Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) (17 page)

A few hundred yards inside the gate, Sonia descended into the densely wooded expanse. A curving quarter mile later, she emerged in a clearing at the top of yet another hill.

As Sonia crested the hill and looked down the gentle slope on the other side, her bedazzled eyes took in a spectacular scene. The centerpiece mansion was as described and much more. With a large circle in front, the home swept from side to side for hundreds of feet, with an arch-windowed ballroom visible to the left and an attached greenhouse and solarium to the right. Off the north wing of the home sat a detached, gable-style 8-car garage. A recently trimmed and tended garden maze sloped off to the south and down a slight incline. The center third of the home’s solid white façade sat behind a half-dozen, evenly-spaced, three-foot-diameter, channel-cut, marble columns, all supporting a twelve-foot-deep, twenty-foot-high, overhanging roof line.

Sonia found herself comforted and concerned as she took in the view. It supported her Paulson sister’s portrayal of the potential employer as well-connected and flush. But the property seemed utterly vacant, with not another soul in sight save for the owner of the lone Jaguar sitting in the first bay. Rolling her car to a stop in the circle, Sonia squinted apprehensively at the main entrance. Creepy.

She slipped into her jacket and grabbed her leather portfolio from the front passenger seat and dismounted her steed. Climbing three marble steps to the solid marble porch, she approached two, ten-foot-tall, solid slabs of hand-carved mahogany.

A garter strap had sagged, requiring immediate attention before passing through the looking glass. Sonia adjusted her blouse to highlight just a hint of cleavage and took one last pass at smoothing her outfit.

No doorbell, just a huge pair of knockers. Sonia banged loudly and straightened some more while waiting for the door to open, puffing away an errant lock of poorly-gelled hair.

The door opened and a tall, dark-haired, bespoke-suited man stepped forward, smiling and extending his hand.

“Good afternoon, Miss Nichols! I’m Rory St. Cloud.”

Sonia immediately came to an earthy assessment.
“Oh… My… GOD! I want to have his baby! Don’t flirt, don’t flirt, don’t flirt…”

Grainy black and white images in the Journal did the businessman no favors. Athletic in build and not-quite-30 years old, Rory stood at least 6’1” tall, looming over the 5’4” applicant. With an Anglo-square face and traditionally cut dark hair, Sonia thought he looked a little like Cary Grant. The suite was charcoal, the shirt, a tailored spread-collar in pure white. A blue and yellow striped, imported silk tie and gold-set, 1-carat, diamond cuff links rounded out his ensemble. A recent tan only added to his playboy mystique.

An unexpected scent tickled Sonia’s nose and she took a subtle sniff.
“Oh my God! He has more money than God and he’s wearing Polo? Really? What a dweeb! What a sexy, sweet looking, totally HOT dweeb… I HAVE to marry this guy!”

Sonia eyed Rory up and down, finishing her scan with a daffy, distant stare into his smiling, sky blue eyes. Rory’s voice brought her back to earth.

“Miss Nichols. Miss Nichols. Is everything alright?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Good afternoon, Mr. St. Cloud! It’s my pleasure to finally meet your flesh!” Sonia winced. “I mean… ‘Meet you in the flesh’.” She winced again. “I mean…”

Rory laughed graciously, ushering the applicant into the foyer. “I know what you mean, Miss Nichols. It’s my pleasure to finally meet you, too. You come highly recommended by people who would do me physical harm if I didn’t take their advice. Regina has been raving about you for weeks. She wouldn’t stop hounding me until I agreed to meet you. I understand you two were classmates at Paulson?”

“Yes sir. Class of ‘81. Paulson Proud, Paulson LOUD!” she exclaimed, punctuating her shout with a raised fist. Then, Sonia got quiet, hunched forward, and lifted her index finger to her lips. She glanced back and forth as if preparing to share a state secret. “And sir… If you ever want to get a rise out of one Regina Celeste Showalter, just call her Reggie. She
hates
that. That was her nickname on the field hockey team.”

