Chapter 3

It felt like I was waking up in the middle of the Death Metal concert, and the drums and bass had been turned up high. The banging right in my head almost blocked every other senses that I had, and in all honesty, I wanted to die. Groaning aloud, flipped myself on my back, wiping drool off the side of my mouth.

Soft pillow buoyed my head nicely, and the softness of the mattress beneath me was extremely comforting. I didn’t want to bother thinking about anything else, and just kept my eyes closed, trying to fall back into the comforting lull of sleep.

I was almost ready to fall back asleep when I heard the sound of the door of the room opening. It was silent, with no sound of anyone coming in. I did my best to stir again, groaning once more. I cracked my eyelids open to an unfamiliar sight, light flooding in from the small slit from the door. It took a short while for me to focus on the head that was poking in from the opening of the door, and even though the thick banging in my head, I realized where I was.

“Oh my god.” I exclaimed, sitting up suddenly, before I regretted that quick movement as nausea hit me bad. “Whoa.”

Still, he looked on with his expressionless face, and didn’t even try to make a step in.

“You’re finally awake. It’s been more than half a day.” He commented, as if he was making a judgment on me. I only put a hand to my forehead, trying to deal with the bile that was threatening to come spraying out. It was all I could do to prevent a fountain from forming from my mouth.

“I’ve never taken alcohol before. This is the first time I’m having a hangover…” I groaned quietly. Talking felt thick, but at least I could hear myself through the banging in my head.

“I know. You said that.” He replied softly, and I silently thanked him. I tried to think, but it made me only more nauseous. I resolved to think, but at a slower pace.

“What else did I say?” I asked weakly, covering my eyes so that I wouldn’t feel as if the world was spinning away without me.

“Things you wouldn’t want to know or remember. I will take none of your words to heart, and know that every one of them were merely a drunken mind speaking.” He merely replied in a tone that sounded as if he were informing me of things.

Still… I closed my eyes and did my best to think slowly.

“Did… I tell you that you were hot?” I gulped. It had been in the forefront of my mind; I remembered that. But what else had I said to him? Did I do anything embarrassing? I’ve never been drunk before, so I didn’t know exactly how bad things had been.

“Amongst others.” He confessed –in the same flat tone.

“Did I tell you about my pathetic life?” I questioned again. That had been second in my mind –in comparison to his very obvious class difference with me.

“Should you have?” He enquired in reply, and I managed a slow shake of my head. No fast movements. I knew that if you were drunk, you shouldn’t be moving fast. Loud noises were bad, overpowering smells were worst and bright lights would be crazy. Basically, sensory overload was no-no.

“I don’t know…” I replied uncertainly, looking around. I was in a bed that seemed mostly untouched. Looking around the dimly-lit room, it seemed as if I had been deposited in a guest room. And right there on the floor was a piece of cloth…

My shirt.

I looked down, and covered my mouth when I saw myself only wearing a bra. No wonder the cold air conditioned air was touching my shoulders.

“Ms. Hurst-” He began again, but embarrassment flared immediately. Why was he still looking?!?

“Turn away! Don’t look at me!” I raised my voice a little in a shriek, pulling the covers around me to cover my bare skin. I actually wasn’t sure if he was looking or not, for his face was hidden in a dark shadow casted by the darkness of the room against the bright light of the corridor outside, but he didn’t show any signs of movement, though there was a short moment of silence.

“If it is about the state of your undress, you removed your shirt yourself. You accused me of setting an environment too warm for your liking and you removed your shirt. I didn’t touch anything I’m not supposed to, but you grabbed my arm and hugged it. I will not accept any accusations of sexual harassment from you.” He explained clearly, and while I breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t succumbed to his testosterone, I wasn’t sure to be embarrassed at the pathetic Kaylen I must have been while drunk.

“I-I’m sorry.” I apologized sheepishly. “Can you come back in a while? I’ll dress up and wash up.”

