Just Jayne Read online

  “You didn’t recognize me,” he said.

  “Not at first,” I admitted and then I remembered the man whose wallet I’d returned. “And that was Diego Martin. Outside.”

  “You saw him? He tried to leave before you arrived.” Tennyson shrugged. “He liked the first candidate.”

  “But he didn’t even meet me,” I argued before closing my mouth shut with a snap.

  “Diego goes with his gut, and he liked the other girl.” Tennyson cupped his stubble-lined jaw and leaned his elbow on his knee. “Woman. Sorry.”

  All right, then. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

  “No.” But he continued to stare at me. Since the interview was over, and I clearly hadn’t gotten the position, I let myself glance away from him.

  I felt every hour of time that had passed between my interview in New York, and my arrival here. No doubt I looked horrible, and no doubt I’d made a fool of myself.

  A chime sounded, and I glanced at Tennyson. He was staring down at his phone and smiling. “Everyone agrees. You’re it. The woman to teach our adorable little gremlin.” He held out his hand, and a little shocked, I took it. “Welcome to the family, Miss Burns.”

  2

  Diego

  I couldn’t get the girl out of my head. I recognized her from a photograph that didn’t do justice to her ethereal beauty.

  The way her gaze held mine as she’d handed me my wallet, and then glanced back at me as she opened the door… It was like she could see right through me.

  Jayne Burns had been my first choice after her initial interview and when I read her resume, but then I’d sat in on the first interview, and realized, I knew fuck-all about teaching.

  The woman Tennyson interviewed while I stood behind one-way glass was smart and well-spoken. She’d do as well as anyone, I decided.

  But I’d made a mistake.

  Leaning back into the leather seat, I sighed and took out my phone. I didn’t know what to do. Did I tell my friends I’d changed my mind?

  Did I want to change my mind?

  I pulled up the girl’s resume again. Her name played on a loop in my mind, Jayne. Jayne. She was the right one. The smile she’d given me, it had the softness and compassion that Sophie needed.

  That I needed.

  But this wasn’t about me. It couldn’t be. This was about our daughter’s education and filling in holes that never should have been left in the first place.

  Jayne was smart. She had the experience, and she had the passion for teaching. She was the one.

  Taking my phone out, I sent a quick message to Ten. I’d made a decision, told him to go with the first candidate, but I’d made a mistake.

  This was what happened when I tried to take control. I fucked it all up.

  I couldn’t trust myself.

  Still. I typed out the message and sent it. I like Jayne Burns.

  Immediately my friends texted me back.

  Klaus: She’s the better candidate.

  Ten: She’s a tough cookie. She’s not going to put up with our bullshit. Or Soph’s.

  Lee: Jayne’s the one.

  I let out a breath. Okay.

  Okay.

  3

  Tennyson

  My hands shook when I left Jayne. I stared at them, held them in front of me, and tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

  Why was I shaking?

  What had this girl done to me?

  She’d walked into the office, looking like some kind of windblown fairy, and I was a bloody goner.

  And the mouth on her!

  The sheer sass made me forget who I was. Which was funny, because she didn’t even blink when she sat across from me.

  I made smart-ass comments.

  She lifted her eyebrow.

  I challenged her to interpret Venus in Furs, and she schooled me. Me! My lyrics were considered for a T.S. Eliot Prize in poetry, but she… she treated me like a person.

  It was too much.

  I’d sent the last minute text, telling the secretary to print out a bunch of pictures of famous people just to mess with her.

  To remind her who she was talking to.

  And when her face flushed with embarrassment, I wished I could take it all back. There was something beautiful about being taken at face value, and not having a person make a thousand assumptions about me just because they recognized me.

  I wondered if she’d be like this the next time we met: honest and forthright.

  Of course, I’d never see her again if I couldn’t convince Diego to change his mind.

  If I could get Jayne back here, and Diego on the other side of that glass, he’d be a goner. I’d told him he should wait to make a decision, but he was so damn stubborn—

  My phone pinged, and I stared at the text.

  Diego: I like Jayne Burns.

  Fuck yeah! Mentally, I punched the air and fell to my knees. I’d have a next time. A second chance.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t say why I needed it, but I did. I needed it more than I needed air.

  4

  Jayne

  After making his announcement, Tennyson promptly disappeared, and a team of lawyers took his place. Any other twenty-seven year old would have been intimidated by the show of so much money and power, but they didn’t know where I came from and the evil I’d escaped. Ignoring the threats, I initialed each clause. I refused to be frightened off this job.

  And I couldn’t explain why I wanted it so badly. What was more, I didn’t want to explore my reasons. I just wanted it. Selfishly.

  I signed nondisclosure agreements, and confidentiality agreements. I allowed for limited use of my photograph, but agreed not to share any I took without written and witnessed permission.

  I signed it all.

