One Good Reason Read online

  "I already signed the contract and made sure I initialed each page as it said." Mrs. Ross sent me a copy of the contract last week after I spoke to her, so I knew in advance what was expected of me before they offered me the position. I knew if offered the position, I would accept no matter what.

  Although it was in his right to fire me, I felt relieved to know I had employment for at least two years. The money I could save in the next two years made up for the money I lost. The job paid more in one year than my job at the university did in three, and it offered free room and board and food.

  My responsibility will be to care for and teach a nine-year-old girl named Erin Westlake. I will homeschool her when she is at her father's house, which is every other week. When she is with her mother, a different nanny takes over. The other nanny and I are to communicate through email on the progress of Erin's studies, and any other means of communication is unacceptable.

  "Then I expect you brought the signed copy of the contract with you."

  I searched through my bag and various folders for the black folder with embossed silver writing on the front that read Westlake Enterprises. I pulled out the signed contract and handed it over to Mrs. Ross.

  "Any further questions?" She asked.

  "No." I read the contract three times looking for some loophole but found nothing. This job felt too good to be true, but I had nothing to lose.

  "Any reservations regarding the requirements asked of you." She scanned through the detailed pages of the contract.

  "No, it's laid out clearly in the contract. Some of the details I found a little odd, like being required to be on birth control." I mentioned it, but it didn't deter me. I had been on birth control for years; I couldn’t comprehend why it was part of the job requirement.

  "Mr. Westlake wants to ensure there are no surprises that could prevent you from finishing the two years required of you."

  "What happened to the last nanny?"

  "She unfortunately died. She played a significant part in raising Mr. Westlake. When Mr. Westlake bought this house, he brought her in as the housekeeper, and later her role changed to Erin's nanny."

  "That’s awful. She must have been like a mother to him. Mr. Westlake must have felt it acutely."

  "One would think." She abruptly changed the subject. "You will move in tomorrow. Your direct deposit begins next Friday. I’ll show you to your suite and give you keys, the gate and alarm code."

  "Will Mr. Westlake be here when I move in?"

  "No one ever knows when Mr. Westlake will be here. He tells no one of his comings and goings, and we don't ask." She rubbed that spot once again. "Now, let me give you a quick tour before you leave."

  "And this is my only orientation before coming on board?" Now I became concerned. Moving into a stranger’s house after only a quick tour seemed too odd.

  "Yes, but you’ll be fine. The one thing that Mr. Westlake stressed to me when we last spoke was he wants you to feel at home. So even in his absence, you should treat this house as your home."

  Mrs. Ross started the tour with the downstairs. We breezed through all the main living areas of the home. The rooms were spacious and expertly decorated. There was a minimalist feel but still an air of coziness. There was a private suite tucked away down a long hallway at the far corner of the main floor of the living area which I assumed will be where I stay.

  We then stepped out into the backyard. "I should add that you should feel at home except for guests. He prefers you entertain guests outside the home on non-Erin weeks. When Erin is here, she gets your full attention."

  "That goes without saying." Unfortunate for me but fortunate for Mr. Westlake I had no friends. My last relationship ruined all chances of fostering lasting friendships. And even my acquaintances wanted nothing to do with me, but I understood. My ex-boyfriend was detrimental to me and anyone associated with me.

  "I thought it would be, but I need to mention it." Mrs. Ross stepped back into the house while I glanced over the beautiful backyard one last time before we moved on to the rest of the house.

  She walked me downstairs to the fitness studio, the space larger than some commercial spaces I’ve seen. Before now, I never considered I could cancel my gym membership. This job got better by the second. I would recoup all my money and more in no time.

  We made our way back upstairs to the top floor where Mrs. Ross showed me my suite. "I'll be sleeping up here with the family?"

  "Is that a problem?"

  "No, I assumed I would be downstairs."

  "Mr. Westlake wants you upstairs." Mrs. Ross continued with the tour.