“Do not take long. I have to leave for a job in an hour and I need preparation time.” He replied ambiguously, and closed the door behind him, shutting off the rest of our conversation as I struggled to move my heavy limbs off the bed. They seemed as if they were casted in metal, heavy as hell, as I commanded for them to budge.

My head was protesting against work, but I kicked it hard and scolded it internally for failing on me, and it soon obeyed my command for it to piece back my thoughts, even though it put up major resistance in the form of a majorly large headache. Talk about a worker with a silent protest.

At least I managed to form thoughts in my head, as I piece back the vague memories back. I remembered coming to Mr. Young’s house, and marveling at everything. Seriously, this guy was rich. Too bad he wasn’t looking for a young wife, because I could totally sign up for that. No, he didn’t look like he needed one. He didn’t seem married to me, but he had a son. Maybe I could hook up his son, that rebellious Jon teenager.

I remembered taking a gulp from that accursed water bottle too. Even though I understood a teenager’s mischievousness at hiding liquor in a water bottle, but what the hell man. Who would give a rebellious teenager enough money to afford liquor on his own? It had been damned strong, burning right down my throat even as I tried to wash it down.

Observing the argument between the father and son had been pretty awkward for me, but at least I kept quiet. Though I knew I was starting to get a little woozy. I had tried to push back the alcohol, but damn it, it was the first time, alright? And drinking hard liquor for my first time? I sure had a death wish.

Though I took to pleasurable notice that I wasn’t puking, so I had something going on for me. I wasn’t about to cheer early, though, for my legs still felt jelly as hell, even as I stumbled my way to the other door that led from the room and –viola –finding a bathroom. I was right in assuming that this guy’s house had bathrooms to every room.

Oh, the luxury of living in such a house.

Maybe I really could wrestle my way to Mr. Young’s son, and land myself a place here. Then I wouldn’t have to work for the rest of my life, for his son was bound to inherit his father’s job, right? All I had to do was to even out the rough patch between them, then sit back and enjoy life like a rich mistress. Hey, I liked that thought. And maybe I don’t even have to go back to that street corner and wait for death by dehydration.

Thoughts of how to make myself attract to the young man that I’d seen only briefly followed my wash up –which involved crazy splashing of water at my face to wake myself up at the sting of icy cold water. Jon had seemed a few years younger than me –to be honest –but I could always accept a man younger than me if he had the means to give me a comfortable lifestyle. Besides, being older, I would a more mature right? I hoped he liked mature girls.

Or maybe, since he was still a teenager with raging hormones, I could entice him with my model-like body. Maybe finally God was giving me a purpose with my body: so that I could hook myself a rich bad-boy.

That actually wasn’t a bad idea at all.

Still, his father had wanted to talk to me, so I breathed in deep and tried to forget the embarrassment. Okay, so what if his father had seen me in only my bra. He wouldn’t tell his son about it anyway. Maybe I could be like the seductive mistress in TV dramas, causing havoc between father and son, bedding the two of them to keep them competing over me.

Yeah, get your head out of your ass, Kaylen.

I was getting too far with this theory. It was time to crash-land back to reality, as I stepped out of the guest bedroom to find myself in an unfamiliar corridor. Shielding my delicate, still-hung-over eyes from the glare of the lighting overhead, I chose a direction and began walking down. Mr. Young hadn’t said if he was coming back, or if he wanted me to come to him, so figured the latter was going to work better if he was a busy person.

What did he work as anyway? The ‘business card’ that he’d given me the night before hadn’t even named a company name; just his address and his name. What kind of a card was that?

“Get me fifteen million ready by an hour’s time. I’ll go down personally for the deal today. I’ll make sure things go down right this time.” A passed a room, and I heard a firm voice speaking, albeit a little muffled. In fact, the only tone of voice I’d ever heard from Mr. Young was the same voice speaking to whoever he was now speaking to.

“I trust your skills, Charlotte.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone, and I imagined this ‘Charlotte’ individual beaming from the other side of the conversation. “But I want to make sure our deal is secure. It isn’t much, but every business dealing counts, no matter how small.”

