Page 2 of Falling for the Beast

“No.”

“What about spreadsheets? Can you use Microsoft Excel?”

Her heart sank. “I don’t really know how to do spreadsheets.”

Gertrude clicked a few times, her frown returning. She shook her head, and Aribelle knew it wasn’t good news. She wasn’t qualified to do anything.

Gertrude peered at her over her glasses. “Do you cook?”

“A little.” Did heating up soup from a can count? “I mean, I’m no chef but I can cook basic meals.”

“What about cleaning?”

Now that she could do. “Yes. I’m a very good housekeeper.”

The woman nodded. “I think I found something for you. But it’s outside of Carson. Is that okay?”

Carson was a city about thirty minutes away from their small town of Pleasant Hills. It would be an inconvenience, but she doubted she had the luxury to argue. “I’ll take it.”

“Good. You’ll be mostly cleaning and organizing for Mr. Thaddeus Walker. Some light cooking. Light caregiving. Pays twelve dollars an hour.”

“Perfect.” Aribelle smiled. She’d been doing that very thing, only this time she’d get paid for it. And she had no qualms about taking care of an elderly man.

Gertrude squinted at the screen. “Wait. There’s a problem.”

“What?”

Gertrude shook her head and clicked her tongue. “It’s your age.”

Aribelle sat up straighter in her chair. “I assure you, I have lots of experience. I’ve been the sole caretaker of my father for the past nine years.”

“I’m going to have to speak to my supervisor.” Gertrude stood and briskly left the room.

Aribelle folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. She needed this job. She’d already applied everywhere else in town. Silently, she pleaded for them to allow her to prove herself to the old man.

A skinny, young girl entered the room. She didn’t look any older than Aribelle herself. She extended her hand. “I’m Grace. I need to apologize. The position Gertrude offered you isn’t available.”

Panic swelled in Aribelle. “I swear I can do the job.”

Grace chewed a piece of gum and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m afraid the client is quite particular about who he wants us to send him.”

“How about a trial run?” Boy, was she screaming desperate or what? She knew she was grasping at straws, but what else could she do? “If I can’t do the job to his satisfaction, you can replace me.”

Grace tapped the desk, chewing on that blasted gum. Aribelle imagined her swelling up like Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka and having to roll her out of the room. She forced herself not to laugh. Sometimes her imagination got the best of her. The last thing she needed to do was break out in giggles right now.

Grace sighed. “Well, we have had trouble filling this position. The last three we sent have all quit within a week.”

Oh, no. That was a huge red flag. What was she getting herself into? What kind of awful old man was he? It didn’t matter. She had to pay her rent. She stood. “I can do this.”

Grace frowned then nodded. “All right. We can put you in on a trial basis. We’ll check with Mr. Walker in a week to see how things are going.” She pulled out a business card and wrote on the back. “Here’s the address. You can start on Monday.”

Thaddeus Walker gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle. His leather gloves tightened against his hands. It had been two days since he last went out. His broken ribs still hurt when he moved, but they had healed enough. He slipped his helmet on, listening.

He revved the engine before taking off down the long driveway. The brisk night air rushed past him. He pulled out onto the road, tall trees flying by as he continued down the hill. The thrill of the speed twisted his stomach and filled his veins with adrenaline.

The full moon lit the way as he headed toward Carson. Toward what, he couldn’t guess. It was different each night. Some nights he cruised the streets, finding no one, and nothing happening. He would return home at sunrise, partially relieved. Other nights…well, it was those nights that left him in extreme pain. But he had no choice. He had to do it. It was the only way he’d found to keep the beast inside.

Aribelle swallowed her nerves and got into her 1982 Volkswagen Rabbit. “Come on, Bunny,” she said under her breath as she cranked the key. The car grudgingly sprang to life. She caressed the dashboard. “You know you love me.”

---