Chapter One

 

Wouldn't it be great if someone would pay you a really good salary to do exactly what you wanted to do? I've known people who knew exactly what they wanted to do in life and had some kind of profession in mind. Maybe they wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer. I never really had an idea of what I wanted to do.

What I liked to do was lounge around the house and read books, watch TikTok and YouTube videos, and skim through X and Reddit. Sometimes I like to play video games, too, as long as they didn't have a really steep learning curve. But nobody was going to pay me to do all that.

You might be saying to yourself that all of that sounds kind of like stuff you do when you have nothing else to do. But it satisfied me. I guess I have a short attention span, and maybe I'm a little hyperactive. A social life? Well, that's a bit of an issue.

You see, I was not a particularly outgoing girl when adolescence hit me. I developed fairly suddenly and way too obviously in certain areas. That made me incredibly uncomfortable with the way boys were starting to look at me. Boys? Never mind boys, it was the way men were looking at me! Perverts!

So, I started kind of dressing down, wearing loose clothes to disguise the things my body was doing to me. I even wore wraparound elastic bandages for a while to try and flatten out my breasts. On top of this, I had bad eyes. I have myopia and astigmatism, so I had thick glasses.

I hated my hair too because it drew too many comments of the kind that were making me very uncomfortable. I was a blonde, and not a dirty blonde, but had bright, golden hair. So, I died it black and went through a kind of goth period.

Honestly, I can see why some girls hit adolescence and then decide they'd rather be boys. It was way easier to be a boy. I was quite jealous of them for a while and wanted to be one. I certainly wanted to get rid of my breasts. On the other hand, I didn't want some weird-looking things dangling from my groin. I never understood how guys got used to them.

But the thing about boys is that they have fairly low standards when it comes to sex. Even ugly, fat girls managed to find guys willing to date them. And I was neither ugly nor fat. Which meant that guys sought me out anyway. Especially nerdy guys who weren't the best looking and knew they would have no chance with the cooler, sexier girls.

As I went through high school, I was awfully frustrated when it came to my body. I was still very self-conscious about guys noticing me, guys making remarks to me guys staring at me. But alone in my room I could look at myself naked in the mirror and take a kind of forlorn pride.

See, I spent a lot of time on the Internet, and I knew exactly what looks and shapes turned the guys on, and I had them. And sometimes I would kind of shimmy for myself in the mirror, give myself sexy looks, grind my hips, roll my bottom, and imagine guys looking at me with lust and eagerness.

I even took a few videos and pictures with my phone, especially with my glasses off, and then looked at myself afterward to admire how sexy I looked. More than a few times I considered how I could start wearing more formfitting clothes to show myself off at least a little. But I knew the reaction would be embarrassing.

I just was not good with strangers looking at me, much less talking to me!

When I finished high school, I decided that it was time to abandon the whole silly goth thing and dress in a more mature fashion. The problem with that was that I had no money. People online advised me to shop at secondhand stores to save money.

I lived in Queens, a borough of New York City. And the best secondhand stores were smack downtown in Manhattan because all the rich people lived there and they had the best taste, bought the most expensive clothes, and were the most likely to just toss them out after only a few wearings. If you were careful, you could get a pretty nice wardrobe for very little money.

Getting to Manhattan from where I lived in the East of Queens was neither quick nor easy, but I certainly had time on my hands. My mother died when I was little, and my father has been an alcoholic ever since. We lived in a small, banged-up, rundown bungalow that neither of us spent a lot of time cleaning. Even so, he was starting to give me a hassle about being home all the time and not going to college or looking for work.

So, when I went to Manhattan and found a secondhand shop and they had a help wanted sign I kind of stupidly asked about it. It turned out they were desperate for help and hired me on the spot. Of course, the moment I asked, I regretted it.

True, most of the shoppers were female, and not the least bit interested me. But the place was in freaking Midtown Manhattan! Almost all the way West to the river dividing New York from New Jersey. But getting to and from there, especially during rush hour, was a nightmare.