Rory chuckled. “Well I’ll be sure to try that sometime… As long as I remove the breakables. Our ‘Reggie’ has quite a temper!”

“That she does, sir, and I still have the bruises to prove it! But… If you don’t mind me asking… I’m curious about something Reggie said when she first contacted me for this position. She must have been kidding. Is it true that you only hire Paulson girls?”

“Yes. That’s true. I only hire Paulson girls.”

“But… You didn’t go to Paulson, did you? I mean… It’s always been women-only, unless I’m missing something.”

“I didn’t, and it clearly is.” Rory joined Sonia under the moon-sized chandelier. She stared in wonder at prismatic rainbows streaking down the inside wall. Jacket buttoned, Rory casually tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and joined her in the view. “One of my first hires at my agency was a Paulson grad. She was an amazing find. When I needed to hire an Account Executive, she recommended a Paulson friend and she was just as gifted. One thing led to another and soon I found myself surrounded by Paulson girls. Over 80% of my staff are Paulson grads. So when it came time to hire for the estate, Paulson was the natural place to turn. I guess you can say I’m a creature of habit.”

Scanning the foyer, an unvarnished thought slipped past Sonia’s internal monologue. “Wow… This place looks empty.”

“Indeed it is, Miss Nichols. We are the only ones here. And…” Rory added with an arch of his eyebrows, “I’m secretly an ax murderer…”

Sonia swiveled toward the boss and took a step back, eyes widening. “Sir…?”

Laughing, Rory undid his lame joke. “Relax, Miss Nichols. I’m not an ax murderer. But you
are
correct. If you take a good look, you’ll see that Staffordshire is… ‘Hibernating.’ My parents passed this property to me when I was 25 but I’ve been busy these last few years building my agency, so I live in an apartment downtown. This house has been vacant for several years. I have a small grounds crew to keep it tended, but I haven’t had much time for anything else.”

Sonia seemed captivated by the “hibernating” opulence of everything in the room, taking in every detail.

“I’m curious, Miss Nichols… Have you ever been in a home like this before?”

“No. Well… Actually… Yes. But that was the Vanderbilt mansion down in North Carolina. That was a total tourist trap. But no, never one like this. Never one that someone actually lived in. But… You said you live in the city…?”

“I have an apartment downtown that I plan to keep. The commute this far up the Hudson can be maddening. But I’ll live here soon enough. Once I hire a chauffeur I’ll be able to do business from the car and that will make the trip a little more manageable. And I hope to raise a family here some day. That’s why I need to hire an assistant now to manage my personal affairs. I can’t handle everything that must be done to make a home like this come alive. It will require building a staff, leading them when I’m not around, and ensuring that everything here is executed to exacting specifications.”

Sonia cocked her head at his description of the position. “Then… I’m confused. Why do you need an MBA for this position? Isn’t that a little excessive just to run a… A house?”

“It may seem excessive right now, Miss Nichols, but once you learn more about my hopes for this place you will realize that someone with your degrees and experience will be critical to our success.”

Sonia wandered away from Rory, checking out the sheet-covered furniture in the adjacent sitting room, the soaring height of the foyer, and the 40 foot long hallway above. The balcony ran from one end of the space to the other, ending on either side at two, sweeping, marble staircases.

“I’ll bet this place is amazing when it’s done up for a party…” she mused.

Wistfully recalling Staffordshire’s annual Christmas fund-raisers, Rory smiled. “It is truly spectacular, Miss Nichols. Positively magical…”

The applicant spun on her heel, abruptly cutting to the chase. “So… Where do you want to do the interview, Mr. St. Cloud?”

“Well I thought we might conduct it here, and there, and a little bit of everywhere as we walk and talk. But before we begin, Miss Nichols, we have another piece of business to handle. I must know if you have read and signed the confidentiality agreement.”

Sonia patted her purse. “Well, about that, sir… I have the contract with me, but before I sign it I need to ask you a few questions. There’s some language in there that seems a little bit… Well… I guess ‘onerous’ is the word I’d use.”