  It wasn’t until the last page was signed that my stomach stopped churning and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “Well, Miss Burns, you are now an employee of Rochester’s Pathos LLC. A car will arrive to bring you to the estate, and we’ll arrange for your suitcases to be delivered at the same time. Your student, Miss Hall, will be arriving tomorrow. She’s traveling with her nanny from her boarding school in Lausanne. Good luck.”

  “Wait!” I said before they could disappear. “What about Miss Hall? Will I learn anything about her?” And why a famous band is in charge of her education?

  “Miss Hall is the adopted daughter of Diego Martin. That will do for now. Goodbye.”

  And with that, the lawyers, none of whom I could distinguish from the other, left.

  I stood and felt a drip of sweat roll down my temple and down into the collar of my blouse. Everything had happened so fast that I hadn’t removed my jacket. Despite the knowledge that a car would be arriving shortly, I sloughed the coat from my shoulders and draped it over my arm.

  Light was waning, and I checked the time on my watch. I’d reset it as soon as the plane had landed, but I gaped at how much time had passed. I’d been awake nearly twenty-four hours, except for that one brief nap between Heathrow and London.

  I couldn’t see much of my surroundings now except for the tiled roofs and chimneys of nearby buildings. Still…

  I’d grown up in California, and nothing was old like this.

  I glanced around the room to locate my purse. It sat, undisturbed, next to the chair Tennyson had occupied. Withdrawing my sketchbook, I went back to the window and began to pencil an outline of the rooftops. “First day in England,” I said to myself, shading windows and bricks.

  A knock on the door startled me. “Miss Burns.” It was my driver from earlier, and I smiled at him.

  “Hello.” I shoved the pencil inside the binding of the book and placed it back into my purse.

  “I’ll be driving you to the estate.”

  “All right,” I replied as I pulled my coat back on and tied the belt. “Will you be driving me everywhere?” I asked.

  “I’m employed by the band, ma’am,” he said
. “At times I may be assigned to drive you and Miss Hall.”

  “Then please call me Jayne.” I held out my hand for him to shake.

  “Rogers,” he said. He shook my hand once and turned away. He said nothing more while we exited the building into the rain. Then, he opened an umbrella to hold over my head until I could duck inside the car.

  I only caught a glimpse of sleek black lines and shiny silver rims before I was seated.

  It was like the first car had been a ruse meant to throw me off. The tiny compact was as different from this car as a seagull was from a peacock. Rain dripped over my forehead and down my nose and I quickly wiped it away before it could stain the soft leather seats.

  “Get comfortable, Miss Burns,” Rogers said. “The estate is four hours away.”

  “How?” I asked under my breath. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin the leather and my pay will be docked.”

  Rogers chuckled. “This is one of a fleet of cars, and believe me, I’ve had to clean up more than water stains.”

  I supposed we were bound by the same disclosure clauses, so he felt he could make such a statement, but I wasn’t about to invite more.

  Not that I wasn’t curious, but I had an active imagination and had watched enough documentaries to know what sorts of things a band of thirty-something men could get up to.

  I might have looked like an old maid, but I wasn’t a prude.

  Night fell as we drove out of the city, but I kept my eyes open. My mind whirred, and automatically, I began organizing and systematizing my worries and plans.

  “Have you met Miss Hall?” I asked Rogers.

  “No, miss.” Short. Decisive.

  I sighed and let my head rest against the seat before remembering my damp hair and jerking back. “Four hours you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you wake me before we arrive?”

  “Yes, miss,” Rogers replied.

  I shut my eyes and rested my temple against the cool glass. I wasn’t too proud to admit I was nervous, though it wasn’t unusual to have a job begin as quickly as this had. Since I’d graduated, I’d bounced from one job to another, staying only as long as my students needed me. My position was always expendable. When a student had a sudden desire to attend private school with a focus on snowboarding, or their family decided to place them in a boarding school in Geneva, I went on my way without any hard feelings.

  I didn’t care where I went, as long as I never had to set foot in California again. England—with its gray skies and brisk, wet chill—was as far from the dry, sunny skies and plastic perfection of the west coast as I could get.

  It was perfect.

  The car glided smoothly over the road, and I was lulled into that strange state between sleeping and awake. Memories flashed through my mind, brought to the surface of my consciousness now that my guard was lowered. The heavy book, smelling of new leather, smacked across my temple.

  My eyes popped open, and I immediately lifted my hand to block the other blows that were certain to follow.

  But I wasn’t home, and no one had hit me. It was just my head bouncing off the glass as Rogers turned down a bumpy narrow road.

  He hadn’t seen me and I felt like a fool, blocking and parrying hits in the backseat of a Rolls Royce.

  “Are you awake?” Rogers asked.

  I cleared my throat and touched the spot on my forehead where there was a small divot in my skin. “Yes. Are we there?”

  “Almost.” His breath caught, like he was going to continue, but decided against it.

  “This is their family home?” I asked.

  He seemed relieved for the subject and went along with me. “Fairfax Manor. Yes. The band lives together when they aren’t vacationing or on tour. This is a private drive and more than five miles. It’s also lined with cameras and, as you’ll see, multiple guard booths to discourage people from dropping by.”

