by Sky Winters
"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 co
ntinued 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."
