Celeste Peters

As soon as I step through the door frame, peace and quiet overwhelm my senses. The space is so neat and tidy I'm sure someone will have to scrub the floors after I walk through it. We step past a large living room with clean and cozy furniture throughout. It looks like something out of an interior design magazine. The type of magazine where you wonder how they keep the couches so white or the lamps curved like that without them falling over.

My jaw must be open as we walk through the house toward the kitchen. I thought homes like these only existed in fairytales. Yet here I am, gaping at every single detail and finally understanding the true meaning of the word aesthetics. I shouldn't be this calm walking into what's likely a trap. Is this the start of some horror movie where rich people kill poor people for a cult offering?

We step into the kitchen and my heart stops briefly. This room is decked out with luxurious, white marble countertops I could lick, plenty of space to prep food for their cult meetings, and state of the art appliances so shiny I might go blind. If there was a kitchen heaven, I've most certainly reached it.

Kristina leads us through the space to a large dining room area with an oak wood table. I gulp down my nerves. I can't believe I even had the option to work at a place like this. My limbs feel heavy as I think about the missed opportunity.

There is no way Marc is going to hire me after the things I let out of my mouth around him.

It's probably for the best as I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself if I worked for him, even if he does have a wife. He's not in a suit today, but Lord please help me this man is fine. He's wearing a crisp, white button down that's rolled up, revealing tan forearms corded with muscle and roped with veins. His presence is commanding, like a metal rod directing thunder.

From what I can remember from last night, I pictured Marc's scruff against my inner thighs when that bar guy Gerald was going down on me. Heat shoots through me when I dwell on that image. Shit. I need to fucking stop thinking about any of that and how attractive this man is. I will not be sucking his cock dry, no matter how much he makes my mouth moisten, nor will I be working for him, no matter how much this damn house feels like an oasis in a desert.

"Please have a seat," Kristina gestures to one of the chairs next to the head of the oval-shaped table.

I follow her directive and instantly my ass feels like it's sitting on clouds. The chair has a cushion of the tempurpedic nature. On the table is a water pitcher and coffee and tea. I quickly help myself to the water without even being offered. Marc files into the chair across from me with a stoic tension sealing his lips, while Kristina takes a seat at the head of the table.

From the two seconds I've known Kristina she seems like the motherly type who takes care of anyone and everyone. She looks ultra classy with her small pearl earrings and wavy salt and pepper hair tied into a neat bun. But she doesn't seem snooty given her warm smile and overall calm demeanor.

Much unlike Marc who won't give a girl another fucking chance.

"So, Mrs. Peters. Please tell me about yourself," Kristina says with her back to Marc in her thick accent.

"Oh, it's just Ms," I correct Kristina as politely as I can before taking a swig of water.

"Oh, forgive me, Ms. Peters."

"No husband," he says as more of a statement than a question. "What about a boyfriend?" Marc asks and Kristina whips her head to face him. His gaze is locked on mine and doesn't even move when Kristina looks like she is mouthing something.

"No boyfriend," I say. If this guy wants to mess around with me, I'm sure as hell not going to make it easy for him. "But I don't see how that's relevant to my job performance."

"Of course-" Kristina starts to say but is interrupted by Marc.

"Well, I can't have random men I don't know coming on to my property, so I think it's a valid question."

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. "I can assure you I would be a very conscientious tenant if I were given this position."

Kristina clears her throat. "I have no doubt. Thank you, Ms. Peters. And we would never interfere in your personal life. Now please, go ahead and tell me more about yourself."

Louisa's words travel to mind: He's barely around, you'd cook just for the kids. Maybe I would just be working for Kristina and wouldn't even have to see Marc at all. That thought makes me want to fight like hell for this job. So what if it's a lost cause? A girl can try.

"Well, I'm Celeste. I started cooking when I was a little girl with my mom. She taught me everything I know. And then I started working professionally about six years ago. I've never wanted to do anything else for work besides cooking. I worked at various places, um, as you can see on my resume." Shit, don't talk about the resume, and don't look at Marc! "I've refined my craft and now I can master any dish asked of me. Even if I've never made it before, I'm a very quick learner."

"I thought you didn't have parents," Marc says, grabbing my attention again. His eyes grow wide and he glances at Kristina who is looking down at the pen she has in her grip. "I mean, where is your mom now? Do you still cook with her?" he asks, crossing his arms, his chestnut irises boring into my nerves.