They did have great clothes, though, and I figured I would work there for a bit because then I'd get the first choice of what came in. And I got a discount.

The store got most of its stuff from clothing donated to various charities who either sold it through them on consignment or sold it TO the store for a very low price. But sometimes people brought whole big bags of clothes in and then you had to negotiate with them as to how much you would give them. That could be hugely annoying.

My old man was pissing me off more and more, so of course I started looking around for someplace else to stay now that I was allegedly an adult. The thing was, the consignment store didn't pay all that well, barely above minimum wage. There is nothing in Manhattan you can afford for minimum wage. Unless you go north of Central Park into Harlem. And no way, no how was I doing that.

So, I continued to ride the train and bus back and forth to work as I slowly accumulated a better wardrobe. I figured once I looked better and dressed better, I'd be able to get a better job. Of course, once I started to wear more appropriate clothes and let my blonde hair grow out riding the bus and train became less and less comfortable. Especially in the late evenings since I got the worst shifts.

There are a lot of weirdos in New York City, and the weirdest of them seem to spend a lot of time on the subways and on the buses. I wanted to look more attractive now, but not to these guys! These guys were not just embarrassing, but potentially dangerous.

I started looking for another job, preferably a part-time job because I knew that I could stay on at the store part-time, too. I found the strangest ad online at one of the major job sites. It said:

Girl wanted to do odd jobs, fetching, deliveries, and occasional light housework, answering phones, and making coffee, while not talking or bothering me.

Like, what the hell?!

The girls I work with all laughed over that one, speculating what kind of guy that was - most likely a grumpy old man - and how much it paid. They wanted me to call just to find out more information, but I still wasn't all that extroverted. One of the girls, Zia, an immigrant from Nigeria, called instead.

She came back to where I and the other girl, Carmen, were folding clothes.

"Do you know what he asked me?" she said in delight. "He asked me if I knew how to curtsy!"

"Curtsy? You mean like if you work in Buckingham Palace?" I asked.

"Yeah, like that!"

"What a kook!"

"It wasn't actually the guy that I talked to. It was some agency. They said he was very eccentric and picky and had already turned away a bunch of girls. I guess he doesn't like talking to people. But he wants someone to basically be his bitch, including things like cleaning up spills, answering the door or the phone, or going to fetch drinks or snacks, or doing the laundry."

"It sounds like he wants a maid," Carmen said.

"He also wants someone to take papers and documents around to buildings for him, his dry cleaning, and go and make purchases for him."

"He sounds as lazy as I am," I said.

"Yeah, but he's got money," Carmen said with a smirk.

"Lots of it," Zia said. "The address is on 68^th Street. That's the Upper West Side."

"It's not that far from here," I said.

"No, but it's actually a full-time job, not part-time. They're just so desperate they'll take someone part-time. They said this guy is hard to please. And it comes with room and board."

My ears perked up at that. It sounded weird, but I figured some rich guy hiring through an agency wasn't likely to be completely demented. I didn't tell the other girls, but I called the agency when I was alone.

They had me send my resume, which was pretty small and bare, and also a picture. Why? Because the guy was peculiar and picky, they said. They also said he didn't want anyone with an accent, which I took to mean he didn't want any minorities. Normally, I wouldn't want anything to do with such a person, but I was kind of desperate.

Anyway, they sent my picture and resume to him, and by the end of the day, when I should've been heading home, they told me he was free that evening for an interview. That made me suspicious, but they assured me he was a very conservative older man who worked during the day and didn't want to be interrupted or disturbed then.

I shrugged and decided to give it a try. I rode the subway north, got off, walked a couple of blocks through one of the city's safer neighborhoods, and found the address that was given. I expected some giant condominium tower, you know like the ones they're putting up on Billionaires Row.

But this was a three-story building, four if you included the attic. It looked about a hundred years or more old, and mostly dark white stone with lots of carvings and decorations around the windows. I stepped up to the door and rang the bell three times fast, just like I was instructed.

