Isabella couldn't wait for the door to close behind her as she scurried to her quarters. The whole scene with Mark Matthews had left her flushed and teary. "Please ground, swallow me up," she thought, the vivid encounter replaying in her mind like a scene from an unexpected drama.
In her quarters, the dim light offered a refuge for her racing thoughts. Isabella, still in the grip of bewilderment, couldn't help but replay the events in the kitchen. The unexpected gaze, the charged atmosphere, the chiding remark—all of it seemed like a surreal dance she had stumbled into.
Isabella struggled with the restlessness that often accompanied her first nights in unfamiliar surroundings. It was the very reason she had woken up that morning exhausted as she had barely slept all night. She had gone to the kitchen with the hope of making use of the coffee maker she had seen the previous evening.
In her exhaustion, she had turned on the faucet neck too hard which had broken it, and the more she tried to fix it, the worse it got. Before long, the floor was getting flooded, and Isabella began to panic.
That was when she heard his voice behind her. The sudden voice startled her, she turned around to find a strange face with a full beard staring at her and for a minute she thought he was a burglar. It was when he spoke she realized he was her new boss.
His hazel eyes had locked onto hers, like he was looking deep into her soul and it was when his gaze wandered to her chest region that she remembered she was naked beneath the white nightie. The intensity of that moment lingered, a memory she attempted to bury while she shrugged off the damp nightie.
In her mind's eye, she revisited the vivid image of him standing before her, he looked different from his portrait with his full beard, clad in a slick black button-up shirt. The cufflinks, bearing his initials "M.M" bespoke a tailored elegance that complemented his commanding presence.
Raindrops cascaded from his drenched clothes, forming a puddle beneath him, yet his allure remained undiminished.
Isabella had wanted to make a good impression on her first day, but that had quickly gone sour. Men like Mark Matthews tended to take first impressions seriously, and as she fought back her tears, she wondered if that small faucet accident was going to cost her the job already.
While she showered, she debated her options. Should she consider going back to her old job at the diner? Antonio would be glad to have her back, after all. She could make do until another job opportunity came around, but when would that be?
No, she decided as she changed into her work clothes. All her life, she had been an underdog. She had faced men like him before at the diner, who thought because they were rich they could bully or harass anyone, and she always stood up to them. This time would be no different. She wasn't going to be bullied by Mark Matthews.
With her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she left her room and focused on her work. She brewed the coffee and then cleaned up the mess in the kitchen until there was no sign of the incident.
By the time she was done, over two hours had passed, and it was close to midday. Yet, her boss was still not downstairs from his room.
Isabella summoned her courage and ascended the stairs to his room at the end of the hallway. She knocked gently, hoping for a favorable response. No answer came, so she tried again.
Just as she was about to knock for the third time, the door swung open to reveal Mark Matthews, bare-chested, wearing silk pajama pants. His black hair was tousled, but his previously tired, reddened eyes seemed clearer now.
"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Matthews, but I was wondering if you would like some breakfast," Isabella ventured.
He scoffed, replying, "No, thank you. I'll pass."
Isabella held the door before he could close it and, with a deep sigh, said, "Look, I'm sorry about flooding the kitchen. That was an accident… but I won't let you judge me based on that one incident."
Seeing that he was listening intently, she continued, "If you don't mind, I would like to move past that and do my job… so I am asking, I already made coffee, would you like some toast with that?"
For a brief moment, Mark was quiet, and Isabella wondered if she had overstepped. Then, with a hint of amusement, he replied, "Yeah, coffee with toast would be nice. Thank you… I'll be down in a minute."
With that, he went back into the room, closing the door behind him. Isabella breathed a sigh of relief and headed back downstairs.
By the time Mark arrived downstairs a few minutes later, he had donned a shirt over the pajama pants and slipped into a pair of bedroom slippers.
Isabella tried to keep herself busy in the kitchen as he ate, hoping he wouldn't have any complaints. He must have read her thoughts because, after a while, he said, "You don't have to hover around me. I have no complaints; the toast is decent."
"Well, I'm glad you like it. Aside from fixing broken water faucets, I am decent in other areas," she replied sarcastically.
He seemed to find that funny as he smiled and then answered, "Well, a decent toast doesn't mean much… anyone can make one."
He is even more egocentric than I imagined, Isabella thought
"Well, thank you for saying that. Would you like more toast?" she asked.
"No, that's alright," he said as he got up and left her in the kitchen without so much as a thank you.
As the days unfolded, Isabella settled into her new role at Mark Matthews' residence. The contrast between her current job and the bustling restaurant where she had previously worked was stark.
The elegant mansion demanded less physical exertion, with rooms that required little cleaning. Mark's penchant for seclusion—shutting the world out of his home—unintentionally turned out to be a blessing in disguise for Isabella.
