Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Rose

I’m in the shower, trying to rinse away the alcohol oozing from my pores when my phone rings. I tug back the shower curtain, flick water from my hand into the tub, and reach for the device on the vanity unit. My fingers are still wet though, and the phone slides into the basin which, fortunately, is empty.

“Hello?” The tinny voice reaches me from the speaker—I must’ve answered without realizing.

“Damn!” I cringe when I realize that whoever is on the other end can hear me and cuss under my breath.

Leaving the shower running, I step out of the tub, creating puddles on the bathmat and the tiled floor as I reach out to grab my phone with one hand, and move my sopping wet hair away from my ear with the other. I can’t afford to repair a waterlogged cell, and I let my insurance lapse when my last job fell through. I’d let the call go straight to voicemail if I wasn’t waiting to hear back from one of the jobs I’ve applied for.

I hit the green button as the call ends.

“No, no, no,” I mutter to myself. “I got out of the shower to answer you.”

I locate the call log, find the unknown number, and press redial. The person at the other end picks up on the first ring.

“Hello,” I say, realizing, too late, that I’m talking over their introduction so now I have no idea who they are or where they’re calling from. “You just tried calling me. I’m Rose Carter. Sorry, I was in the shower, and I dropped my phone, and now I’m dripping water all over the bathroom.”

Stop talking, Rose, I tell myself. Way too much information.

A woman’s voice chuckles at the other end, and I allow myself to take a deep breath. She didn’t cut me off—yet.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” she says. “My name is Julia Fields. You don’t know me, but I’m calling from Weiss Petroleum. I’m Mr. Weiss’s personal assistant.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and groan out loud.

“Is this about the suit? It is, isn’t it? Look, I apologized for the fingerprints and the wine.” I pause. “Well, maybe not the wine, but it was an accident, and he was so rude, and he said that I couldn’t afford to replace the jacket, which is probably true, so I don’t really know what he expects me to do about it.”

I run out of steam as an image of Mr. Weiss—Julia Fields’ boss—holding his empty glass at arm’s length while wine drips from his lapels, pops into my head. I wish I’d never walked into his building with my father’s lunch because now I can’t even take a shower without him rearing his well-groomed head to spoil it.

Julia laughs again. “It isn’t about the suit, although it sounds quite eventful.”

“It isn’t?” Okay, so what else have I done to make Mr. Weiss angry with me?

“No, I have a job proposition for you.”

“A job proposition? For me?”

I realize that I’m repeating everything that she is saying, but it feels like I’ve woken up in a parallel universe where the tyrant businessman has suddenly rediscovered his heart and wants to offer me a job.

I must’ve been way drunker than I thought. I knew the tequila in the last bar was a bad idea. How many did we have? I lost count after the second one… Jeez, the remainder of the evening was a massive gray blur.

“Yes,” Julia says. “Your father mentioned that you’re currently unemployed and, well, we have a role that needs to be filled urgently.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, tears inexplicably welling in my eyes.

I’m about to turn down a job offer that would no doubt clear my debts and ease the pressure off my dad, all because I can’t imagine myself working for that man.

“But I have no experience in whatever it is you do.” I can hear the defeat in my own voice, and I hate myself for it. Way to screw up another golden opportunity, Rose.

“Oh, no,” Julia says brightly. “You wouldn’t be working here in the office, and I must inform you that the position will only be temporary.”

I clear a circle in the steamy mirror with the palm of my hand, and blink at my bedraggled reflection. I still look the same as I did yesterday morning. Okay, so maybe a bit rougher around the edges, and my eyes are bloodshot from all the liquor, but I follow Jess’s mindful advice and tell myself that this is the face of a woman to whom good things can happen.

“Where would I be working?”

“On Ruby Island,” comes the reply.

I’m underdressed. I know it the instant Julia steps out of the elevator and greets me in the lobby of Weiss Tower wearing an ice-blue pantsuit and white heels. I’m wearing the black and white polka-dot wraparound dress—my interview outfit, not that it’s brought me much luck so far—and I feel like a child dressed up in her mom’s outdated clothes.

“Rose,” she says, offering me her hand to shake formally. “I’m so glad you could make it at such short notice.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. “You have to be on standby when you’re unemployed.”

Jeez, me and my big mouth.

But Julia smiles anyway, and it feels genuine, not judgmental. She tells me a little about Ruby Weiss—her boss’s mom—on our way up to the penthouse suite, about how she might appear a little intimidating, but underneath it all, she’s a genuinely lovely person who just happens to be married to one of the country’s wealthiest men.

“Now, I feel even more underdressed,” I say.

“You’ll be fine. I promise.”

Julia ushers me out of the elevator and through her office which is bright and spacious and filled with aesthetically pleasing pot plants and artwork. There’s no sign of Mr. Weiss— bonus —and I take some deep breaths to steady my nerves. It’s only a temporary job, so why is my heart racing like my life depends upon it?

