Chapter 6 - The Morning Light
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I woke up buried under a mountain of heavy silk blankets. For a terrifying second, I didn't know where I was. Then I saw Chloe sleeping peacefully beside me, her small face relaxed and warm, and the memory of the previous night washed over me.
I slipped out of the massive bed and walked into the adjoining bathroom. Stacked neatly on the marble counter were brand-new clothes—a soft cashmere sweater and perfectly fitted dark jeans. Martha must have guessed my size.
I showered, dressed, and walked hesitantly out of the guest suite.
The house was incredibly quiet. I followed the smell of fresh coffee down the grand staircase and into a kitchen that belonged in a magazine.
James was sitting at the massive granite island, reading a tablet and sipping coffee. He wore a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, looking remarkably different from the intimidating CEO in a tailored suit.
He looked up as I entered.
“Good morning,” he said, setting the tablet down. “Did you sleep?”
“I did. Thank you,” I replied, hovering near the doorway. “Mr. Whitmore, I—”
“James,” he corrected me, pulling out a barstool next to him. “Sit down, Grace. We need to talk.”
I walked over and sat down, my heart beginning to race. This was the moment he would hand me a few hundred dollars and send me to a homeless shelter. The charity of billionaires only lasted so long.
He slid a manila folder across the smooth granite counter toward me.
“What is this?” I asked, staring at it.
“Open it,” he instructed softly.
My hands shook as I flipped the folder open. Inside was a formal employment contract printed on heavy, embossed corporate stationary.
Position: Executive Estate Manager.
Salary: $120,000 annually, plus full medical benefits.
I gasped, all the air leaving my lungs. I looked up at him, completely horrified.
“I can't accept this,” I stammered, pushing the folder back. “This is a joke. I scrub floors, James. I don't have a college degree. I have absolutely no qualifications to manage an estate like this.”
James didn't move the folder. He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that pinned me to the chair.
“You kept my restaurant immaculate without a single complaint for six months,” James stated, his voice a low, vibrating hum. “You raised a polite, beautiful child while starving to death. You possess more resilience and integrity in your little finger than half the executives sitting in my boardroom.”
May you like
He reached across the counter, his large, warm hand gently covering my trembling fingers.
“I don't need a degree, Grace. I need someone I can trust. Please. Let me help you.”