Compared to the relentless pace of her previous job, where she navigated through tables and dealt with a spectrum of customers—from the rude and obnoxious to the leering perverts—her new position felt like a tranquil haven.
The relative calm allowed her to focus on her evening classes at the community college three times a week, a pursuit that added a layer of purpose to her life.
However, amidst the newfound bliss, there was one major thorn in Isabella's side—her boss, Mark Matthews.
Since their tense, close encounter, she has been putting in extra effort to avoid him. Despite her best attempts, the mansion seemed to conspire against her, leading to unexpected run-ins with Mark that left her feeling uneasy.
He barely seemed to acknowledge her existence. Since the first day, he had barely said a dozen words to her, and most times it was usually curt and formal, leaving her embarrassed most of the time. She avoided any major encounter with him as best as she could till the incident in his home office.
His home office, the one place Isabella had been restricted from since she started her job, was unusually ajar that afternoon as she rounded up her chores.
Inside, she found a mess, as if he had been frantically searching for something. Clusters of documents were scattered around the huge polished mahogany table, and crumpled paper littered the floor.
Unable to resist, Isabella started arranging the documents on the table. As she glanced around, her eyes fell upon a small cabinet fixed into the right leg of the huge table, its door slightly ajar. She approached and opened it, expecting to find a few documents, but what she discovered left her breathless.
Rows of prescription medication bottles greeted her, their labels adorned with the names of powerful painkillers and sedatives. Beside them lay several half-empty bottles of expensive liquor, their contents reflecting the soft glow of the office light.
Isabella's heart raced as she realized the significance of what she had found. Could these medications be the reason for her employer's sudden disappearance from public life? Had he been struggling with substance abuse issues all along?
The non-disclosure agreement she had been made to sign suddenly made sense, but it also left her with a sense of unease.
What kind of man had she just started working for? Was he dangerous? And what had he been up to since he vanished from the public eye?
She smelled his cologne before she heard his voice gruffly behind her. "What are you doing?"
She spun around in surprise, quickly composing herself. "The door was open, and I couldn't help but notice the mess here."
"Everything here is in its rightful place… the only one who shouldn't be here is you," he said with a little spite in his tone.
Isabella, who was getting used to his coldness, replied, "I am sorry. I was just trying to help."
"If I need your help, I will let you know," he replied.
By now, Isabella was fed up with his attitude toward her. Since the first day, he made her feel unwelcome despite her best efforts and she needed to know why, so she faced him and asked "Can I ask you a question, Mr Matthews?"
"What's that?" He asked with little interest
"Why did you hire me?" Isabella asked him undeterred.
"Excuse me?" he said with a confused look.
"You have been against me from day one, so I wonder why you hired me in the first place."
"I didn't hire you. Elizabeth did" he told her rather sternly.
"Yes, but she said you liked my interview"
Shaking his head, he answered "She lied… I had nothing to do with the hiring process. I didn't even want a housekeeper"
The look on his face told her he was telling the truth and it all started to make sense to her why he always acted like he didn't want her around.
At that point, she decided that if this would be the end, she would go down with her pride.
"Then fire me. I would rather you fire me than treat me like some worthless slave… so go on, fire me, and let's be done with it," She said with defiance.
"If you do not like the job, feel free to leave" he shot back at her.
"I can't do that. I kinda need the job, '' she answered.
By now, they were standing in front of each other like two boxers ready to exchange blows.
"So, either let me do the job I was hired for or grow some balls and fire me"
A sudden hush fell in the room as they both sized each other up, her heart beating heavily in her heart as she waited for what was to come next.
After what seemed like an eternity, his stance seemed to soften and he finally said "I better not be missing any document when you are done… and stay away from my cabinet." Without waiting for her reply, he stormed out, leaving her alone in the room.
Immediately she was alone, Isabella's feet turned to water beneath her as she sank into the nearest chair, unable to believe the scene that had just played out. She was so sure he would fire her on the spot but she held his gaze in defiance, not willing to look weak in front of him.
With the adrenaline finally wearing off a few moments later, she got up and continued with her cleaning. She would live to fight another day.
The house lay bathed in a serene stillness later that night, and Isabella, driven by a sudden yearning for fresh air, ventured into the well-manicured backyard. The path led her to the bench located on the far end of the hill the house was built on, an intimate vantage point overlooking the ocean's expanse.
Since the faucet encounter, she had decided to forgo her silk nightgown. Tonight, she opted for an oversized sweater that reached her knees and cotton shorts barely visible beneath the sweater. On her feet, she wore a pair of rubber slides and on second thoughts added a pair of cotton socks to keep her feet warm.
As she approached, a silhouette came into view. Mark Matthews sat on the bench, his gaze fixed on the moonlit waves. The rhythmic sound of the ocean provided a soothing backdrop, contrasting with the distant echoes of laughter and music from the lively beach party below.
