Chapter 2 - The Summoning
For the next three days, I lived in a state of suspended animation. I scrubbed floors, polished silver, and avoided the west wing like it was a pit of vipers. Every time a shadow passed the staff room door, I held my breath, waiting for security to escort us out.
But the pink slip never came.
Instead, on Thursday morning, Marcus—the head of household staff—walked into the breakroom. He was a man who looked like he had been starched into existence, stern and emotionless. He didn't look at the other cleaners. He looked at me.
“Nora,” he said, his voice clipped. “Mr. Moretti wants the staff room brought up to the west wing. Immediately.”
The room went silent. The other women stared at me with wide, fearful eyes.
“He... he wants me?” I stammered, gripping my mop.
“He wants the girl. The mother comes as the handler,” Marcus replied, his eyes cold.
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Emma, who had been busy coloring in the corner, looked up and beamed. “The cookie man!”
My stomach lurched. This was it. He was either going to fire us, or worse, keep us.
