Page 6 of Omega's Midlife Love
“Oh. What can I do for you?” I asked as I started working on the fruit.
“Is now a good time?”
“I’m working on a snack for the kids, but am on a headset so I have a few minutes.”
“I’ll be quick. I wanted to let you know that we’re going to have you in another location starting tomorrow.”
I frowned, recalling how many nannies the family had already gone through. Had they complained? “Is there a problem?”
She laughed. “Not at all. We had in your file that you would prefer a permanent placement rather than working with vacation or temporary assignments. We’ve got a position that recently opened, and we’d like you to start a trial tomorrow to see how you mesh with the client.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until after this family leaves?”
“We’ve already had several other chefs do their trial days, and the client is eager to finish evaluating the candidates. If we don’t get you there tomorrow they’ll begin to consider the others.”
I frowned. It felt wrong to leave this family near the end of their vacation. But it was only a temporary assignment, and somebody else would take over. A permanent position was harder to come by, and I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by.
“Mr. West?”
“Send the details to my email,” I replied. “I’ll do the trial.”
“Fantastic. If you could send me an inventory of what you have on hand there, and any notes, I’ll forward it to whoever takes over.”
“I’ll get it to you this afternoon.”
“Thank you.”
“Thanks for contacting me about the permanent position.”
“Of course. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thank you.”
“Goodbye.”
“Bye.” I breathed a sigh of relief as the call disconnected.
The professional in me hated to be called away, especially since so many nannies had come and gone. I felt like I gave a bit of stability to the household. But I couldn’t ignore the potential either.
I’d just have to make sure that the last meal I served this family was a good one.
∞∞∞
I glanced at my phone, double checking the address. I’d only lived in Harris Cove for a month or so, and I already knew that the house I was standing outside of was part of what the locals called Billionaire Row.
I swallowed. Sure, I’d been cooking for millionaires since arriving in the small city, but this was definitely a step up, and for a moment I wondered if their expectations would be similarly upsized.
I took a deep breath and blew it out, suppressing the urge to slap my palms against the sides of my face. I needed to be collected and professional, and appearing overwhelmed was exactly the opposite of that.
Everybody needed to eat, no matter how much money they had. I just had to make food that they liked.
I rang the bell, and a moment later a voice filtered from it. “May I help you?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. My name is David West, and I have an appointment for a working interview as a private chef.”
“Just a moment,” the voice replied.
I straightened my chef’s jacket while I waited, and I soon heard footsteps. Then the door opened to reveal a slender man in probably his mid-fifties. Everything about him was utterly professional, and I realized that he was likely the butler.
