Page 8 of Watching Henry

It was also, said a little voice in the back of her head, far longer than she'd ever committed to anything before. She shook off the voice.

“It sounds like a match made in heaven,” she said, lifting up her smoothie cup.

“We're ordained by the fates,” Maeve said in all seriousness, lifting her own cup to squash briefly against Hadley's.

Hadley checked her smartwatch. “Another class starts in fifteen minutes,” she said. “We should be clear-headed enough now to attend, don't you think?”

“Like I said,” said Maeve. “You're a woman after my own heart. I can't wait for you to meet my little angels.”

Which probably should have been a red flag, Hadley realized later. But in the moment she was far too relieved to consider the words at all.

Chapter Four

The tiny key almost slid through Florence's sweaty fingers but she eventually managed to slide it into the lock. She grabbed the bundle of mail without looking and then slammed the door closed.

Having a paid mail service was the only real way to deal with actually getting mail, given that she never knew where she was going to be. Plus, it stopped the prying eyes of employers from seeing her mail.

The downside of this was that she got all of her bills in one go. And her heart sank now as she began to sort through the letters. At least the debt collectors couldn't find her, she guessed. Another benefit of having no fixed address.

With a sigh, she picked out the circulars and junk and tossed them, and put the unopened bills into her bag. Why she bothered, she had no idea. She knew all she needed to know. The companies wanted money from her and she didn't have money. End of story.

There wasn't a single personal letter in the bundle. But then again, who would write to her? She was long estranged from both her parents, flighty hippies that they were. And though she had had school friends, particularly once she'd proven an ace student that was willing to tutor, she'd cut herself off.

She'd been so sure that she was going to be successful. The power behind the throne. The secretive yet amazing super-nanny that rich parents spoke of in hushed tones. Which made revealing the truth to anyone she'd known at school embarrassingly impossible.

She pushed through the foyer of the post office, passing a little girl kicking her heels against her chair legs, obviously waiting for her mother.

“Sit up straight, my dear,” she said as she passed.

The little girl stared at her.

“Do sit up straight, good posture is so important.”

The little girl stuck out her tongue and Florence tore her eyes away and hurried outside into the bright sunshine.

Her phone rang as she was waiting to cross the street. The crossing light was still red, though the cars had stopped and people were already venturing out into the street. But Florence remained firmly on the sidewalk until the light turned green.

Then she began to walk and answered her phone at the same time.

“Florence Underwood speaking.”

“Florence, it's Maisie.”

At some undefined point in their relationship Maisie had begun calling her by her first name. And Florence regretted not nipping the habit in the bud before it was too late. She certainly couldn't tell Maisie now that she preferred not to be on first name terms.

“Yes?”

“Florence, there's a job.”

Only now did Florence consider just why Maisie might be calling her. She stopped dead in the center of the sidewalk. “A job?”

“Yes, a job. Something you seem perfect for.”

“The client has seen my CV?”

“He especially asked for you,” Maisie said. “Said he'd heard about you from the Angletons, said you were exactly what he needed.”

“Me?” Florence moved over to the side of the street, out of people's way. “Me?” she asked again, hardly believing that this could happen.

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