Unsuitable

by Samantha Towle

  “I can drop you at the train station, if you want? I don’t have to be at work until ten.”

  “Nah, it’s fine.” I wave her off. “You’re not dressed, and I fancy the walk.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” I smile at her. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Takeaway and a bottle of wine to celebrate your first day?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Giving her a wave, I head off. I stop off in the kitchen to grab a banana, a Dairylea Snack Box, and a bottle of water from the fridge for my lunch. I put them in my bag and leave the apartment.

  Five

  I reach the train station in good time and buy my ticket at the booth. I’m not waiting long before my train pulls in.

  I get an empty seat by the window and get out my iPod. Putting my earphones in, I turn the music on and let Muse take me into another world for a while.

  It seems like no time at all, and the train is pulling in at my station.

  I put my iPod in my bag and get up from my seat.

  I get off the train, and using the route instructions Toby gave me, I walk out of the station and onto the main road. Then, I turn off and make my way down a quiet country road.

  It feels like I’ve been walking for ages, just endless fields and trees, before I see a high brick wall in the distance.

  It reminds me of the wall that surrounded the prison.

  Shudder.

  I reach the high wall and keep going until I come upon huge wrought iron gates. On the wall to my right is a bronze placard with the words Matis Estate engraved in black lettering on it.

  I’ve made it! And with time to spare. Let’s hope my early show earns me some brownie points with my new employer.

  Okay, so how do I get in this place?

  Glancing around, I notice an intercom and keypad on the opposite wall of the placard. I press the call button and wait, and then out of nowhere, I feel a sudden bout of nerves.

  A minute later, I hear a crackle on the line, and then a deep male voice says, “Yes?”

  My skin breaks out in goose bumps. I don’t know if it’s because of the sexy-sounding voice coming out of the speaker or because I’m nervous.

  “Hi.” My voice is squeaky. I clear my throat and try again. I lean closer to the speaker. “My name is Daisy Smith. I’m, um, starting work here today as a maid.”

  The line crackles again and then disconnects.

  A few seconds later, I hear a loud clang, and the gates begin to slowly open.

  When the gap is big enough for me to fit through, I slip in and head down the gravel driveway. Trees line my right side, and open fields are to my left with roped off paddocks surrounding scatterings of horses. The driveway is long and winding.

  Finally, it opens out onto a paved courtyard with a manicured lawn to the left, and the house is straight across from me.

  And what a house it is.

  I’ve never seen a house this big in real life.

  It’s beautiful. Brown sandstone bricks. Two-stories high with attic windows. Triple garage to my right.

  It’s a house that people like me dream of living in but, in reality, will only ever get to clean.

  Taking a deep breath, I walk up the two small steps and onto the covered porch, and I ring the doorbell.

  I hear the chime as I take a step back and wait.

  Heavy footsteps approach, and then the door swings open.

  Oh, fuck.

  Those are the first words that enter my head when I see the guy standing on the other side of the door because he is an oh-fuck kind of guy.

  He’s tall. I’m five foot five, and this guy towers over me. He looks to be around my age, maybe a few years older. He’s wearing navy-blue trousers and a white shirt. The top button is open, the sleeves rolled up.

  He’s built. Not bodybuilder bulky, but he clearly works out.

  He has a deep scar on his chin and one cutting through his eyebrow, which is pulled toward the other in a frown. Roman nose. High cheekbones. Jaw like a razor. His hair is dark brown, collar-length, and swept back off his face. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. Everything about him shouldn’t work, but it does.

  It really does.

  There’s something strangely compelling about him.

  Compelling enough to have me staring.

  I’m staring.

  Flushing, I push a few loose strands of hair behind my ear as my eyes sweep the floor.

  “Hi.” I clear my throat as I lift my eyes back to him.

  He’s staring at me blankly. No smile or friendly look. His brows are still drawn together, and that’s when I finally notice his eyes.

  They’re black. Hard and cold.

  I force a smile onto my face. “My name is Daisy Smith. I’m starting work here today as a maid.”

  The frown deepens. “You said that already.” His voice is as hard as his eyes. It sounded much sexier on the intercom. Maybe he’s not the guy I spoke to.

  “I did?”

  “At the gate. On the intercom.”

  He’s the guy.

  “Oh, right. Of course.”

  And I feel like a prize idiot.

  Great first impression I’m making here.

  Come on, Daisy, you can do better than this.

  I hook my thumb under the strap of my bag and meet his eyes again, forcing another smile. “I was told to ask for Mr. Matis—”

  “I’m Kastor Matis.”

  Kastor.

  Unusual name. Suits him.

  “My friends call me Kas. My employees call me Mr. Matis.”

  Guess I know which category I fall into.

  He’s still staring right at me with those cold eyes of his. I decide that they remind me of coal. Hard and unyielding.

  “Okay, Mr. Matis, it is. Matis…is that Greek?” I tip my head to the side in question.

  A flash of surprise enters his eyes.

  Yes, I’ve been in prison, and I might be a glorified cleaner, but I’m not completely thick.