Wow, from that line, I knew he was a workaholic. Sure, I always had respect for a businessman who regarded every deal with equal importance, but what kind of a billionaire was Mr. Young if he regarded a fifteen million deal as a ‘small’ business dealing?

I am a little ashamed to say my determination to get to know his son better only got stronger. Hey, I am a practical woman. When the chance presented itself, I would pounce on it. Besides, even if I don’t turn out to be a person of love interest, at least we could still maintain a distant friendly relationship. Anytime I needed help, I could turn to them.

I knocked softly on the door, and there was a sudden long moment of silence.

“I’ll meet you down by the pier, Charlotte.” He ended the conversation quickly, and a moment later, I heard him clear his throat with a firm, business-like “come in.”

He gestured for me to sit on the chair opposite him, which I distantly remember having taken a seat before –when I was drunk. I peeked at the clock on his desk and gasped softly. It was already 6pm? I remember it being sometime around 8am when I arrived. I had been sleeping literally most of the day away!

“Firstly, let me apologize for the alcohol. Jon is just a rebellious teenager, and you know how teenagers can get when you don’t give them what they want. Jon must have bought liquor off the black market and poured it in the water bottle to fool me.” He started, not even bothering to look up as he held a fountain pen easily, scribbling quickly over a lined sheet. Deliberately not reading the content of his words, I noted that his handwriting was surprisingly cursive and quite artistic.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for taking a drink without asking first, and I’m sorry for… anything I did while I was drunk.” I replied humbly. I hoped I hadn’t done anything too dire to burn my bridges with Mr. Young; though I distantly remembered telling me I wanted to die yesterday night. I hoped he forgave suicidal women if one of them wanted to be his son’s wife.

“It is fine.” He said, in the same informative tone. Honestly, everything he said was intoned with the idea as if he knew everything as a fact, and he was just presenting them. Even emotional things, he spoke them all as if it were all cold, hard facts.

“I will not waste time, then. Let me move on to what I have asked you here for.” He continued, still not looking up. I marveled at his ability to multi-task, for his hand was moving fast across the paper while his words were still out. I mean, I could speak and write at the same time, but I wouldn’t be able to concentrate equally well on both jobs.

“You have seen Jon earlier on in the morning.” He said, another factual tone. “You have seen my strained relationship with him, and you have experienced his childish, rebellious acts.”

He had reached the end of the page by now, and I watched as he drew a line underneath everything, then seemed to sign on it. Finally, as if everything was done, he looked up, and pierced black eyes straight into mine.

“I will not mash words. I want you, Ms. Hurst, to take care of Jon for me. In cruder words, consider yourself his nanny. His caretaker, his babysitter –whatever you will call it. Since I cannot be around 24/7 to watch over Jon and take care of him, and I cannot trust him to behave, I have resorted to hiring people to watch over him.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I opened my mouth to ask questions, but he took it as a sign of imminent protest. Before anything could come out, he raised a hand as if to ward off any protest. By pure reflex, I closed my mouth obediently.

“You are not the first. I started trying this when Jon turned 16. So far, he has had 9 ‘nannies’, and none of them have survived long. 5 of them went insane. 3 gave up. 1 committed suicide. The longest I’ve seen someone last is two weeks with him. I picked you, Ms. Hurst, because you seemed ready to give up on life, but yet you were not crying. I see you are strong on the inside, but you have no directions in life. You say you have no one who cares for one, no one you can care about. Then I give you a direction. I give you Jon to care about. Do you understand me?” He continued, simply informing me in his flat, informative tone.

I shoved a question about the previous nanny who committed suicide back down my throat and waited for further explanation.

“I am a man with wide ranging contacts, and great wealth –as you can see. I am a man who is able and willing to do anything as long as I think it necessary. In return for your agreement to take care of Jon –for however long that you can before you break down psychologically –I will pull strings to look for that robber we encountered yesterday night. I will retrieve your belongings. Beyond that, I will hire you officially. Your pay is negotiable, but we start from 500 per hour. Any spending you incur while with Jon can be claimed from me. You will stay with us –in the guest room. Wherever Jon goes, you go –unless it be the bathroom. Do you have any questions?” He listed, hard eyes on me, never letting me go as I struggled to deal with the information overload that he was crashing on me.