I was expecting some old man, like a senior citizen. The man who opened the door was certainly much older than me, but I wouldn't exactly call him old. I put him somewhere in his late forties. He had thick, tousled brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and several days' growth of hair that might or might not be a light beard and mustache.

He didn't look like a crazy man, at least, and he was wearing a gray suit that was obviously tailor-made. He looked extremely respectable, the kind of man you automatically called 'sir'. He kind of looked me up and down as I stood there uncertainly.

"My name is -."

"Come in," he said in something of a growl.

"Autumn..."

I scrambled through the ornate doorway as he stepped back and watched him push the heavy door closed again behind me. He was quite a tall man and looked reasonably fit.

He turned and looked at me again, frowning.

"I don't like chatty girls," he said. "I like someone who does as they're told without asking a lot of questions and doesn't try to gossip about the weather or try to tell me about what some personality is doing on some TV show I don't watch."

"Um, okay. I mean yes, Sir."

"Why are you wearing that?" he asked, frowning at my oversized sweatshirt that hung down to my upper thighs.

Apparently, he might not like questions from others but didn't feel he should be able to ask them.

What a Dick, I thought.

"And why is your hair like that? Is that some kind of weird new style?"

By this time, my blonde hair had grown down past my chin. But the dark brown hair that I had dyed hung past my shoulders. I usually bunch my hair up and back, so it didn't really show at work. And of course, I didn't care what it looked like at home. I'll talk about my nonexistent social life later.

"I'm letting my hair grow out from the dye job I had and I'm wearing this because I have to ride the subway back to Queens and there's a lot of perverts on it that I would rather not have gawking at me. Sir," I said.

"Why don't you just get the rest of your hair dyed blonde?"

"Because that cost money, and I'm going to cut it soon anyway."

"Women should always have long hair," he said.

Then he turned away and said, "Let me show you the room."

He walked down a wide, marble hall. The walls were all covered in panels of some kind of heavy, glossy, expensive dark brown wood. He stopped before what I at first thought was a doorway, and now realized was a small elevator. It opened and he stepped inside. I followed and realized it was quite a small elevator with barely room for the two of us.

The doors closed and I licked my lips a little nervously, staring at the center of his chest. I raised my eyes but found him looking at the wall. I thought to say something, but he said he didn't like a lot of chatter. So, I decided that the remaining quiet might impress him more than anything stupid I might say.

We got off on the top floor and walked down another marble floor, to a door set at the end of the hall. This turned out to be a stairway and he walked up the narrow, curving staircase as I followed. The room was apparently in the attic.

I was fairly sure I was going to turn this down. Working with this guy would be weird. But I figured I'd see how bad the room was, first.

He opened the door and stepped aside. "This is where the butler lived when they had a butler here. You might as well take this."

Apparently, they treated butlers well in the old days. This wasn't a room, but a suite. There was a small but cozy living room by the door with a comfortable-looking loveseat facing a modern wall screen on one of those low wooden entertainment center things. There was also a small fireplace in the corner a few feet from the TV. There was a decent-sized dormer window to the right with a little padded bench beneath it looking out onto the street.

Behind the loveseat was a dining room table and past that a small kitchen with modern stainless steel appliances. A doorway led past that to a surprisingly large bedroom with two dormer windows and a large queen-size bed with two bedside tables and a large, low dresser facing it. There was another big TV on the wall above the dresser.

Two doorways past that gave onto a bathroom and closet. The bathroom had clearly been updated fairly recently. It had no tub, and instead where the tub had been or would be was a shower stall. Which was fine with me. I didn't take baths anyway.

It was all way better than I had expected, and frankly, the thought of living here and not having to listen to my father's constant hacking and coughing(he smoked a lot) or his complaints about politicians or his job or the state of the world would be heavenly. In fact, a man who didn't talk much would be heavenly compared to living with my father.

"I want a girl with self-discipline," he said. "I don't want a lazy girl, a whiny girl, or a girl who thinks she's better than she is, or too good to do whatever I tell her to do. The first time I got a secretary who felt she shouldn't have to lower herself to making me a coffee I threw her out on her first day."

