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3. What are you doing here?

Freya's POV

"OMG, Freya! Do you recognize that guy?" Celine burst into my room right after we got back from work.

"Gosh, Celine, I really need to sleep. I have to meet my second job employer at 5 pm. Just got the message. Please, let me rest," I muttered, pulling the blanket over my head.

She yanked the blanket off and said, "Hold on, what do you mean, your employer? You got the job without meeting them? That's amazing! No formal interview and you scored the job."

"Yes. Now, please let me sleep," I mumbled, relieved that she got happily sidetracked.

"No, Freya, listen. I have to tell you about that guy from last night. If he's the man of your dreams, then let me tell you, you're the luckiest woman alive," she squealed.

Luckiest woman alive or the most unfortunate. "That guy wants absolutely nothing to do with me," I conceded.

I've been trying to contain my anger ever since he told me never to show my face in front of him again and called me a weakling. I've never met someone so downright rude yet unbelievably charming.

"He flat out told me to never show my face to him again, Celine. Who says that to a girl they're meeting for the first time?"

"Wait! I thought you said he saved you from those jerks. I'd be grateful if I were you," she said, twirling a strand of her hair.

"Yes, he did. But he also embarrassed me. And just as he wanted, I'm never going to see him again, even if it means I'll research wherever I go. I wonder where he's from. Clearly, no one taught him how to be a gentleman."

"Maybe, but he sure knows how to handle you in bed!" Celine chimed in.

"Celine! That was a dream," I snapped, sitting up, now clearly irritated.

"No, Freya, you mean a whole bunch of steamy dreams! You wouldn't be blushing if I wasn't onto something," she teased, wearing a huge grin. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Get out!" I yelled and shoved her off my bed. The last thing I wanted was for her to remind me of those dreams with the guy. I want to forget about him and get my act together. But it's hard when Celine is clearly obsessed with the man.

"Okay, okay, I'm going. I'll let you sleep," she said, getting up from the floor, but still laughing.

"Thank you. PLEASE close the door on your way out," I pleaded, emphasizing the "please."

"No need to beg, my chicken nugget. But mark my words, the man doesn't know you yet. He'll fall for you!" She said, turning towards the door, still facing me.

I chuckled at that.

"I hope he visits your dreams again," she said before leaving.

Sleep eluded me for the first hour. I tossed and turned until I finally succumbed to slumber.

I woke up just in time to catch the bus and not miss my appointment. It would be foolish to squander this opportunity. And no, my dream guy didn't make a cameo in my dreams.

I glanced into Celine's room; she was sleeping soundly.

I arrived at the mansion's gate about five minutes to five, feeling quite accomplished. Taking the bus was pretty exhausting.

A man approached me, asking questions and inquiring if I had any appointments.

"I'm Freya Killian. I'm here as a care assistant for Mrs. Callum's five o'clock appointment."

"Yes, she's expecting you. Please, follow me."

Before this, I had obtained a diploma certificate in health and social care. Though it's not my ultimate goal, I find satisfaction in providing care and support to those in need. The cherry on top is that they're offering to pay me about five times more than the average rate.

Having never known my parents, I pondered their identities for a long time before deciding to work as a care provider. With the money I earn from all my jobs, I'll eventually enter the field of nursing as a Geriatric nurse.

"Hi, dear. I've been looking forward to meeting you," a lovely elderly woman greeted me with a broad grin. She took my hand and just stood there. She couldn't be less than seventy, yet she appeared well-nourished and strong.

I looked at her, uncertain of what was happening. I thought I was here to care for an elderly person who couldn't move on their own. The woman in front of me seemed like she could hoist a 50-pound bag of rice on her shoulder without breaking a sweat.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm here for an interview," I said with a smile. Her closeness didn't bother me; I couldn't be offended even if I tried.

"Oh, nonsense. No need for an interview. You're hired," she waved her hand as if brushing away my concerns.

"I'm thankful for the opportunity you're giving me. If you could just let me meet my client, then you can brief me on any duties you'd like me to know, ma'am."

"Call me Grandma. I prefer that," she insisted.

"Alright, but I'm not sure that's entirely professional," I protested.

"Well, I'm your employer and your client. I can differentiate between what's professional and what's not. Don't worry; you have nothing to fret about. By the way, you work for yourself, don't you?" she inquired.

This was new to me. What's happening?

"Yes. But what do you need me for if you're not fragile or in need, Grandma?" I asked, using the term "Grandma" didn't sound too bad after all.

"Well, I'm often bored in this enormous house, and I thought it would be wonderful to have you around for company and to cook all those incredible dishes you mentioned on your profile."

My profile! Yes, but cooking wasn't listed in my job requirements.

"Your job requirements? Is that what's concerning you?" She asked as if she could read my mind.

"Yes, Grandma."

"Don't worry, I'll have my grandson add a raise to our original agreement." This is it! The reason she seeks a companion is because of a grandson who's a workaholic, caring only about his job and not his grandma, a grandson devoid of empathy for the elderly.

"No, that's not what I'm talking about," I intervened. She was clearly misunderstanding me.

"You don't want to work with me?" She asked, sadness etched on her face.

"Of course, I want to work with you. I just thought we should clarify things to avoid misunderstandings," I said honestly.

"Good. Now come, let me give you a tour."

Only as she turned away did I fully take in the mansion's splendor. It oozed wealth and luxury from every corner, from the doors and furniture crafted from African blackwood to the drapes, linens, and artwork adorning the walls. I could happily reside here forever and feel utterly content.

"You'll stay in one of these rooms whenever you need to spend more than a day here. And that starts tomorrow. You'll be staying for a few days so I can get accustomed to you." That's reasonable. Care providers often have to live in. It's also reasonable for a client to want time to adjust to the employee's presence. I'll explain to Celine and then find someone to replace me at the club. Paying them what they want to help me should be straightforward.

"Okay."

"Would you like some tea and cookies? I was practicing my culinary skills earlier. Care to give me a rating?" She led me to the spacious and well-equipped kitchen, an experience I'd never had before. I can't wait to share all this with Celine!

The woman is sweet, almost too sweet! This is the kind of work environment I've always wished for.

"Yes, please." She handed me a cookie first, and it was terrible. Has she ever even been in a kitchen?

"Delicious," I said nevertheless. I sipped the tea and let the sweetness revive my taste buds.

"No need to say that if it's not true. I can see it on your face, dear."

"I'm sorry," I replied.

"No need to be. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two."

Before I could respond, I heard the door open, and someone walked in.

"That must be my grandson. Can you go meet him while I tidy up? He's sure to complain about bringing the maids back even though he doesn't like them around."

"Alright, I'll do that."

I walked towards the kitchen door, not looking, and accidentally bumped into a solid figure. I instinctively raised my hand to soothe my forehead and looked up at the face, apologizing for not paying attention and causing the collision.

"What the heck are you doing here?" His voice was dripping with venom.

I blinked twice, wondering if this was some cruel prank. Standing in front of me was the same rude stranger.

My mind raced, trying to process the shock of seeing him again, standing here in front of me. How was this possible? Why was he here?

As the seconds stretched on, I managed to find my voice. "I... I don't know," I stammered, my heart still pounding in my chest.

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