  He moistens his lips, and that’s when I notice his upper lip is fuller than his lower. The kind of lip you suck on. Not that I’m going to be sucking on his lips anytime ever.

  “It is,” is his brittle answer.

  And then an awkward silence envelops us.

  I hate silences.

  I’m scrambling for something to say but come up with nothing, wondering if he’s ever going to let me in the house.

  As if reading my mind, he abruptly steps back and holds the door. I take that as my cue to go inside.

  I step gingerly inside the huge entryway.

  It’s ginormous. The whole of Cece’s and my apartment could probably fit in here.

  It’s beautiful though. The floor beneath my feet is marble. The staircase is sweeping and goes off to both sides.

  He shuts the heavy door behind me. The bang echoes memories of the sound of my cell door banging shut behind me.

  My heart sets off like a racehorse in my chest.

  I feel trapped. Beads of sweat break out on my skin.

  You’re okay, Daisy. You’re just in a house.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and force a deep breath.

  When I open my eyes, Kastor Matis is standing right in front of me, watching me with curiosity…and something else.

  Anger.

  He’s staring at me like the crazy bitches in prison used to stare at me. Like they wanted to stab me with a blunt instrument at any given moment.

  My insides tighten, my Spidey sense going on full alert.

  If it weren’t for the terms of my release forcing me to be here, then I’d be turning around and hightailing it back out of the door.

  But I have to be here. And I need this job. So, I suppress the feelings and suck it up.

  “So, where should I start? Do you have a schedule that you’d like me to follow?” I’m making this shit up on the fly because, honestly, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. I just need to fill t
his horrific silence between the good-looking bastard and myself.

  “Do you have cleaning experience?” he bites out.

  I swear, it’s like he’s spitting at me every time he speaks.

  I’m taking that it’s because I’ve been in prison. But if he has a problem with ex-cons, then why the hell did he hire one?

  And I’m assuming he should already know my level of cleaning experience. Wouldn’t Toby have filled him in?

  “Some. I had a cleaning job in, um…prison.” The shame prickles my skin, like it always does when I say that word. “My duties were to clean the library and rec area—recreational area,” I correct. “Also, I mopped hallways and—”

  “I don’t need a rundown of your time in prison,” he cuts me off.

  Okay…

  My cheeks sting with embarrassment—and, if I’m honest, anger.

  This guy is a bit of an arsehole.

  Biting my lip, I bind my hands together to stop myself from…I dunno…punching him in his handsome face.

  Wanker.

  “Sorry. I guess I misunderstood. I thought you wanted to know my cleaning experience.”

  Again, he says nothing, just does that unnerving staring thing.

  I fidget.

  Clear my throat.

  Avert my eyes.

  Then, I try to change tack. “You have a beautiful home.” I cast my eyes around the spacious hallway.

  “It’s not mine.”

  That brings my eyes back to him, and…yep, he’s still staring. Well, staring is being kind. He’s glaring.

  “Who’s—”

  “It’s my parents’ house. I live here and run the estate for them.”

  “Where—”

  “Away,” he cuts me off again. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  He turns on his heel and strides away.

  Six

  The tour of the house takes a while. The place is like a cavern.

  I’m actually worried that I, alone, won’t be able to keep this place clean.

  There are a lot of rooms.

  Downstairs, there’s a library—yes, a library. A gym. An indoor swimming pool, which Mr. Matis told me he has a guy who comes in to clean it. His office. The biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life with a separate utility room, which is where all the cleaning products are kept. A huge dining room, complete with a sixteen-seater dining table. I guess the Matises entertain often. A living room, which looks like it’s barely used. And a sitting room, which hosts a huge TV and looks like it gets used more often.

  Upstairs are six bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. Kas’s bedroom is at the side of the house, overlooking the paddocks. He has a private balcony, and the view from it is gorgeous. There’s also a separate bathroom that hosts the biggest bathtub I’ve ever seen in my life.

  I need to work out which rooms get used the most and clean them regularly.

  He also gives me a uniform to wear while I work, which means I won’t ruin my own clothes. It’s just a short-sleeved, knee-length plain black housekeeping dress with a white collar and cuffs, and he’s given me two, which is good, as I’ll have one to wash against.

  I’ll change into it once we’re done here.

  We’re back downstairs and in his office now.

  He had a few employee forms for me to fill in with my address and that kind of thing.

  Shit, it’s asking for my bank details to pay my wages into.

  I press the pen to my lip. “Um, Mr. Matis…I don’t have a bank account.”

  He looks from his phone, which he was just staring at, to me, his eyes sharp.

  I shift with discomfort under his laser stare. “I, um, don’t remember the details of my old bank account, as I haven’t used it in eighteen months. I’m not even sure the account is still open or if the bank closed it down.”

  “Find out.”

  “Okay. I’ll call the bank—”

  “Make the call on your own time, not mine.”

  Yes, sir.

  I nod my head and finish filling the forms out.

  I hand them and the pen back to him. He doesn’t even bother to look at them. Just opens a drawer on his desk and shoves them inside.

  “So, I guess I should get to work.” I start to rise from my chair.

  “One more thing.”

  His voice halts me, and I put my butt back in the seat.