Rory smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Miss Nichols.”

She smiled back. “Really? Why?”

“Because most applicants become so enamored with the prospect of access to my wealth, they don’t read the contract closely enough to have doubts or questions. If they took time to read it – as you have - they would detect some limiting stipulations. I reject candidates out of hand if they fail to read the contract before signing it.”

“Well, that’s why I hesitated, sir. You have some strange requirements in here. I’m no attorney, but I’ve handled some pretty sizable contracts. I’m not sure I understand this one. It sounds like my entire family could be… Well… Somehow ‘bound’ to you and your family for life if I take a job with you.”

“You are absolutely correct, Miss Nichols. ‘Bound’ is a good word. Let me make this a little clearer. That entire contract… All that talk of income forfeiture and waiver of rights to sue and the penalties for breach of confidentiality… It all boils down to one question…”

“And that question is…?

“Can you be trusted?”

Sonia squinted, examining Rory’s face for clues. “With precisely what kind of information, sir?”

Rory smiled — again — saying nothing.

The Cheshire Cat treatment unnerved the applicant. “Sir…? Why do you keep smiling? Did I just say something wrong?”

“No, Miss Nichols. Your answers are fine. I’m smiling because you are exactly as Regina described you. You see, Sonia, I’m not looking for just another ‘assistant.’ I’m not looking for someone to pick up my dry cleaning, walk my dog, arrange my travel, or fetch me papers from my office. Other staff will handle the more mundane functions of daily life at the estate and within my company.

“I’m looking for an intellectually gifted, independent-minded woman who will be at my side morning, noon, and night, who will look out for my interests as intently as she looks out for her own. By showing me your inquisitive nature and not succumbing to the allure of my wealth, you’ve shown me that you are always thinking and always on alert. You’ve demonstrated a capacity for strategic detachment, and that’s an important quality for this job. I want a woman in this position who can think multi-dimensionally at all times and will never fear disagreeing with me if I am about to make a strategic mistake.”

“Excuse me, sir, but now I’m
totally
confused. It sounds like you’re looking for someone to run your agency, not your house.”

“No, Miss Nichols. I am looking for someone who has the
capacity
to run my agency but who will
instead
run my home. Running Staffordshire is the more demanding and delicate challenge.”

A ray of light broke through the second story foyer window and landed on the side of Sonia’s face.

“Ahhhh! So we’re talking about long-range strategic planning…”

“Yes.”

“Employee recruitment and training…”

“Yes.”

“Event planning, execution, and public relations…”

“Yes.”

“Art collection acquisition and wine cellar management…”

“Yes.”

“Spotting new opportunities for charitable investment…”

Rory nodded. “Very perceptive, Miss Nichols. Certainly beyond the scope of responsibility for a typical personal assistant, but not beyond the abilities of the person I will choose for this position.”

“Just out of curiosity, how much autonomy will I have?”

“Total. Unless you ask for my input, I will trust your judgment implicitly. You will have complete control over all estate operations and speak with my authority in all matters. Of course, I will provide occasional direction and pulse-check your work, but otherwise, Miss Nichols, you will run Staffordshire as if you are the President of the estate and I am your Board Chairman.”

Sonia grinned.
“You will…”
She had him!

In her moment of quiet triumph, a playfully flirtatious thought tickled Sonia. It darted through her lips before her internal monologue could catch up to it, tackle it to the marble floor, and beat it to a bloody pulp. She giggled. “And what about spouse selection? Will you need any help with that, sir?” Sonia’s eyes widened and she clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh shit…”

Rory chuckled. “I think I have that part well covered, Miss Nichols.”

“Crap! I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to say that! It just came out!”

Rory waved away Sonia’s concerns. “Relax, Miss Nichols. You’re fine. I’m far less starched than I look. But… Since you raised the subject… The woman I hire as my assistant and the woman I marry will probably share many of the same qualities. Beautiful. Intelligent. Funny. Independent. Strong willed.”