Why didn’t he pick a table or a booth where we were seated across from one another? Hell, why didn’t he choose another place to meet?
He’s dressed sharply in a suit, his white shirt crisp, his tie without a single flaw. “Tell me about yourself, Paige.”
His question almost comes off as sounding a little too personal, like a date. But I know I’m reading into it. This is a job interview.
He will be my boss if I’m hired.
“Yes, of course.” I slide over a copy of my resume. I also keep a second copy for myself to glance down at every so often. It helps me focus on what I want to say and keeps me from leaving out something important.
“I owned and operated a preschool in Spring Valley until late last fall when a buyer offered to purchase the establishment.”
I don’t want to elaborate on why I sold the business.
Not unless he asks.
His eyes tighten and he gives a weak nod. “Owning a preschool isn’t the same as working with children.”
“I have a degree in early education, and I spent a decade teaching preschool-aged children and writing a curriculum that other teachers used for my private preschool. You mentioned in your listing that your daughter is special needs. I have lots of experience working with a variety of children with unique requirements.”
“That’s all well and good,” Moreno says, “however, you need to understand that since this job includes room and board, you may see things that I can’t have you asking questions about or speaking of to anyone.”
“I don’t know anyone here,” I say. Well, that’s not true. I almost don’t know anyone. I ran into Jaxson earlier this morning, but he hardly counts. It’s not like we’re friends and sharing secrets. I don’t know where he lives or his phone number. He’s also married, from what I could tell, the ring a dead giveaway.
I haven’t exactly kept in touch with any of my childhood friends. Most of them moved away, I assume.
Moreno tightens his lips. “Secrecy is expected and seen as highly regarded above all else.”
He retrieves a briefcase and removes a series of papers and a pen.
“If you are interested, my employer and I require that you sign these papers to assure us that you understand your responsibilities and will keep everything you witness or overhear confidential.”
“That’s it. I sign the papers and the job is mine?” I ask.
I haven’t even met the little girl I’m supposed to be a nanny for yet, but I can’t imagine a four-year-old is that much of a terror. Even if she is, I need this job, and Moreno seems to need me.
“You will need to meet with my daughter, Nova, but that cannot happen until after you’ve signed the papers,” Moreno says.
I can’t imagine he brought Nova with him. “Do you own this place?” I ask, glancing around the bar. I can’t fathom why else he suggested that we meet here.
“My boss owns the place,” Moreno says and clears his throat.
Does he notice my discomfort?
“I appreciate the discretion that I’m offered here,” he says.
“I see.”
“Do you?” Moreno asks.
No, not really. I reach for the pages of documentation that he has requested that I review and sign. “The agency had me already fill out a bunch of paperwork,” I say.
“Yes, I’m sure they did, but we require anyone coming into our home to understand and abide by our rules. Besides the contract for hire is with us. We pay the agency for bringing you to us.”
My attention returns to the packet of documents that he wants me to sign. There’s an entire page on discretion, secrecy, and that I am to always follow his instructions.
He’s got a bit of a complex. That’s for sure.
But this job is better than sleeping in my car. And while I could apply at the coffee shop where I stopped this morning, I doubt it would pay enough for me to rent an apartment locally.