  I followed behind her after glancing back into my suite. She pointed to six more doors. The first, Erin's room, next, two guest bedrooms and two more bathrooms, and Mr. Westlake's room.

  "Tomorrow you can check everything out. I need to get back to my husband, so if you don't mind, we'll stop here."

  We locked up the house together and drove off down the driveway. From her car window, she waved, and I waved back. I pulled out as anticipation of my new life took over. I rolled down my windows and blasted my music. Tomorrow could not come fast enough. Tonight would be my last night sleeping on a couch and today would be my last day of being broke.

  Chapter 2

  The monochromatic colors of the house flowed through every room including my bedroom. Upon entering the double French doors, a pillowy tan couch sat with a glass coffee table in front of it. A distressed wooden desk flanked the back of the couch, and on the wall in front, hung a flat screen television. A plush cream-colored area rug covered the black stained wood floors.

  Past the sitting area, a king-size bed covered with fluffy cream-colored bedding and on the either side of the bed stood two large glass side tables with modern lamps. A gas fireplace on the opposite wall added to the coziness of the room.

  There was a door in the far corner of the room. I expected to see a closet when I opened it, but instead, when I peeked in I saw a bedroom for a nine-year-old princess, all pink and white with beautifully decorated walls and furnishing. I closed the door deciding that Erin should be the one to show me around her room.

  Past the bed, a small foyer opened to an extravagant bathroom on one side and the other a closet bigger than any apartment I ever lived. Unfortunately, my clothes will barely fill the space. In one section of the closet formal dresses in clear garment bags hung on padded hangers, I assumed the ex- Mrs. Westlake left them behind. My curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked through the dresses. Sexy yet tasteful and oh holy shit expensive! The tags hung from each dress, and one was more expensive than the next.

  I had only four suitcases to unpack, two large duffle bags, a small carrier case with my toiletries and two large boxes that carried my shoes. Unpacked and organized in two hours, I had the rest of the afternoon and two whole days to do with as I pleased since Erin would not be arriving until Sunday night.

  The schedule was as followed: Every other Sunday night Erin’s driver would drop her off at eight in the evening. Erin would stay for the week and at seven in the evening the following Sunday the driver would pick her up to bring her back to her mother’s house which was an hour away. I could communicate through email only with Erin’s other nanny, Pam.

  It seemed like a sad way to exist but who was I to judge. I never married and had no children so I could not say how I would react in a divorce.

  I left my room and walked around the rest of the house. The few rooms I saw, so far, were larger than most people’s entire homes and every room organized; nothing seemed out of place, not a speck of dust or disorder. I bet the kitchen didn’t even have a junk drawer. This house looked like there was a place for everything and nothing could ever be out of place. Something I would adjust to.

  Mrs. Ross said she came every week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday around noon. She stayed for a few hours so if I needed anything I should let her know when she was here. Mr. Westlake permitted communication through text messages unless it becam
e excessive. Being self–sufficient meant I would limit reaching out to her or Mr. Westlake. The only time I could see myself contacting them would be in an emergency.

  The graphite marble countertops in the kitchen along with the charcoal colored cabinets matched the main living area of the house. The cabinets ran floor to ceiling, and a large island anchored the room. There was no toaster on the counter and built into the wall was a coffee/espresso maker and a microwave. The refrigerator and freezer spanned one wall and the island housed the kitchen sink with the dishwasher on one side and on the other a built-in cubby where wines glasses hung from a rack.

  The pre-interview application comprised questions regarding my food choices. I ate healthy except for my obsession with any chip made of corn. I opened the cabinets to find some of my favorite snacks: Tostitos, salsa, Fritos, and Sun Chips. Then I peeked through the fridge where I found it stocked with every fruit and vegetable in season and the freezer had wrapped chicken breasts, hamburger meat, and fish. Mr. Westlake expected me to cook for Erin. It stated in the contract that her meals must be homemade and that she had mature taste buds, whatever that meant.