“Er… what if Jon runs away? He is a rebellious teenager.” I asked, letting the first doubt come to my mind.

“I will give you my number. The moment you discover his disappearance, you will call me. I will find him. If he does anything illegal and gets caught, you will call me. I will pull strings and bail him out. If he gets into trouble with anyone, tell them he belongs to me, Elxa Young. They will back down. If anyone doesn’t listen, then Jon deserves a beating. If he gets a beating, you react depending on the severity of his wounds. Call the ambulance if you have to. Otherwise, nurse him to health. All you have to do, Ms. Hurst, is keep him alive. If he goes looking for trouble, I can’t stop him. Not anymore.”

“What if he gets into trouble, and I end up in trouble too?” I chanced to ask. Hey, above all, I cared also about my welfare, okay?

He snapped his eye contact away from me so quickly that I jolted a little, watching him as he stood up abruptly and walked to a cupboard beside the table. It seemed like just another ordinary cupboard that would usually hold documents, except when he withdrew his hand from the first drawer, he was holding a small black pistol, along with a piece of white paper.

Walking over to me, he placed both the gun and the paper on the desk in front of me, then walked back to his seat.

“Fill in your name and sign on the line. Keep this with you wherever you go and trust it to protect yourself and Jon. Don’t be afraid to harm or kill anyone with it if the danger really arises.” He said so impassively that I had to stare.

This guy… was serious.

I had only thought he was a protective father when he said he wanted a nanny for his teenaged son –who seemed to be surviving. I had thought he was a little overprotective when he wanted me to go wherever Jon did. I thought he was a little scary when he address the problem of Jon getting in trouble. I thought he was a little crazy when he said he would allow his son to be beaten up if Jon was looking for trouble.

But this… This was psychotic. He wasn’t serious. Giving me a gun, and a license for it, just to protect his son. This was over the top. And telling me to not be afraid of killing someone for it? I wasn’t a murderer. I was a twenty-one year old woman.

“I’m not using a gun.” I slid the paper back, glad that the gun was placed on it so I didn’t have to touch it to move it across the desk. “I won’t shoot anyone.”

“The chances are that you won’t have to shoot, Ms. Hurst. All you have to do is scare. You can fire blanks if you are not up to causing harm.” He reached over, pushed the cylinder chamber open, and tilted the bullets out clattering on the table. I didn’t want to know why a man was keeping blanks in the drawer of his desk, but it remained that Mr. Young withdrew blank shots from somewhere under his desk and inserted them one by one into the chamber, set it back in place and handed it back again.

 It was still crazy and psychotic, but slightly more acceptable if I was going to shoot blanks. Pepper spray would be so much better and easier, but I wasn’t sure what kind of dangers Mr. Young Junior was going to find himself in. If I was really going to take this job…

Reluctantly, I accepted the pen he offered, filled in my name on the official paper and signed it, waiting for it to dry in a moment, then folding the paper.

“By that, I assume you have agreed to take my business proposition?” He enquired. Mr. Young’s face had never betrayed any single emotion, but some sort of victory glinted in his hard black eyes. I tried not to see my pathetic reflection in those eyes. His black eyes suddenly looked like the conniving black eyes of a cat, eyeing its helpless prey, knowing that he was successful already.

“What about my job and my studies?” I evaded answering the question, and while his eye glinted with a knowing light, he allowed the change in topic.

“I will have your resignation sent in in your stead. You can study Journalism in your own time. If you desire, I will engage a private tutor who will prepare you for Finals. When you are deemed ready, I will leave you a day off to take your finals exam. Once you obtain your degree, you come back to work for me. By taking this job, Ms. Hurst, you essentially will throw every single of your past life away, and you will come into this job without a personal life, no background.”

