Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, no,no.
My smile stiffens, because the honest truth isyes. I can cook. Very well. I can cook a wide variety of things. I amknownfor cooking. And baking, even. Most of the time, I’m the one bringing the pastries and the snacks to all my book club meetings. Sometimes, I get asked to do birthdays or baby showers, and there was that one wedding when Mrs. Levine got married. I’ve been paid to cook for gatherings at churches and for other clubs at least a few dozen times.
Icancook, and the truth is that a live-in position would save me so much money on rent and gas and frustration and dealing with bratty children and unknown interactions with strangers. The only reason to turn down this job is a truth I cannot share with a wealthy client.
Mostly because Mr. Lundberg wouldkillme if he knew I looked this man dead in the eyes and said,I don’t like you, and also you’re scary.
Therefore, my gazeskidsoff him, and I fumble. “Oh, um, well. You know. Can’tanyonecook? I myself mostly cook, um, ramen. But.” It’s true. Ramen is my go-to. Never mind that I make it full anime style, with veggies and broth and meat, then arrange it all in my pretty pink and my roommate’s pretty purple authentic ramen bowls before I take pictures that I sometimes send to my guy group of friends.
I makeramen.
Probably, most likely, three-minute packet…not homemade, obviously, don’t be stupid…um…ramen.
The man, who just boughtthisplace and calls itsmall, says, “I love ramen.”
Oh.
That’s.
Great…
Mouth going dry, I say, “Who doesn’t?” I should have picked something more controversial. Like olives, or okra, or anchovies.
I blink, returning my gaze to the big, scary man when I am certain he has said insane words, that I surely could not quite make out correctly. “Come…again?”
“Salary starts at a hundred grand, and you can begin as soon as is most convenient for you.”
A hundred thousand dollars?He wants to pay me as much as he’ll pay the government in taxes for this place? That’s…insane. There has to be a catch. Like winding up in a body bag after my first week. My kidney, I betcha, sells for that much.
I roll the excess of my apron tie around my fingers. “Is there…rent?”
“That would be silly, wouldn’t it? Room and board is obviously included in the position. And it’s full time, so I will be discussing benefits with my assistant when we draft the work agreement. I’d prefer to poach you directly from Mr. Lundberg rather than go through him, if it’s all the same to you.”
I…
This is how I die, isn’t it?
Swallowing hard, I say, “I’ll have to think about it. It’s a big decision.”
His brows lower. “You have to think about taking a massive raise?”
I mull my words over for a minute, realize that once again there’s no polite way to mince them, and say, “I’d want to make sure it’s a…safe environment. I’d ask you to complete a background check before I put myself so solidly in your care.”
He stares at me.
He looks down at himself.
He says, “Ah.”
Okay.
Thank goodness.
He gets it.
He understands.
He has just computedshe is small, I am largein his brain and come to the conclusion that a single woman and a single man in close cohabitation like this is troubling for the powerless party without taking further precautions.
