Don't talk about Mrs Westbrook
1138 Words
After the tour and my gleeful bouncing on the bed, I forced myself to calm down, freshen up, and stop acting like a little girl on a sugar rush. I needed to be professional. Mature. Composed.
Even if I was floating inside.
My stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—if you could call a half-eaten granola bar “breakfast.” I remembered Beth mentioning a kitchen staff, so I figured it was time to properly introduce myself to the rest of the people I’d be working with. I wanted to make a good impression. I’d always believed being kind to everyone, from the boss to the janitor, mattered just as much as being competent at your job.
I made my way down the long hallway, still getting used to the sheer size of this place. It took me five minutes to find the kitchen—big surprise. When I finally stepped through the swinging double doors, the aroma of roasted chicken, fresh herbs, and something buttery greeted me like a warm hug.
The kitchen itself was massive, like one of those high-end chef’s stations on cooking shows. Stainless steel countertops, hanging pots, two massive ovens, and a walk-in refrigerator.
There were four people inside: two women in their mid-forties and fifties wearing aprons, a younger man stirring something at the stove, and a girl no older than twenty chopping vegetables. They looked up at me in unison.
“Hi,” I said with a soft smile, brushing my hair behind my ear. “I’m Callie Hart. I’m the new nanny for Miss Lila.”
The older woman with silver streaks in her dark hair wiped her hands on a towel and stepped forward. “We heard about you,” she said with a nod. “I’m Rosa, the head cook. This here is Maylene, that’s Andre, and the baby chopping onions is Sophie.”
“Hey,” the girl muttered shyly.
“Welcome,” Andre said with a wink. “You’re in for a ride.”
I laughed nervously. “That’s what I’ve gathered.”
“You’ll love the kid,” Rosa said as she poured something into a simmering pot. “She’s quiet. A little too quiet, if you ask me. But sweet.”
Maylene leaned closer to Rosa and whispered, “It’s the accident, I bet. That sort of trauma… the poor baby was in the car, right?”
My ears perked up, but I pretended not to hear. Still, I could feel their eyes shifting toward me.
“Her mama—Mrs Madeline —was a real beauty,” Maylene continued in a hushed voice. “Classy. Not a snob like some rich types. Everyone loved her.”
“They say the crash changed everything,” Andre added under his breath. “Dr. Westbrook was different after that. Colder. Like he locked his heart in a vault.”
“Never smiled again,” Rosa murmured.
I froze.
My heart ached for them both.
Just then, the kitchen door flew open with a sharp whoosh and Beth entered like a storm. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the circle the staff had formed around me.
“Is this a social hour I wasn’t informed of?” she said crisply.
Everyone stiffened.
“No, Beth, we were just—”
“Gossiping?” Her voice was calm, but laced with warning. “You know the rules. If I hear so much as one rumor being spread about Dr. Westbrook, his daughter, or the past, you’ll be packing your knives and heading out the door before dinner. Understood?”
Everyone mumbled apologies. I kept my eyes lowered, trying not to make it seem like I’d been involved, though I felt a guilty knot in my chest. Even if I hadn’t asked, I had listened.
Beth turned to me.
“Miss Hart, Mrs. Westbrook would like to see you now. Miss Lila is home.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly nervous. “Alright. Where should I meet her?”
“The study,” she replied. “Where your interview was held.”
I followed her down the familiar hall, my palms beginning to sweat just like I did the time during the interview
The heavy door of the study was open, and Beth gave me a small nod before turning away.
I stepped inside and my breath caught.
She was already waiting, seated on a velvet armchair with a glass of something sparkling beside her. The light filtering through the tall windows hit her in just the right way, and for a second, I understood exactly what the people meant when they said someone aged like fine wine.
Sandra Westbrook was the kind of woman you didn’t just look at—you noticed. Regal posture, silver-blonde hair swept into an elegant twist, and a face that still held onto the remnants of the beauty she must have wielded like a weapon in her youth. Even now, in a silk navy blouse and cream slacks, she looked like she could command a room without raising her voice.
“Miss Hart,” she said, her voice crisp and clear. “Come in.”
I approached slowly, clutching my hands together.
“I’m pleased to say you’ve been officially hired. And would like to welcome you toour humble household.” she said with a small smile. Humble that's an understatement. If this place is humble then my old apartment must be the gutters.
“Thank you.” I smiled and said “I wont let you down.”
She picked up a manila folder from the table and passed it to me. “Here is your contract. Please review it and sign.”
I opened it and flipped to the page listing my salary.
Then promptly choked on air.
“Is this… is this for real?” I asked, eyes wide.
The number stared back at me like it had been ripped from a dream. Monthly. Not yearly.
I didn’t just choke—I nearly fainted.
Beth, ever the saint, appeared as if summoned and handed me a cold bottle of water.
“Thank you,” I whispered, guzzling half of it.
“You’ll find that we expect a great deal of dedication here,” Mrs. Westbrook said, her fingers resting delicately on the armrest. “But we pay accordingly. I do not believe in underpaying people who are trusted with one of our children.”
I nodded quickly, my brain still struggling to process. “Thank you. I’ll do my best. I really will.”
She smiled, this time genuinely. “That’s all we ask. Well its time for Lila to meet her new teacher.”
She pressed a button on the desk phone and spoke into it. “You can send her in now.”
- Writer
