Page 8 of Triplet Babies
The main house looms ahead of me. All that stone and glass in intimidating architecture makes me feel like I’m trespassing just by walking up the front steps. I’ve never been inside before. Yesterday’s work kept me strictly to the grounds and service areas, safely away from whatever important business happens behind those panoramic windows.
I press the doorbell and wait, smoothing down my khakis and checking that my blouse is properly tucked in. I chose my most professional outfit this morning, though compared to the designer dress that blonde woman wore yesterday, I probably still look like someone who doesn’t belong here.
The door opens to reveal an elegant woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a neat chignon. She’s wearing a charcoal gray suit that screams efficiency and competence, and when she looks at me, I get the impression she’s cataloging everything from my shoes to my hairline. “You must be Sarah Clark.” Her voice carries a slight accent I can’t place, maybe Eastern European. “I’m Mrs. Nykova, the house manager. Please come in.”
I follow her into a foyer that’s larger than my entire apartment. The ceiling soars above us, supported by marble columns. Original artwork covers the walls, and a crystal chandelier sparkles from the sunlight. “This is beautiful,” I say before I can stop myself, then immediately worry I sound like a tourist.
Mrs. Nykova’s expression softens slightly. “Mr. Barinov has excellent taste. He personally selected most of the pieces you see here.” She gestures for me to follow her down a hallway lined with more artwork. “I understand there’s been a change in your employment status.”
“Has there? I’m not entirely sure what that means.”
“You’ll be working as Mr. Barinov’s personal assistant. The position involves scheduling, correspondence, file organization, and various administrative tasks as needed.” She pauses at the bottom of a curved staircase. “Do you have experience with office work?”
I consider lying but decide honesty is probably the safer option. “Some. I worked summers at my mother’s insurance office during high school, and I’ve handled basic administrative tasks at previous jobs. I’m comfortable with computers and scheduling software.”
It’s not entirely false. Mom’s friend Janet ran a small insurance agency, and she let me answer phones and do filing when I needed summer money after my mom died while finishing my landscaping certificate at community college. I also handled some of the paperwork at the landscaping company when their regular office manager was out sick. I’m not a trained personal assistant, but I’m not completely clueless either.
Mrs. Nykova nods approvingly. “Good. Mr. Barinov values competence and discretion above all else. You’ll find he’s very focused on his work and doesn’t appreciate interruptions unless they’re genuinely urgent.”
I venture another question. “What kind of work does he do?”
“Import and export. Various business ventures.” Her tone suggests that’s all the information I’ll be getting on that subject. “Your office is on the second floor. I’ll show you there first, then take you to meet Mr. Barinov.”
We reach the second floor, and Mrs. Nykova leads me down another hallway, this one with enormous windows that look out over the estate grounds. I see the pool area where I worked yesterday, the gardens I was supposed to be maintaining, and beyond that, the Long Island Sound stretching toward the horizon.
“Here we are.” She opens a door to reveal a bright, airy office with white walls and modern furniture. A large desk sits near the windows, already equipped with a computer, phone, and various office supplies. Built-in bookshelves line one wall, currently empty except for a few reference books.
“This is mine?” I can’t keep the amazement out of my voice.
“For as long as you’re in Mr. Barinov’s employ, yes.” She moves to the desk and picks up a thin folder. “These are the basics you’ll need to know, including the building layout, important phone numbers, and some general guidelines for managing Mr. Barinov’s schedule.”
I take the folder, feeling like I’m accepting a role in a play I don’t understand. “Mrs. Nykova, can I ask why I was chosen for this position? Yesterday, I was fixing irrigation systems.”
Her expression is blank, but I catch something that might be curiosity in her eyes. “Mr. Barinov doesn’t usually explain his decisions to staff. I suggest you focus on doing the job well rather than questioning why you have it.”
I’ll miss working outside, but I need this job, whatever it turns out to be, and questioning the boss’s motives on my second day would be spectacularly stupid. I straighten my shoulders. “You’re absolutely right. I appreciate the opportunity.”
She nods with approval. “Good. Let’s go meet Mr. Barinov. His office is at the end of the hall.”
We walk past several closed doors, and I wonder what’s behind them. More offices? Guest rooms? Secret rooms full of mysterious import-export business things? I’m definitely overthinking this, but the whole situation feels surreal.
Mrs. Nykova knocks on a heavy wooden door, waits for a response, then opens it and gestures for me to enter. “Mr. Barinov, your new assistant is here.”
The office is enormous, with dark wood paneling and furniture that looks both expensive and comfortable. Bookshelves that go from the ceiling to the floor line two walls, filled with volumes in what appears to be several different languages. A massive deskdominates the center of the room, and the man who caught me yesterday sits behind it.
He looks up from whatever he’s reading, and those blue eyes focus on me with the same unsettling intensity I remember. He’s wearing a bespoke dark suit today, but he still looks like someone who’s used to getting his hands dirty when necessary.
“Sarah Clark.” He says my name like he’s testing how it sounds. “Please, sit down.”
I take the chair across from his desk, trying to look professional and confident despite my heart beating faster than it should. Mrs. Nykova withdraws, closing the door behind her and leaving me alone with him.
“I hope Mrs. Nykova explained your new responsibilities.”
I lick my lips, suddenly discovering new levels of nervousness. “She gave me the basics, yes, but I’m curious about why you decided to move me from gardening to office work.” I pause, then add, “Sir.”
He briefly smiles. “You handled a difficult situation competently yesterday. You assessed the problem, attempted a solution, and took responsibility when things went wrong. Those are useful qualities in any position.”
I frown slightly. “Even when the solution involved flooding your pool deck?”