We stop outside a doorway, and Julia gives me one final encouraging smile. I like her. Maybe Mr. Weiss needs someone like Julia to keep him in check.

“Mrs. Weiss is waiting in the lounge for you,” she says, keeping her voice low.

The lounge?

I nod, take another deep breath, and open the door.

This room is larger than the entire lower level of our home. Mrs. Weiss is seated on a plush ivory couch in the center of the room, speaking into her cellphone. She raises her finger and gestures for me to wait, which I do.

It gives me a chance to take in the rest of the room before I sit down. There’s a large glass coffee table between two identical couches, with a cafetiere and two coffee cups strategically placed ready for the interview, along with a bowl of demerara sugar and a small jug of cream. A wide bureau is placed against one wall next to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, crammed full of books.

There’s even a gleaming, baby grand piano in one corner of the room. Who has a piano in their office? Is it for show, or does Mr. Weiss knock out some tunes in his spare time between meetings?

Mrs. Weiss ends her call and beckons for me to join her on the opposite couch. “Thank you for coming, Rose. I won’t take up too much of your time.”

I bite back the comment on the tip of my tongue: Time is something I have plenty of these days . She probably already thinks I’m desperate to rock up at a couple of hours’ notice.

She pours coffee without asking if I would like a drink, and I study her perfect makeup and designer suit.

I’m way out of my league here. Jess says I have a habit of talking myself out of opportunities that other people would grab with both hands, and I can feel myself doing it already.

I don’t belong here in my store-brand dress and my best shoes. I don’t belong on a private island with a billionaire family and their billionaire friends even if I am only filling a temporary role. I might not be expected to talk to them, and they might all be genuinely lovely people, but I know I’m not one of them, and they’ll know it too.

“I’m not sure how much Julia told you,” Mrs. Weiss begins, sliding her phone inside a discreet purse, “but my family and I are relocating to our private island in the Keys to celebrate my husband’s seventieth birthday. My housekeeper has been called away for personal reasons, and well”—she raises her cup to her lips and takes a sip— “you’ll be doing me a huge favor by filling in for her. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“What would I have to do?” I find myself asking.

“Just make sure that everything is running smoothly.”

Her smile makes it sound as easy as turning up on time, so I wait for the punchline.

“Make up the bedrooms, keep the coffee flowing, ensure that the guests are where they’re supposed to be. They have a habit of ignoring the itinerary and showing up late for breakfast.”

“What would I do in those instances?” I mean, it’s not like I can tell them they skipped breakfast so they must wait until lunch is served.

“Wrap up their breakfast and point them in the right direction.” Mrs. Weiss sets her coffee cup down on the table. “Don’t look so worried, Rose. We don’t bite.”

I can’t help smiling at that. I add sugar and cream to my coffee and stir it slowly while I think of an appropriate response.

“Your father tells me that you completed your bachelor’s degree in early childhood education,” Mrs. Weiss says.

“He did?” I swallow a mouthful of coffee as heat floods my cheeks.

It’s hard to imagine my father in any other context than making sure the air conditioning is working and that the elevator is serviced regularly. I certainly can’t picture him sitting on this couch in his work overalls drinking coffee with the elegant woman in front of me.

“Yes.” I hope that she won’t notice my flushed face. “I’ve always wanted to work with children.”

“So, why don’t you?”

Where do I begin?

“I took some time out of college when my mom got sick.” I keep my eyes on the coffee table. It’s easier that way. “When I finished my degree, I thought it would be easy to step into a job in a preschool or kindergarten, but it turns out the government has other ideas.”

Mrs. Weiss waits for me to elaborate, her legs crossed neatly, her expression unfathomable.

“Jobs in early education are difficult to find, and when I did eventually get offered a role in a school across town, the government decided to pull the funding. So, here I am.” I smile at her. “I’ve been doing some childminding while I search for something else.”

“I had a feeling you’d be perfect,” Mrs. Weiss says. “I never worry about these things, and I realize that I’m in an extremely fortunate position where I don’t have to concern myself with bills and the price of groceries, but from experience, situations always resolve themselves. You came along when I needed you. We can help each other out, Rose. We both need each other.”

What can I say to that? I’ve never met anyone quite like Mrs. Weiss before. Coming from someone else, it might’ve sounded arrogant, pompous even, but the way she talked about her position of privilege was almost an afterthought, as if she doesn’t want it to define her.

“My son’s three children will be on the island,” she continues without waiting for a response. “They’ll find the celebrations a little dull at times, so it would be wonderful if you could keep them entertained. Do you think you could do that for me, Rose?”

“I-yes, of course I can do that.”

The words are spilling out on autopilot while my brain is still chewing on the words ‘ my son’s three children ’. He has children. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I’d bet they’re all boys, athletic kids with wide smiles and strong jawlines, and their names already on the future attendance list for Harvard.

“My son Damon and his wife Kelly won’t expect you to babysit them night and day, but you’ll know how to make the party fun for them. Encourage them to take part in the shell hunt, take them swimming, make sure they don’t raid the larder for cake and Seltzer when our backs are turned.”

