Page 1 of Guarded from Treachery

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ISLA

Why does your body always choose the worst possible time to get sick?

Not that I everwantit to happen—it’s not like I’m sitting around on a lazy Sunday thinking,Gee, I don’t have anything going on today. This would be the perfect time for a cold!

Or if I’m on the rare vacation, I don’t exactly think to myself,Hmm. I’ve been wanting to lose a few pounds lately. How about a nice stomach bug to do the trick?

Of course, I’d prefer to just be healthy all the time, regardless of how unrealistic that is.

But if it has to happen, why now? Why not two months ago, when I was desperately trying to come up with a believable excuse not to attend my cousin’s wedding in Vermont? First off, we never got along, not even as kids, and I know she only invited me because her parents made her. And as a lovely bonus to the experience, I knew I’d see my own parents and have to endure several hours of them haranguing me about my poor life decisions.

Could I have lied? Yes. But I’m a terrible liar. My voice gets all high-pitched and I talk in this awkward cadence that sounds the furthest thing from believable. And afterwards, I inevitably feel guilty for days, so much so that I end up wishing I’d just gone through with the plans to begin with.

But if I’d been sick… I could have stayed home with a clear conscience, saving myself two-thousand dollars and hours of aggravation. Hours that I wouldn’t have had to sit at the singles table with Wayne, the accountant from Concord, who thought the best way to get me to go home with him that night was to inform me about the best strategies to save money on my tax return. And worse yet, having my father drag me aside at least ten times to remind me of what a disappointment I was.

But now? Whatever this bug—virus?—I have is, it’s come at the most inconvenient time.

Two weeks into my new job, I desperately need to make a good impression. I need to prove to my boss that he made the right decision by hiring me. And I need to keep this job, not get dumped from it before my probationary period is over.

If I lose this job, I’m really in trouble.

After my former boss died unexpectedly last month, the neat path I set out for my life took a speedy and unwelcome detour. The amazing job I’d been so excited about—estate manager for a petroleum magnate in Dallas—was gone. Two days after Archer Remington died from a massive heart attack, his chief of staff came by my office to let me know I was effectively fired.

“Mr. Remington’s family wants to put a limit on unnecessary spending,”he told me apologetically.“And since they’re planning to sell off all the properties as soon as the will is read, they don’t feel there’s a need for your services anymore. They’re willing to let you stay at the guest house for two weeks, so you can make arrangements for a new job and place to live, but that’s all.”

Two weeks. Just two weeks for me to find a new job that would pay enough to cover rent and a security deposit on a new apartment, my student loans, and the payments on my new car. And just fourteen days to find a place to live that was affordable, not overrun by cockroaches, and didn’t have bars on the windows.

Lovely.

Because one of the perks of my old job—at least I thought so at the time—was a guest house to stay in right on the property. A cute guest house with huge windows that let in plenty of light, and a lovely patio shaded by black cherry trees, where I loved to sit out and read on the weekends.

But just like that, my home and job were gone.

I know that makes me seem heartless, like I didn’t care about Mr. Remington’s death. But I did. I do. While I’d only met him a few times since I was hired—his chief of staff, Drew, was the one I talked to most often—my old boss seemed pleasant enough. A bit condescending and full of himself, but considering he was the multimillionaire boss and I was just the help, I wasn’t exactly expecting us to become friends.

So I did feel badly that he was gone. I just felt a little sorry for myself, too.

But miraculously, after blanketing the entire Dallas-Fort Worth area with approximately two hundred resumes, I found a new job working as an executive assistant for the CEO of a shipping company. It’s not as good as my old one, but it’s something for now, and it pays enough to cover rent on the tiny apartment I found just outside Dallas.

I guess it’s not a surprise I’m sick, considering the stressful month I’ve had—wrapping up my old job while trying to squeeze in dozens of interviews, packing up and moving, and starting a new job. I just wish it wasn’t happening now.

“Hey, Isla. How’s it going?”

Lost in my thoughts, I jolt at the unexpected interruption, whacking my knee on the underside of the desk in the process. A flare of pain radiates from my knee outward, and I grit my teeth to keep from letting out a small yelp of dismay.

Steadying my expression, I paste on a smile as I meet my coworker’s questioning gaze. Brightly, I reply, “I’m good. How are you?” I quickly scan her outfit, searching for something to compliment, adding after a beat, “I love your shirt, Amy. It’s so pretty.”

She beams. “Oh, thanks. You don’t think it’s too bright?”

“Oh, no.” As I turn my chair towards her, a fresh wave of fatigue sweeps through me, and I have to swallow hard to keep from yawning. Forcing a smile, I add, “I love that color on you. The green really makes your eyes pop.”

“That’s what I thought!” Amy leans her hip on the side of my desk and drums her fingers absently on the glossy surface. “When I tried it on at the store, my friend, Kiera, said it looked like I’d just stepped into the Emerald City. You know, from theWizard of Oz?”

My stomach gurgles, and to cover the sound I quickly reply, “Yes. I’ve seen it. But I always liked that part of the movie. So it doesn’t sound bad to me.”

“Me too!” Amy’s voice rises with enthusiasm, causing at least three employees walking by to turn their heads. The sound makes my head throb as the headache I’d wrangled under control thanks to three ibuprofen returns with a vengeance. “I’ll tell Kiera you said she was wrong.”

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