  “Does that happen a lot?” I asked.

  “Not as much as it used to.” He slowed as we approached one of the booths. I’d expected something, well, booth-like, but this reminded me of a train station. The building was larger than any apartment I’d ever rented and was built of stone. Huge floodlights snapped on as we rolled to a stop and a man wearing black and a sidearm stepped outside.

  “Lewis,” Rogers greeted as he rolled down his window. The man ducked his head and looked past Rogers to me.

  “Miss Burns, welcome to the manor.” He handed an envelope to Rogers who took it and passed it back to me.

  “Thank you,” I said, even though I had no idea what was inside.

  Rogers nodded to the guard and pulled away. “Keep those on you at all times, even within the estate. Until security and the staff all know you, you could be asked for identification.”

  I removed a badge that had my terrible passport photo and two keys.

  “The keys are for your room, the library, nursery, and Miss Hall’s room.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and clipped the badge to my collar before sliding the keys into my pocket. “I’ll keep it all with me.”

  We drove in silence the rest of the way, stopping at two more checkpoints before the manor came into sight. Lights flooded from the windows, illuminating parts of the home.

  It was beautiful. Dark and gothic, turreted and expansive.

  Imposing.

  Uninviting.

  Everything about this place seemed designed to turn people away. The heavy doors to which Rogers drove up were taller than any I’d ever seen. In fact, when the door opened, it was actually a smaller door cut within the larger door.

  “That’s Mrs. Foster, their secretary and housekeeper. She organizes everything here.” Rogers turned off the car and opened his door. He moved to my door, standing with his back against it while he spoke to Mrs. Foster. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and I couldn’t get out on my own either, since he blocked my opening the door.

  Mrs. Foster peered around him, and when she met my curious gaze, smiled. Rogers opened my door, and she greeted me.

  “Miss Burns, it’s lovely to meet you.” She gestured toward the warm lit interior of the house. I stepped inside and pulled my purse over my shoulder as I studied the entranceway.

  It was everything I should have expected, and yet, somehow I was surprised.

  Dark wood antiques, places to drop keys or hang a coat, sat against the stone wall of the entry, but beyond that…

  A fire roared in an ancient fireplace. Along the mantle, and as high as the chimney, framed awards and gold records hung. Leather sofas sat across from each other, and behind them were—I counted five—arcade games and… pinball machines?

  It was a cross between a frat house and a magazine spread. And it all worked.

  “I have supper in the kitchen waiting for you. I know you haven’t eaten yet, though Rogers told me you slept part of the way here, so that’s good. We’ll get you fed and then I’ll see you to your rooms. Miss Hall doesn’t arrive until tomorrow evening, and you won’t meet her until the following day, so there will be plenty of time for you to relax.”

  She faced me and held out her hand, palm up. Was she waiting for a high five? A tip?

  “Your coat.” She helped me out.

  “Sorry.” I unbelted the coat and dropped my purse on the floor next to me until I could wrestle out of it. At the last second, I remembered the keys and slid them into my pants pocket. “I’m not usually so dense.”

  She laughed politely but kindly. “Well, knowing Mr. Blake, you’re well and truly exhausted.”

  It was my turn to laugh, and it came out a little unhinged. I smothered it, but she only smiled wider.

  “He loves to joke.”

  I had opinions about jokes as they related to people coming into contact with his child, but I kept it to myself. People like Tennyson operated with their own set of principles. They were guided by whatever was interesting, or new, and not necessarily what was smart.

  “This is the main wing of the house,” Mrs.
Foster said, leading me through the huge room and down a hall. “The kitchen is on this level, along with the pantry, my offices, and Mr. Gutten’s offices.”

  “Who is Mr. Gutten?” I asked.

  “Their manager,” she replied. “He doesn’t live here, but he’ll be here every day the band is home.” We entered the kitchen, and I saw someone had laid out a plate for me.

  “Please sit,” Mrs. Foster said.

  “Could you show me the bathroom?” I asked.

  “Oh!” Her face flushed, and she pointed back the way we’d come. “Second door on the right. I apologize.”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  Once inside the bathroom, I flicked on the light and leaned against the door. A sigh, coming all the way from my toes, burst out of me.

  I’d done this before—made myself a home in a brand new place with little warning. But it always left me untethered and anxious.

  I used the toilet quickly, and then washed my hands, examining my face as I scrubbed them. I looked as horrible as I felt. My light brown hair had come loose from the ponytail, so I slid the elastic from it and finger combed it. Deep circles ringed my hazel eyes, making my pale skin appear bruised and sort of jaundiced. Great combination.

  But my shirt was clean, and even if I wasn’t looking my best, I looked tidy.

  Tidy.

  What girl my age thought that tidy was an appropriate adjective to describe their appearance? God. Even my internal monologue sounded like a middle-aged woman.

  I smoothed my fingers beneath my eyes and then along my cheekbones before I shrugged. I couldn’t help my face. I did the best with what I had, and if I wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, I could be other things.