“Mhm.” I bite my tongue so hard I taste regret.
Ms. Greta—or as I like to call her, Ms. Grinch—has been a nightmare since day one. I’m pretty sure she’s the reason they ran my background check twice. She was probably annoyed I got the job. Maybe I was the only one who was available. I don’t careabout the reasoning. I am glad I am here and I hope she chokes on coal.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to relax. For the next two days, I’ll be living luxuriously in a six-bedroom house with a hot tub and unlimited Wi-Fi. Christmas heaven. I’ve always loved the holiday…..the carols, the baking, the sparkle of lights. If there was a place where it was Christmas every day, I’d move there in a heartbeat.
Growing up in the Snow household, Christmas was just another “shitty day covered in sparkles,” according to my dad. Last year, they didn’t even bother putting up a tree. I never understood how I came from people so allergic to joy.
But this year is different. This is my last Christmas in Louisiana. I’m going out big. By January 1st, I’ll be in Italy, studying art at John Cabot University. I can already smell the arancini.
All I have to do is not screw this up. The Oakleys already paid me two grand upfront and will send another three after Christmas Day. Five thousand dollars for two days of luxury. If that’s not divine favor, I don’t know what is.
People like Ms. Grinch just need a little holiday cheer—or maybe a nice candy cane sized dick.
“Are you doing anything for the holidays?” I ask her.
She sighs. “No. I’ll be in the office. Here.” She hands me a folder. “House rules, my number, the alarm code, and a credit card for food and emergencies.”
An Amex. My eyes widen. I’ve never seen one in person. How rich are these people?
“Don’t get too happy,” she says sharply. “I’ll be monitoring everything—including the outdoor cameras.”
“There aren’t any inside, right?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Oakley value privacy. They don’t like to feel watched in their own home.”
“Got it.” I am barely holding in my excitement. Too bad, because if she stays a minute longer, she’ll get a show.
“Alright. I’ll leave you to it.” Her heels click across the marble as she reaches the door, giving me one last glare.
I smile sweetly and wave. “Merry Christmas!”
The moment the door shuts, I dial my best friend.
“Is the Grinch gone?” Dayana answers immediately.
“Yes. Two zoom interviews, two background checks, walking in the snow after hitting a deer and all my nails bitten off—but I got it.”
“Wait, you hit a deer?”
“Yeah. It came out of nowhere. I was planning to sell that car before I left anyway.”
“Good thing that death trap’s done for. You should be ashamed for keeping it this long,” she says, kissing her teeth.
Rolling my eyes, I flip the camera to give her a tour. “Look at this place.”
“GIRL. This is nice.” Day says in her best Tiffany Hiddard voice. “I’m proud of you—living the dream!”
“It’s not real yet, but in few years, it will be. I’ll be a famous artist—or at least teaching art classes.”
“Manifest it,” she says.
I walk into the kitchen and nearly scream. Two stoves, two ovens, two of everything. The entire space looks like it belongs in Architectural Digest. Greta only gave me a quick tour, I didn’t get a chance to look around and take it all in.
“Can you see me cooking in here?” I grab a pan and pretend to flip pancakes.
Dayana laughs. “Look at you, Martha Stewart! I wish I was there.”
“I wish you were too, but you and Aidan had to go play Snowbound Lovers.”