  I continued to walk around the house through all the rooms. The expansive rooms were modern in decor but had a cozy feel to them. Everything had a place, a thoughtful place. Just no color; everything was tan, gray, black or white or varying shades of those colors. The textiles looked expensive and tailored with each room professionally executed. I'm sure Mr. Westlake hired a decorator to put each room together.

  Once again upstairs, I opened the many doors, sticking my head in to get a quick look. Yesterday when Mr. Ross gave me the tour, I suspected the door at the end of the long hallway to be Mr. Westlake’s bedroom. I crept towards it, unsure why I felt afraid. I was alone and expected no one to walk in. I only intended on peeking in, not snooping.

  I reached for the door handle as if any moment someone would sneak up behind me and ask me what I was doing. With my fingers wrapped around the cold-brushed nickel, I turned it, and it made a click sound, and the door opened. I peered in.

  The masculine bedroom awakened my body, my nose inhaled spice, cedar, bergamot and leather notes, and the energy in the room made you feel as if someone was just there. His bed covered with a silk charcoal gray bedspread and matching pillows looked enticing. While staring at his bed, a deep ache simmered in my belly. I wanted to inhale the intoxicating scent left on this strangers pillows, but instead, I turned around and shut the door behind me. I should not have felt aroused, but the scent overwhelmed me.

  Something felt odd about the house. As I walked around it became more evident, what bothered me. No pictures, no artwork hung on the walls, only mirrors. I expected to see pictures of his daughter, at the least. I did not expect to see any of him. Even knowing the man exists; I still felt he was an enigma.

  Enigma or not, I hoped he was not a pervert since it was likely I’d be alone in the house with him much of the time. The situation awkward enough would be worse if he were gross. The thought of living in a stranger’s home was uncomfortable then I imagined him as some skanky, pervert and my stomach twisted.

  How would I handle that? Either way, I’d have to deal with it. I had my room with a lock, so if I felt uncomfortable, I could retreat to my space.

  It was too beautiful a summer day to stay hauled up in this massive home, so I lounged by the pool. The backyard’s magnificent grounds overshadowed the front of the house and the kidney-shaped pool looked like something you'd find at a resort. The water reminded me of a black sparkling smooth stone, dark enough to hide the bottom of the pool.

  I changed into my bikini, grabbed my iPad and a towel, and headed out back. I spread out my towel and made myself comfortable on the teak wood lounge chair. I tapped the screen and surfed the Internet. It took no time at all for the sun to lull me into sleep.

  I awoke when a chill passed over my skin. I opened my eyes expecting to see a cloud blocking out the warmth of the sun. Instead, a handsome man with very distinguished features and impressive height balancing out his broad shoulders stood over me.

  I scrambled to my feet. I did not want to speak; I just stared at him and waited for him to say something. He said nothing but perused my body up and down, and that was when I remembered I was half naked in my bikini.

  “Natalie.” He continued to let his eyes drift over my body from head to toe until he stopped at my eyes.

  “Yes, I’m Natalie Hill.” I stuttered, as I stared into the depths of his dark green eyes. “I’m sorry if this isn’t allowed, sitting by the pool, sleeping but I’m prepared for Erin when she arrives on Sunday.” I babbled. His good looks were unexpected. I worried so much about how ugly and gross he may be that I never considered he’d be hot.

  “This is fine. I want you to feel at home here since this will be your home for the next two years, more if you prove yourself.” Mr. Westlake paused. “Do you think you are good at what you do, Natalie?”

  I knew he referred to my role as his daughter’s teacher, but his question felt layered. The smoothness of his deep voice as he said my name sent chills over my skin. His voice was steady when he spoke, no hint of acceptance or disappointment, he sounded indifferent, as Mrs. Ross described him. “I will do my best to teach your daughter all she needs to learn to become an educated young girl and later a woman.” I sounded rehearsed. My first encounter with my new employer and I sound like a fool and… I was more than half naked.