“Okay.”

I nod along with the conversation while the context behind the words floats right over the top of my head. The familiar insecurities come rushing back at the mention of shell hunts, and swimming— because it’s a private island, right, which means it will be surrounded by water —and raiding the larder, when most kids climb onto the kitchen counter and open a cabinet door to find a secret stash of cookies.

“Excellent!” Mrs. Weiss claps her hands together softly like a child. “Your food will be supplied of course. You’ll stay in one of the guest bedrooms, and I’ll provide a uniform for you to wear.”

I realize now that the interview was a formality. So long as I didn’t have two heads and spurt a plethora of cuss words Mrs. Weiss had never heard before, the job was mine before I even walked into the room. I haven’t accepted the position yet, but my agreement is irrelevant. A minor detail for Mrs. Weiss to iron out if necessary.

The question is: do I want the job?

When will I start? How long will I be on Ruby Island? I’ll need time to sort out meals for Dad before I go, and Jess will have to arrange for someone else to look after Izzie while I’m away.

But more importantly, do I want to spend so much time in the company of Mrs. Weiss’s son Damon? We haven’t exactly gotten off to a good start, and I doubt he’s the kind of person who would agree to draw a line under our first interactions and start over. He could make life difficult for me if he so chooses, and I’ll be stranded on an island with no escape route.

Before I can say anything, the door opens and the man himself appears.

“Hello, Mom,” he says, before he notices me and his smile fades. “You?”

He stands in the doorway as if he’s afraid to get too close to me in case I ruin another silk suit. This one looks pretty much like the last one, only cleaner.

“Oh, good, you two know each other,” Mrs. Weiss says. “No need for me to run through boring introductions. Rose has agreed to be our housekeeper on the island next week.”

Next week?

My mouth is so dry, I don’t think I can even finish my coffee which is cooling in the cup, a fine oily film forming on the surface and making me feel queasy.

“Housekeeper?” He narrows his eyes at me like I’ve somehow manipulated my way into his life and now he can’t get rid of me.

Well, newsflash, Damon Weiss. I don’t want to be this close to him either.

“Can I have a word, Mom?” he says. “In private.”

Mrs. Weiss produces a napkin from thin air, dabs the corners of her mouth taking care not to erase her lipstick, and stands. “Please excuse me for a moment, Rose,” she says. “I’ll be back shortly, and we can discuss travel arrangements.”

She follows her son into what I assume must be his office, as it’s on the opposite side of the lounge from the door through which I entered.

The room is quiet. Too quiet.

I walk over to the baby grand and picture Jess as a teenager, teaching me how to play ‘Chopsticks’ on her mom’s small piano. “Anyone can play ‘Chopsticks’, Rose, even you.” She’d laughed as she nudged me with her elbow.

My fingers twitch and, without thinking, I gently brush an ivory key—the resulting sound is clear and loud, echoing around the lounge. I wish I’d stayed in my seat because if leaving me alone was a test to see if I’d touch anything, I’ve failed epically.

Then I hear Mr. Weiss’s raised voice from behind the closed door. He doesn’t want me on the island, ruining the family celebrations, not to mention his expensive designer suits. He’s trying to convince his mom not to hire me, and my cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

Mrs. Weiss was wrong. She needs me more than I need her, and I’m not sticking around waiting for her to tell me that she has changed her mind about hiring me after all.

Before I can grab my purse, the door opens, and they both reappear.

Caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Weiss narrows his eyes at me, and I hope that one day, someone will make him feel as small and inconsequential as I feel right now.

I swallow my retort—he isn’t worth it.

“Oh, honey,” Ruby says to her son, “when was the last time you played?”

He plays the piano.

“It’s like those first edition books your father buys,” she continues, “and leaves unread on the shelves in the library. That baby grand was built to be played.”

A tic appears in Mr. Weiss’s jaw, but he keeps quiet.

“That’s settled then, Rose,” Ruby says, smiling broadly. “The housekeeper position is yours if you would like it.”

“It-it is?”

I glance at her son, and he can’t even make eye contact. This is clearly one argument he lost against his mom, and I wonder if she always wins, or if she has the final say when it comes to Ruby Island. Either way, he looks as if he would rather be anywhere else but here.

“Thank you,” I say. “I accept.”

Mrs. Weiss turns to her son. “Brandon, she can travel with you and Damon on the private jet tomorrow. I need Rose there before the guests arrive.”

Tomorrow? Private jet???

The interview is over.

Julia runs through the flight information with me and prints off a copy of the itinerary that will be handed to the guests so that I can familiarize myself with it. The words blur in front of my eyes. She talks about private jets and gourmet chefs like it’s a regular occurrence, and it’s all I can do to nod along and speak during the appropriate pauses.

It isn’t until I’m walking home with the guest list, itinerary, and flight information tucked neatly inside a plastic wallet, that I realize his name isn’t Damon. His name is Brandon, and his mom didn’t mention his wife and kids.