Page 23 of Unsuitable

Or that’s what I tell myself.

But I figure, if I say it enough, then I’ll start to believe it one day.

Kas’s head is tilted, his jaw tight but his eyes appraising, like he was expecting more.

Almost like he was expecting…retaliation.

Why would he think I’d retaliate?

Because I’ve been in prison; therefore, I’m a thug.

God, I’m so fucking done here.

This guy is the biggest of all arses. I just want to get my job done.

The thing that’s bothering me most is that he hired me, knowing I have a criminal record. Why do that if he wants to be a complete tool to me?

Maybe he gets off on it—belittling people.

Well, he can do what he wants, say what he wants.

Because I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just care that he pays my wages at the end of every week.

“We’re done here,” he says blandly, like he’s suddenly bored.

And I take leave before he can say anything else shitty to me.

Seven

After changing into my work outfit, which surprisingly fits me, I get to work. I figure I’ll begin downstairs. So, I make a start on the kitchen.

By the time one o’clock rolls around, every surface in the kitchen is shining. The oven is sparkling, inside and out, and the floor is so clean that you could eat your dinner off it.

Speaking of eating, my stomach is rumbling.

I wash up my hands and grab my bag from where I left it hanging in the coat closet in the hallway. Then, I head outside to the back garden as the sun has made a rare appearance, and I’m determined to enjoy it while it’s here.

I do a little wandering around the huge back garden where it’s clear that it’s been lovingly cared for. A lot of hard work has gone into this garden.

I can’t see Kas-hole—see what I did there?—getting his hands dirty with gardening, so I’m guessing he has a gardener. Unless his parents do the gardening.

I wonder when they’ll be back. Hopefully, they’re nicer than their son.

But then, if they raised that miserable twat…I shouldn’t hold out much hope.

It’s such a shame he’s a wanker because he’s really good-looking. Shame his personality spoils what could have been a perfect person.

I spy a bench by a colorful shrubby, so I decide to sit there.

I take out my phone and check it.

There’s just one text from Cece, sent a few hours ago. Not surprising, as she’s the only person who has my number—well, aside from Kas-hole and my probation officer.

How’s your first day going?

I type back.

My new boss is a wanker. But, aside from that, good. The house is beautiful.