“She also helped embezzle millions at her last place of work.”
She steps to the other side of the island and sweeps the papers into a neat pile before opening a cupboard and dropping them inside the garbage can.
“My grandson decided I needed an assistant in his absence, like I’m not a sixty-nine-year-old woman who has had a successful career and is financially independent. This position is as much to pacify him as it is to help me.”
“You don’t seem like you need help,” I observe.
She points a finger at me. “Now you’re getting it. These people watched me as if I was already picking out my casket and hymns. The fact is, I will not live forever, but I’m still going to live a fuller life than half of them stuck up snoots who wouldn’t recognize fun if it slapped them on their pumped-up lips and bounced on their fake tits.”
Why is it so startling to witness someone older use naughty words? I mean, they have committed the act far more often than me. They’ve earned the right to swear.
She winks at me like she can hear my thoughts. “You don’t have to give me details of your training and experience.”
I drag my teeth over my bottom lip. “I’m an engineer.”
Her brows raise up. “Now that, I wasn’t expecting. What kind?”
“Nuclear.”
“Hmm.” The kettle whistles. She unfolds her arms and switches the gas off before gripping the handle. She pauses for a second, and I notice a slight tremor down her arm.
I dart to my feet and gently push her out of the way. “Letme do that. If I can’t give you a resume, I can at least make the tea.”
She huffs as she relents and slides onto the stool I vacated. “You’re from the East Coast.”
I nod as my shoulders stiffen. It’s the accent. I locate the fridge and pull out the milk before finding the sugar cubes in a pot. Next, I locate a small jug and pour some milk inside it.
“Do you like books?” she asks.
“I do.”
“What kind?”
My cheeks flame. How to explain your taste in books is smut to a retiree? “A little of this and that.”
I pull open a drawer, looking for a spoon, and instead find a variety of cakes. Choosing a chocolate brownie, I open a few cupboards before finding the plates, and serve one on it with a fork.
Helen’s eyes never leave me. “Romance,” she guesses.
“Yes.”
She smirks. “Dirty romance.”
I shrug. She laughs. “Oh, the group is going to love you.”
I frown. “Group?”
“The book club I host every Tuesday evening.”
I prepare the tea in a flowery pot that is out of place in the modern sleek kitchen. Her words filter into my brain. My gaze snaps to hers.
“You’re offering me the job?” I whisper. That seems implausible. I must have misheard her.
“I am.”
I round the counter and sit on the stool next to her before I sink to the floor and embarrass myself.
“We can do a week’s trial. Where are you staying?” she asks.
