Three
922 Words
I zip my bag and sit on it to force it shut. The zipper fights me before giving up. My coffee has gone cold on the table, untouched.
“You know I can’t afford to lose this offer,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Besides, you’ve always wanted me gone for a bit so you and Jordan can finally f**k like rabbits without me banging on the wall at two in the morning.”
Maya flips me off. I laugh.
She’s been my best friend since sophomore year of high school. She knows every ugly detail of my life. We’ve both had bad luck but she has both parents. She never had to work herself raw the way I did.
“The only reason I’m okay with this,” she says, “is that Omarion Montgomery would be very easy to find if you disappeared.”
“Thanks for the comfort.”
“I’m serious. He probably wouldn’t kill you, but who knows with men like him. Too much money. Too much privacy.” She exhales. “And he’s stupidly hot. Every woman at Montgomery Tech would fold for him in five seconds. That alone should worry you.”
“He’s paying me,” I say. “Not sleeping with me.”
She points her spoon at me. “Yet.”
I throw a pillow at her. She catches it.
“His wife died last year,” she adds. “The kid’s probably struggling.”
Zara’s face flashes in my mind.
“How did she die?” I ask.
“I have no idea.”
My phone buzzes. The car is here.
“Shit.” I grab my bag. Maya pulls me into a hug.
“Come back in one piece.”
“That’s the plan.”
She pulls back and grips my shoulders, her joking gone. “Call me every day. If anything feels wrong, you leave.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
I nod, because she’s right.
---
The driver glances at my beat-up bags before loading them into the trunk.
We slide through Brooklyn. I watch my block fade in the mirror until it’s gone. By the time we hit Connecticut, it feels like I crossed into another country.
My thoughts spiral. What if I mess this up? What if Zara hates me? What if I last three days and get sent home. Fifty thousand dollars disappears fast.
We turn onto a private road and stop in front of the house.
Not a house. A mansion.
Gray stone, three stories, sprawling grounds. No Christmas lights. Nothing welcoming about it.
We pull around to the side instead of the front.
Right. Know your place, Lisa.
A woman waits near the entrance. Chinese American. Dark hair pulled back tight. Her face gives nothing away.
“Lisa Bennett?” She shakes my hand. “Helen Chen.”
What are the odds my fake surname belongs to someone actually working for Omarion Montgomery?
She doesn’t comment. She turns and walks, expecting me to follow. I do.
The inside smells clean and expensive. We pass a kitchen larger than my apartment. She leads me into a small office and gestures to a chair before sitting across from me.
“Mr. Montgomery is in meetings all day,” she says. “I’ll handle your onboarding.”
She slides a stack of papers toward me. I skim until a number jumps out.
“The penalty for breach is five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s standard.”
She slides a pen toward me. I sign.
My phone buzzes.
Bank alert.
Deposit: $22,500.
It takes a second to register. My pulse kicks hard. I read it again.
“Miss Bennett.”
“Sorry.” My hand shakes as I finish signing.
She explains as we go. My priority is Zara. Meals. Bedtime. General care. I may assist with household tasks. I will serve at family dinners if needed.
I nod and pretend I’m listening, too busy counting numbers in my head.
“Miss Bennett.”
“Yes.”
Her voice stays flat. “Zara is six. She’s had several nannies in the past year. They did not last.”
That's encouraging.
She leads me upstairs. The third floor feels quieter. Staff quarters.
She opens a door near the end of the hall.
The room is spotless. Single bed. White duvet. Dresser. Private bathroom. Bigger than my bedroom at home.
“I’ll let you settle in,” she says, then pauses. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Avoid Mr. Montgomery after dark.”
My stomach tightens. “What?”
“It's better if you are not in the common areas after ten.”
She leaves before I can ask anything else.
I stand there for a moment, listening to her footsteps fade. The warning rattles around my head as I unpack. I open the top drawer of the dresser and stop.
A carefully folded lingerie. A note sits on top with a single letter written in dark ink.
You'll look great in this.
O.
My face heats. I close the drawer and sit on the bed instead. My legs feel tight. My pulse feels wrong.
What does Omarion Montgomery want from me?
I check my bank balance again.
Still there.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling.
Twelve nights.
Fifty thousand dollars.
And a rule about staying out of sight after dark.
I do not open the drawer again.
- Writer