  He sits forward, putting his elbows on the desk, and stares at me with those unyielding black eyes of his. “There are things of value in this house, but I’m guessing you already know that.”

  I do?

  “And I know the temptation might be great, but I have to ask you to try not to steal anything. I’d hate to have to send you back to prison.”

  What. The. Hell?

  I feel like he just slapped me. My cheeks sting with humiliation.

  God, I hate that this stuck-up bastard can affect me in this way. I’ve known him for, what? An hour, and I despise the fucker already.

  If I didn’t need this job as badly as I do and if assault wouldn’t land me straight back in prison, then I’d kick him right where it hurt—which would probably be his wallet because I’m pretty sure nothing else would penetrate his rhino skin.

  My fingers curl into my palms, and I let the sting of pain ground me.

  Come on, Daisy. You’ve heard…had worse than this. He’s just a stuck-up arsehole who clearly needs to get laid.

  Says she who hasn’t had sex in…well, forever.

  “Yes, Mr. Matis,” I grit out the words.

  Really, what else could I have said?

  Try to defend my honor? I almost laugh out loud at that absurd thought.

  I tried doing that in a court of law, and it didn’t work out so well for me.

  And this jumped-up prick believes I’m a thief because that’s what the law told him.

  It doesn’t matter to him if I’m innocent or not.

  I’m poor and a criminal; therefore, I’m beneath him.

  I’m beneath everyone.

  I’m branded for life.

  I was always poor. Now, I have the criminal tag to go with it.

  Well, aren’t I a perfect catch?

  God, I hate Jason fucking Doyle. He ruined my life.

  But I know I’m not a thief, and that’s all that matters.

  Or that’s what I tell myself.

  But I figure, if I say it enough, then I’ll start to believe it one day.

  Kas’s head is tilted, his jaw tight but his eyes appraising, like he was expecting more.

  Almost like he was expecting…retaliation.

  Why would he think I’d retaliate?

  Because I’ve been in prison; therefore, I’m a thug.

  God, I’m so fucking done here.

  This guy is the biggest of all arses. I just want to get my job done.

  The thing that’s bothering me most is that he hired me, knowing I have a criminal record. Why do that if he wants to be a complete tool to me?

  Maybe he gets off on it—belittling people.

  Well, he can do what he wants, say what he wants.

  Because I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just care that he pays my wages at the end of every week.

  “We’re done here,” he says blandly, like he’s suddenly bored.

  And I take leave before he can say anything else shitty to me.

  Seven

  After changing into my work outfit, which surprisingly fits me, I get to work. I figure I’ll begin downstairs. So, I make a start on the kitchen.

  By the time one o’clock rolls around, every surface in the kitchen is shining. The oven is sparkling, inside and out, and the floor is so clean that you could eat your dinner off it.

  Speaking of eating, my stomach is rumbling.

  I wash up my hands and grab my bag from where I left it hanging in the coat closet in the hallway. Then, I head outside to the back garden as the sun has made a rare appearance, and I’m determined to enjoy it while it’s
here.

  I do a little wandering around the huge back garden where it’s clear that it’s been lovingly cared for. A lot of hard work has gone into this garden.

  I can’t see Kas-hole—see what I did there?—getting his hands dirty with gardening, so I’m guessing he has a gardener. Unless his parents do the gardening.

  I wonder when they’ll be back. Hopefully, they’re nicer than their son.

  But then, if they raised that miserable twat…I shouldn’t hold out much hope.

  It’s such a shame he’s a wanker because he’s really good-looking. Shame his personality spoils what could have been a perfect person.

  I spy a bench by a colorful shrubby, so I decide to sit there.

  I take out my phone and check it.

  There’s just one text from Cece, sent a few hours ago. Not surprising, as she’s the only person who has my number—well, aside from Kas-hole and my probation officer.

  How’s your first day going?

  I type back.

  My new boss is a wanker. But, aside from that, good. The house is beautiful.

  She replies back instantly.

  Do I need to kick his arse?

  I chuckle at that.

  Nah, it’s nothing I can’t handle. You on your lunch break?

  Yeah, just about to head back in though. Catch you tonight. Love ya.

  Love ya, too.

  I keep my phone in my hand, and I go to the only other contact I have in there. I press Call and put the phone to my ear. I wait, listening while it rings.

  It goes to voice mail. “Hi, you’ve reached Anne Burgess, Department of Social Services. Leave your name and number, and I’ll call you back.”

  Disappointed that I won’t get to talk to her, I wait for the beep. “Hi, Anne, it’s Daisy Smith. I’m just calling to let you know that I was released yesterday. I was hoping we could get together to talk…about Jesse. I’m hoping I can see him soon. If you could call me back on”—I rattle off my number—“I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.”

  I hang up and put my phone back in my bag.

  Hopefully, she’ll call me back soon.

  Anne is Jesse’s social worker. Over the last eighteen months, I’ve kept in regular contact with her, regarding Jesse. She knows my keenness at getting Jesse back home with me. Anytime I ever tried to broach getting custody of Jesse, she’d always tell me that it was something we’d need to discuss after my release.