"She's dead, so no."

He doesn't say anything and Kristina jumps in. "Ay dios mio, I'm so sorry dear."

"And if you'd like to know about my dad," I keep my eyes fixed on Marc, "he's out of the picture. Never knew him. Left after my mom had my brother when I was about three years old. Again, I don't see how my sob family history has anything to do with my work. I hope this personal information doesn't deter my chances of getting the position."

Marc blinks a couple of times and Kristina nearly gasps. "Of course not, Ms. Peters!" She shoots a stern glance at Marc. "Mr. Nassar, can I please speak with you in private for a moment?" She glances back at me with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, Celeste. We'll be very quick."

"No worries. Take your time."

Kristina shoots out of her seat as Marc sighs. He gives me a prolonged look that tightens my stomach before he stands up and follows after her.

Good. I hope he gets in trouble.

The room is quiet and I feel like I can finally breathe. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and adjust my jacket. At first I can only hear the ticking of the clock, then a little patter of footsteps catches my attention. I turn to find a young girl, about four or five, walking into the dining room in a pink nightgown and carrying a stuffed animal that looks like a bunny.

"Hi," she says like a full grown polite adult with a sweet smile. This girl is the definition of cute. Her brunette curls are haphazard, making it look like she just got out of bed, and her brown eyes take up most of her face.

"Hi," I say and smile back.

"I'm Laila. What's your name?"

"Hi, Laila. I'm Celeste."

She takes a seat where Marc was just sitting, across from me, and another little human walks in. This other girl looks identical to Laila but with a slightly more rounded face and lighter eyes. She's in a matching pink nightgown and doesn't have a toy with her. "Who are you? Where's Ms. Heidi?" she asks bluntly.

"I'm Celeste. And I don't know."

She yawns, as if I gave her an acceptable answer and takes a seat at the head of the table where Kristina was just sitting. We remain quiet, and I grin as the girls start sizing me up. Their eyes are darting over me, assessing everything from my nails to my earrings, while they start swinging their legs beneath their chairs.

Laila threads her fingers together on the table that reaches just below her chin. The action looks so similar to what Marc did moments ago. "Ms. Celeste, this is my sister Nina. We're twins."

"I would have never guessed," I say teasingly.

They don't smile and stare at me wide-eyed, like I'm an alien from another world. Tough crowd.

Loud footsteps approach and when Marc appears in the room, the girls gasp. They both jump from their seats and run to him squealing. "Dad!" they yell as they hop into his arms.

I've yet to see this bright smile on Marc. I want to bottle it up and drink it when I feel sad. He picks them up with ease, his arms bulging as the girls cling to him on either side. "Hi, Habibtis. You're awake, already?" he asks before giving them each a kiss. They melt into his arms and my heart swells against my rib cage.

Kristina walks in with another woman I don't recognize. "I'm so sorry about this interruption. Laila, Nina, come upstairs. Let's get you dressed," the older woman says. She's wearing a button down, similar to Kristina's but light blue instead of pink, and looks to be the nanny with the way she's beckoning the girls.

The girls start to protest and cling to Marc tighter.

"It's alright, Heidi. Thank you," Marc says to the woman. "Come with me, girls. We'll go get a snack."

"Wait!" Laila says. "Can Ms. Celeste join us?"

Marc tilts his head back and smiles. His gaze meets mine for a beat before he turns back to his daughter. "No, Ms. Celeste is only visiting with Ms. Kristina today."

"Why can't she visit with us too?" Nina says quietly as she plays with Marc's collar.

"I'm so sorry about all this, Ms. Peters," Kristina says as she steps in front of Marc. "We can continue this interview in a quieter area of the house. It will just be you and me this time."

"Oh, sure," I say before standing up. "Nice to meet you, Laila and Nina."

"Our play time is in a little bit. You can come visit with us when you finish with Ms. Kristina," Laila says as if she's already written it into the schedule with ink.

"Thank you for the invite." I smile and tuck a fallen strand of hair behind my ear. "Bye, Mar- Mr. Nassar." I lock eyes with Marc and tingles prickle over my skin.

"Bye, Celeste. Good luck with the rest of the interview," he says and I quickly look away before my stomach has a chance to spasm again.