"Uhm, what kinds of things would you like me to do?" I asked cautiously.

"What I tell you."

That left an awful wide area. Leaving aside the whole man and woman sex thing.

"You're not fat are you?"

My eyes widened at this question.

"Fat girls have no discipline."

"No, I'm not fat," I said uncertainly.

"I want your measurements."

My jaw dropped at this statement for a moment until he went on.

"For the uniform," he said. "You don't think I'm going to have you walking around my house or coming in and out or greeting people at the door dressed like that, do you?"

This was clearly a guy who didn't care if he offended people.

"And if you're the sensitive, weepy type who wants trigger warnings, you can get out now. I'm not going to change the way I talk or act to please the hired help."

He was starting to piss me off. What an arrogant asshole! Yes, it was a nice room or suite, but I didn't have to put up with his bullshit.

Then he told me what the job paid and that stopped my protest before I had uttered it. It paid about two and a half times what I made at the consignment store. Not counting room and board.

"Um, is there cable and Internet?" I asked in a small voice.

"Of course, there's cable and Internet. Electricity too and running water."

Sarcastic bastard.

"I don't think I can look at that ugly hair, though. You'll have to get it fixed."

My jaw dropped again. Holy God! This guy was such a Dick!

"The guy who comes in to do my hair can do yours."

"Um, you have a guy coming to do your hair?"

"You think I'm going to some kind of salon or barbershop and wait in line with the kind of grubby people who go to such places? There's a full spa in the basement. Along with a gym and sauna. I'll let you use the gym since I don't want you to get fat. I hate fat people. It shows a lack of discipline."

"They could, like, have a medical issue, you know," I said.

"I also don't like people arguing with me. Especially when they're too young and too poorly educated to have wisdom, judgment, or knowledge. And especially when they're female."

I could hardly believe this guy!

"Why aren't you hiring a man then?"

"Because they argue more than women and get their backs up when I tell them to shut their mouths. Men don't like having other men tell them what to do. Women accept orders more easily. It's in their instincts."

He pointed his finger at me as my mouth opened to protest.

"Don't talk."

I closed my mouth on the protest I had been about to make.

"You're hired, on probation for a month. If you don't annoy me too much and don't slack off too much I'll make that permanent. And if you impress me, which I doubt will happen, I will increase your salary commensurate with how much you impress me."

What the fuck does commensurate mean? I thought.

"You have a habit of starting sentences with 'uhm'. Stop doing that. It irritates me."

He took a small key chain out of his suit pocket and tossed it to me. Startled, I managed to catch it.

"Key to the front door, key to your suite, and key to the supply room in the basement. There you will find office and kitchen supplies. There are also written instructions on how to ensure supplies are kept up-to-date. Read them and follow them and try not to bother me with inane questions."

He looked me up and down again.

"I will have Charles make a special trip over here to do your hair. It annoys me every time I look at it."

Well, fuck you! I thought in something like amazement. What an asshole!

Was I really going to work for this arrogant prick?

"Since you're a natural blonde, I expect you have an extremely active sex life. Keep it out of my house."

Then he turned and walked away just like that!

I stared at his back and then the doorway he disappeared through, more than slightly peeved. Then I turned and looked around at the bedroom, and then walked through to the living room. I sat down on the loveseat, at that point almost looking for an excuse to tell him no.

There was a remote control on the coffee table and I picked it up and pressed power. The TV, I noted, was accompanied by speakers both underneath it and to either side of the entertainment center. It certainly had great sound as it came to life.

At the bottom of the screen was a list of apps. It included Netflix, HBO Max, Apple TV+, Prime Video, Disney+, Warner, Paramount+, AMC+, YouTube Premium, ESPN, and others I had never even heard of!

Maybe, I thought, I could put up with him for a little while, especially if I didn't have to talk to him much. From the sounds of it, he wasn't the chatty type anyway.

Plus, I'd get my hair styled for free. That was a decent bonus. I really didn't like the way it looked either, to be honest. I was just too mulish to pay someone to dye the bottom half of my hair.