Page 14 of Bossed By Three Billionaire Brothers

We reached the door at the very end of the hall and Mathilde turned around to face me. She stood with poise, as if guarding the room from me, not willing to let me pass until she’d said what was on her mind.

“Your arrangement with the Bradshaw’s… it is most unusual. Joining our staff is typically quite a process. But Mr. Sam seems to have been rather impressed by you over the course of a simple phone call and I know you have a friendship with his daughter as well. Regardless, you will be staying here in the main house but that doesn’t mean you are not under my supervision.”

“Of course,” I agreed, though I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

“If you have issues or concerns, come to me. The Bradshaw’s are very busy. You are here to help with Bobby and to make their lives a little easier.”

“That’s right. And I want to be a solid member of the team.”

She nodded slowly, as if I’d given her the answer she’d wanted to hear.

“I say this to you because, living here with the family and not in the staff house, you will have a bit more independence. Do not take advantage of it, and do not squander the trust they have placed in you. We areclaire?”

“Oui. I mean, yes.”

One more nod accompanied by a small, knowing smile, and she turned back to the door and pulled it open.

I gasped at the room on the other side. It was huge, the colors clean whites, the outside walls entirely glass. There was a sleek desk on one side, a huge, soft-looking bed on the other, and a large walk-in closet. I craned my neck to see an ensuite bathroom, with a tub and shower and plenty of space. The view from the windows was sweeping, looking out over the front stretch of the property. I hurried over, looking down at the green grass below, then to the infinity pool, then to the town and beach and sea beyond.

“As you can see, this room is quite spare. You will be here for a few months, however, so feel free to spruce it up as you see fit. Your bags have been placed in the walk-in closet. And the panel here by the door controls lights for the room and the tint of the window.Regarde.”

I turned to watch her access the panel, bringing up a small menu. A few taps, and the windows darkened the same way the ones in Bobby’s room had, pure darkness descending. Another tap and the darkness faded, light returning.

“The rooms are soundproof and have built-in speaker systems that you can connect your devices to. And it is voice activated. Just speak to the room, and it will do what you want. There are other odds and ends to learn about thetechnologieof the house, but you look like a smart girl—I’m sure you can figure them out on your own. Now, if you do not mind…”

“Thanks, Mathilde. I’m happy to be here.”

She gave me one more skeptical look. “Yes, well just do your job and I am sure we will all get along just fine.”

With that, she shut the door and left.

I stepped over to the bed and fell back onto it, a smile spreading across my face.

“Um, room? Can you open a window?”

A soft chime sounded, followed by one of the windows nearest to me swinging open a bit, fresh, salty air wafting in.

Laying there, I thought about the Bradshaw brothers. It was crazy how handsome all of them were. Sean was a stunner, but so were Seth and Sam. None of that mattered, however. I was there to do a job, not to get involved with anyone. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t notice how good-looking they were.

“Can you set an alarm for two hours from now?”

Another chime. Over on the panel, an alarm for the time requested displayed for a moment.

I closed my eyes, the sea air drifting over me, my body relaxing into the softness of the bed. What this summer had in store for me, I could only guess, but I was sure as hell excited.

Chapter 5

Sam

Espresso was something of a daily ritual for me. I’d always been a bit of a coffee fiend, really. Ever since I was a boy, not even a teenager, putting together my first PCs in the basement of the house where I grew up in Des Moines, I’d been drinking the stuff. I’d sneak into the kitchen after Mom and Dad had gone to bed, preparing myself a pot—or sometimes two—which I’d drink as I tinkered around.

Now that I was older, my coffee consumption habits were a bit different.

I stood in the vast expanse of my kitchen, my eyes on the gleaming, silver hand of my La Marzocco espresso machine. Espresso machines had always been fascinating to me, almost computer-like in their complexity. I pressed the start button on the machine, and it hummed to life in response. Once it was on, I carefully measured out eighteen grams of single-origin Intelligentsia coffee, this particular bean from the highlands of Ethiopia.

Beans in hand, I placed them into my Mazzer grinder, a powerful machine capable of grinding the beans to the exacting consistency that I wanted. As I prepared to scoop the beans, however, I found myself pausing, staring off into space in the way I did when an idea came into my mind that I couldn’t shake.

I wasn’t thinking of my projects, this time.

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