the bathroom would be tough if she wasn’t allowed in the master’s bedroom.

Beeks took her through the door opposite Score’s and revealed that bedroom was hers. The view from everywhere in the apartment was amazing and her bedroom didn’t disappoint. It had the same full height windows that she’d seen everywhere else. They even slid open to allow her access to the terrace.

The bed was huge with a black padded headboard taller than her. It contrasted to the crisp, sumptuous white linens. Amazed, it was almost unbelievable, shocking even, that she was going to live in such a gorgeous place.

Shyla stood at the window for the longest time, gaping at the view and wondering if she should be thanking karma for placing her so gently on her feet.

When she didn’t return to the living area, Beeks came back to usher her through. He sat her at the dining table and they started to go through paperwork and contracts. The man’s ability to multitask was impressive. Without missing a beat, he asked her to fill in various details and sign dotted lines all while he typed furiously on his phone.

Once they were done with documents, Beeks gave her instructions for the following day. Shyla was to pack whatever she needed and be ready for noon. He took down her current address and told her that someone called Russell Tench, who everyone apparently called “Fish” would come to pick her up. He asserted that all her moving in should be done that weekend. Obviously, he didn’t understand that she didn’t own much.

Beeks gave her a cellphone and added her fingerprint to the system at the smart panel in the kitchen. It was official. She had a job. She had a home. She was going to be okay.

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(C) Scarlett Finn