  “I see. Now, please continue to do whatever it was you were doing. Erin will be here Sunday night.” And with that, he walked away.

  “Sir, and you?” I don’t know why that came out that way, or why I even called out to him, but I did, and I could not call it back.

  He diverted his attention back to me. “You need not worry about me. I come and go as I please. Though, I will be here the rest of the day if you have questions.” He paused then said my name. “Natalie.” And back into the house, he went.

  Not a pervert, at all, Mr. Westlake was hot, the most beautiful man I've ever seen, tall and muscular, sinewy, but not bulky. His eyes green, deep green like staring into the deepest most beautiful lake. His hair, the color of ink, had a slight wave to it. He wore it longer than one would expect. He reminded me of a quiet night, pitch black with only the full moon illuminating the earth. Everything about him made my blood pump through my veins. Involuntary. Natural. Unavoidable.

  I could not go back to sleep; I could not read, I couldn’t sit still. I sat on the edge of my lounge chair. On the outside, I acted calm, but on the inside, my body pulsed.

  I looked around the backyard then scanned the back of the house. On the second floor, there was a row of five small windows. I saw movement, and then he came into view. He stood staring down at me holding my attention. He had a glass in his hand and brought it up to his lips.

  I licked mine. I became thirsty for something, anything. That I caught him staring at me didn’t seem to bother him. However, it left me untethered.

  He continued to do as he pleased: staring, glass to lips, staring more. Because of the size of the windows, I could only see part of his upper body. His one hand held the glass, the other hidden from view. The intensity of his stare prompted me to move. I positioned myself back on the lounge chair.

  On my back with my legs bent at my knees and my arms stretched over my head, I stared back at him. I let my legs fall slightly open and watched as he placed his glass down somewhere off to the side of him. The hand that held the glass now rested on the window frame, his other hand still hidden from me. His body stilled and stiffened but his face spoke volumes. He braced himself against the window frame while his eyes stayed fixated on me. His head dropped to his chest as his lips pursed to exhale. He stared down still bracing himself on the window frame except now his other hand did the same. He lifted his head, glanced at me then walked away.

  I had to do something, anything, I had to move, my body felt charged. I felt an instant attraction to him. A spark ran th
rough my body, and the need to pace, to do something, anything, so I dived into the pool.

  I lost count of how many laps I swam, but I made sure my body felt exhausted. The water sluiced off my skin as I padded to the chair to retrieve my towel. I scanned the back of the house as I toweled off, but he was not there. I clicked on my iPad to check the time, it was just about time for dinner, and so I headed inside to cook. I’d make enough in case he ate with me.

  An hour later, the smells from the kitchen must have awoken the beast because Mr. Westlake made his way downstairs. There was no greeting as he walked into the kitchen, but he surveyed the food laid out on the island. I stopped as I watched him staring. I still wore my bikini, but I covered it with a gauzy white tunic. He watched me for a second, yet he still said nothing and seemed comfortable with the silence.

  I was not. I needed to fill the silence but didn't know what to say. I glanced at him then continued to prepare the meal. He walked away and came back a few minutes later with a bottle of wine.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked as I plated the food despite what his answer would be.

  “Yes, would you like wine with dinner?” He reached for two glasses that hung in the cubby beneath the island next to the sink.

  “Yes, please,” I answered as I walked the two plates to the table.

  He sat opposite me, uncorked the wine, and poured us both a glass. He lifted his glass, and I followed. “Welcome.” No emotion emanated behind the word. I contemplated what kind of father he must be. Cold, unemotional, hands- off were the words that came to mind. Poor Erin.

  We clinked glasses and ate without hesitation, making no conversation and no eye contact. I looked at him under hooded eyes watching him handle the silverware. His hands were muscular, his fingers long, and his nails clean and buffed. As he poured our second glass, I loosened up and felt brazen enough to ask him some questions.

  “So may I ask what your intentions are for me?” That came out all wrong. “I mean your expectations.” Considering the moment and how I felt, either word was appropriate.