She hadn't noticed him there earlier, and he must have heard her coming because he turned around to face her before she could turn back.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Matthews, I didn't know you were here. I should go," she said, backtracking.
"It's alright. I don't mind the company," he called after her.
"Really?" she asked, surprised at his response.
"Yes," he answered. "Why do you seem so surprised?" he asked her.
"Well, since I started here, It's been obvious you don't want me around," she said as she sat on his left on the bench.
"But somehow you are still here, aren't you? Getting rid of you so far has proven unsuccessful," he said with a shadow of what looked like a smile on his face.
"You could have fired me earlier, why didn't you?"
For a second she thought he wouldn't reply, and then he sighed and said "I dunno… maybe I respected the way you stood up for yourself. You have no idea how much people suck up to me, hoping to earn my favor. It's so annoying."
Isabella couldn't believe her ears. She had spent the best part of her first week there rueing her decision to come to work there, thinking she probably wasn't cut out for the job, meanwhile, it had never really been about her.
"What about that part about not wanting a housekeeper?"
"Oh, that part was true. But to be fair, the house does look better since you came around" he answered casually.
Was that a compliment he just gave me? She wondered.
"You said you needed the job… Why is that?" he asked suddenly.
Isabella wondered if it was wise to tell him about her problems and after a brief contemplation, she told him about her mother's injury and how it was up to her to provide for her upkeep as well as pay her way through community college.
When she got to the part about her mum and the dog, he burst out laughing. It was a deep and sonorous laugh and it felt like the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
After listening to her story, he sighed deeply and said, "Maybe I shouldn't try to get rid of you so bad then," and with that, He passed her an expensive-looking bottle of red wine, she hadn't noticed earlier from his right side on the bench. The label was unreadable in the dark of the night.
As she held the bottle, he must have read her thoughts and so he said, "It tastes better straight from the bottle."
Isabella took a swig and let the wine stay in her mouth a bit before she swallowed.
Although she never liked the taste of red wine, this wine felt different—smooth, with a complexity that seemed to reveal each ingredient with every taste.
Isabella, emboldened by the magical elixir, took swigs that grew longer, melting away the initial tension she was feeling. Soon, in a moment of uninhibited curiosity, she couldn't contain her question any longer.
"So I know you are rich and all… but what exactly do you do? For someone who isn't an actor, you are quite popular"
He chuckled when she said that before saying "Well what I do is kinda complicated… but you can say I am a celebrity to your celebrities.
Sensing his reluctance to discuss that, she replied, "I don't understand what that means but that's ok… everyone can have their secrets" which earned another chuckle from him.
Soon, the wine-fueled conversation took a turn, and Isabella decided to satisfy her curiosity about some of the gossip she had heard about his dating life.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" She asked in a hopeful voice.
"Well, If I say no would you respect that"
"Probably not" she answered almost immediately
"Then ask." He said with a sigh
She didn't need a second invitation. "So, what happened with the McCarthy twins?"
Mark's reaction was unexpected. Shock crossed his face, but instead of anger, a burst of laughter escaped him for the second time that night—a beautiful, sonorous laugh that echoed in the stillness of the night. She found herself smiling along with him.
"So, you heard about that, huh?"
"The whole city heard about it," Isabella replied. "It was the biggest news on social media for a whole month."
"The real story isn't as crazy as you think. The twins are identical, and I couldn't tell one from the other. I had no way of knowing it was Rose with me at the hotel that night, pretending to be her sister Lily."
As Mark shared the details, Isabella's imagination painted a scene of rivalry and confusion. The McCarthy twins, not your typical identical pair, had become the talk of the city.
"So, you weren't dating both sisters at the same time?"
"No, as a matter of fact, you could say I was just a victim of their rivalry."
Laughter bubbled between them, a shared amusement at the absurdity of the situation.
The conversation flowed seamlessly, touching on high-profile incidents involving Mark—his friendship with Sean Miller, the rumored poker games only celebrities were invited to, and the famed mask party at Eric Norqvist's island.
For the first time, Isabella felt she saw the real Mark Matthews. Not the grumpy boss who scowled at her but the man behind the mask. Finally, when it was well past midnight, and two empty wine bottles later, they agreed it was time to head to bed.
As she was about to turn towards her room, she called out after him "Thank you for tonight, Mr Matthews… You are not so bad after all"
He was already on the stairs towards his room when she said this so he turned and with a teasing smile replied, "Don't get too comfortable yet... I still think you are annoying". On his face was a familiar look she had seen once before… on the morning the soaked nightie had made her vulnerable to his gaze.
As Isabella drifted into sleep, the look lingered on her mind. Why did he look at her that way?