The Billionaire who Hates me, Wants me

I stood in front of my father’s grave with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.The cemetery was quiet, with only a few people scattered between the rows of graves. I preferred it that way. There was something about being here alone that made it easier to speak to the man I had spent eleven years wishing could answer me.I placed the glasses on the stone ledge and opened the bottle before pouring myself a drink. I filled the second glass and set it right beside my father’s name.“Don’t get too excited,” I muttered. “I know this isn’t your favorite.”I took a sip, then looked at the untouched glass. “You’d probably complain about it anyway.”The corner of my mouth lifted briefly. I could almost hear Arthur’s voice.For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if my father were still alive. Arthur would probably be sitting across from me, making some smart comment about the wine and asking why I was wasting my morning when there was work waiting for me.

By the time I arrived at Edmund's place, I was exhausted enough to consider turning around and going home. Not that home was much of an option anymore. I had spent the entire day dealing with one disaster after another, and the thought of explaining everything to Edmund made me feel even worse.He had already done so much for me over the years. I hated the idea of showing up at his door with another problem, especially one I had no idea how to solve. Still, I couldn't bring myself to leave without seeing him.The orphanage was quieter than usual when I walked through the front entrance. A few of the younger children were gathered in the common room, watching television, while one of the older girls helped a little boy with his homework at the dining table. I greeted them and continued towards Edmund's office, but he wasn't there."Looking for someone?"I turned at the sound of his voice. Edmund stood near the doorway leading to the kitchen, holding a dish towel in one hand. His expres

"Did I stutter?""No, sir. I heard you perfectly.""Then I don't see the need for repetition."I pressed my lips together. "I understand the security arrangements, but I'm not sure why I would need permission to leave the property during my personal time.""You won't need permission. You'll need to inform the household manager.""That sounds very similar to asking permission."His eyes narrowed slightly.I straightened in my chair. "I don't mind following reasonable household procedures. I understand that this is a private residence, and I respect your need for security. But I'm applying for a housekeeping position, not asking to become a prisoner."Silence settled between us, and I immediately wondered whether I had just ruined my chances.He leaned back, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You seem to have a great deal to say for someone who needs a job."My cheeks warmed, but I kept my voice steady. "Needing a job doesn't mean I have to agree to everything witho

When I arrive, Margaret is there to receive me. She greets me professionally, offers to have someone help with my belongings, and directs me towards the area where I will be staying.I thank her, relieved that she is considerably easier to approach than the man who interviewed me, Mr. Scowlface.Margaret explains that she will show me around the household and introduce me to the people I’ll be working alongside. Her manner is polite and composed, and although she doesn’t immediately treat me like a friend, she makes an effort to ensure I understand where everything is and whom I should approach if I need assistance.As she leads me through the estate, I begin to appreciate just how large the residence is. The corridors seem to stretch endlessly, several rooms are considerably more elaborate than anything I’ve encountered in my previous living arrangements, and the number of doors makes me wonder how long it will take to become familiar with the entire property.Margaret shows me the s