Chapter Six
770 Words
Amelia had never been to the Upper East Side before.
Not as a guest.
Not as an employee.
And certainly not for an interview at one of the most prestigious private residences in Manhattan.
She glanced down at her thrifted navy-blue dress.
It was simple.
Modest.
Ironed twice.
She had borrowed Eleanor’s pearl earrings—the only jewelry she’d kept after her parents died.
“Wish me luck, Mom,” she whispered.
The taxi stopped.
Amelia stepped out.
Then she saw it.
Blackwood Estate.
It wasn’t a house.
It was practically a museum.
Five stories tall.
Glass walls.
Marble columns.
Private gardens.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park.
Her stomach tightened.
She almost turned around.
She was applying to clean bathrooms.
Not run a Fortune 500 company.
She exhaled.
Lucas.
MIT.
Rent.
Groceries.
Dreams.
She pressed the intercom.
A stern woman opened the gate.
“You must be Amelia Hart.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Margaret.”
“House Manager.”
“Follow me.”
Amelia walked behind her.
The house was immaculate.
Minimalist.
Cold.
Elegant.
No family photos.
No signs of warmth.
Only expensive furniture.
Expensive art.
Expensive silence.
Margaret stopped.
“There are rules.”
“No visitors.”
“No loud music.”
“No gossip.”
“No touching Mr. Blackwood’s office.”
“No entering his study after 9 p.m.”
“No asking personal questions.”
Amelia nodded.
“Understood.”
Margaret looked her over.
“You’re younger than I expected.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Hmm.”
“And overqualified.”
Amelia stiffened.
“What do you mean?”
Margaret held up her résumé.
“Columbia University.”
“Computer Science.”
“Top grades.”
“You built software.”
“You volunteered teaching coding.”
“So tell me.”
“Why are you applying to be a maid?”
Amelia smiled softly.
“Because life happened.”
Margaret studied her face.
Then nodded.
“Fair enough.”
“Mr. Blackwood will speak with you himself.”
Amelia blinked.
“The CEO?”
“Yes.”
“He interviews everyone who works here.”
“Even maids?”
“Especially maids.”
Amelia suddenly felt nervous.
She sat in the waiting room.
Minutes passed.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty.
She checked her watch.
Maybe he forgot.
Maybe this was a test.
Maybe—
The door opened.
She looked up.
And forgot how to breathe.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark tailored suit.
Silver watch.
Sharp jawline.
Dark hair slightly tousled.
Eyes so gray they almost looked icy.
Confident.
Controlled.
Powerful.
Ethan Blackwood.
Thirty-two years old.
Founder and CEO of Blackwood Technologies.
One of New York’s youngest billionaires.
And possibly the most intimidating man Amelia had ever seen.
He glanced at her résumé.
Then at her.
Back to the résumé.
Back to her.
Silence.
Then—
“You studied Computer Science.”
“Yes.”
“You graduated?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My parents died.”
Silence.
“And now you clean houses?”
“I work.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting answer.”
Amelia met his gaze.
“I don’t think honest work should be embarrassing.”
Something flickered across Ethan’s expression.
Not pity.
Not sympathy.
Respect.
Just for a second.
Then it disappeared.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“You own Blackwood Technologies.”
“You’ve been featured in Forbes.”
“You donated ten million dollars to STEM education.”
“And?”
She shrugged.
“You don’t smile much.”
Ethan looked surprised.
Margaret almost choked.
No one talked to Ethan Blackwood like that.
Ever.
He leaned back.
“And you’ve decided this based on what?”
“Your interviews.”
“Press photos.”
“Videos.”
“You look like smiling is a tax deduction.”
Silence.
Then—
Margaret saw something she’d never seen before.
The corner of Ethan Blackwood’s mouth twitched.
Almost.
Almost.
A smile.
He stood.
“Margaret.”
“Prepare Miss Hart’s contract.”
Margaret blinked.
“Sir?”
“She’s hired.”
Amelia stood up.
“Wait.”
“That’s it?”
“You’re not going to ask me about housekeeping?”
Ethan adjusted his cufflinks.
“You’ll learn.”
“What I can’t teach is resilience.”
He paused.
“And Miss Hart?”
“Yes?”
“If I ever catch you lying to me…”
His gray eyes darkened.
“You’ll regret it.”
Amelia swallowed.
She had no idea.
She wasn’t lying.
But she was hiding something.
A dream.
An unfinished app.
And a laptop full of code.
- Writer