It was sad, but at least I saw intelligence in the way he chose me. If I was some other woman with my own relationships to deal with –perhaps with friends, family, boyfriend or job –then asking me to do this job and ignore everything else would be hard. But the problem was that I was so alone in the world that even if I went missing, no one would really care. And I was so alone that leaving everything behind and immersing myself in taking care of Jon would be an easy task for me.

Mr. Young had certainly considered his chances well. What else could I expect from an obviously rich businessman?

“What if I decide to give up like the other 9 nannies?”

“Assuming I don’t find you becoming a danger to Jon’s welfare,” He started, and I got the implied connotation that the previous 5 insane nannies had been dangerous, “we will try to work things out. But if you really cannot take it, I understand. I will pay you a large sum to keep quiet of everything you have witnessed and experienced. You will go back to your old life with a sum of money in your pockets. But do not forget that I am a very connected man, Ms. Hurst. I will probably be the man with the most powerful contacts you will ever get to know. If you babble, I will know, and you will not like the consequences.” He warned, and for the first time, I heard something more than a flat, informative tone from him.

This time, his tone was dangerous. Low, and full of warning. Full of promise of pain if I dared so much to disobey.

I admit; that tone struck a little in my spine, and I sat a little straighter.

“Exactly what do you work as?”

“I am a trading businessman.” He said briskly, his tone back to the usual flatness. “But that brings us quickly to our next point of discussion. Aside from anything related to Jon, you should not be snooping around in my business. I am a man of many contacts and many enemies. You, as a Journalism undergraduate, should understand the unforgiving nature of the private sector. I have many enemies, and should I find that you have been collaborating with one of them with the intent of harming me or Jon, you will not appreciate my reply.”

Oookay, another big no-no. Mr. Young was treating this like a discussion, but it felt more like him setting up the strict rules of my would-be job.

“What exactly is my job scope?” I asked quickly to bring the topic away from the big no-nos.

“Take care of every aspect of Jon’s welfare. I have given up trying to make him listen and go to school. He usually just goes out to party, get drunk and wasted nowadays. All you have to do is prepare meals for him when you know he isn’t going out, watch over him when he goes out. Update me on where he is when I need an update, and essentially be there if he seems as if he needs intervention. You may decide the situation in accordance to your ideals.” He stated blandly, but the more he explained the more I found that his job scope didn’t seem to fit me…

“You sound like Jon is better off with a bodyguard.”

“Consider yourself a female bodyguard with the roles of a tired mother who has given up on the future of her son.” He corrected, sounding politically correct even though his description was crude and all wrong. How could a father act in such a way? Was Jon really so hopeless? Everyone should be given second chances –why had Mr. Young given up so quickly?

But even if his father had given up on him, I wouldn’t. Call me a saint, but I believed that everyone deserved second chances, no matter how horrible he had been previously. Besides, Jon was only going through the rebellious phase in his life. Even if he was an angry, helpless and misunderstood teenager who had driven 9 nannies away, Jon deserved a chance to be understood.

Granted, when I was his age two years ago, I hadn’t had such existential crisis. But back then, my mother was already dead and gone, and I had been too fixated on earning money to even be bothered about being angry. Jon, on the other hand, seemed to have a missing mother, a father who was as emotional as a piece of wooden block, and money on his hands. It was easy to see where Jon’s circumstances had brought him.

What most rebellious teenagers like him needed, was a mother/sister figure who cared for them.

And even though I wasn’t the best of such a person, I guessed I was better than anything. At least anything was better than the indifferent treatment I had seen Mr. Young pass to his son. I understood that Mr. Young was a general inexpressive man, but I couldn’t really believe that he was treat his son the same way too. He hadn’t even smiled, or even seemed angry at his son’s hurtful words. Not one bit; it was like Mr. Young just didn’t care.

And yet here he was, hiring me to take care of his son.

What a classic case of a father who didn’t know how to get through to his rebellious teenager.

I sighed. He had taken the right choice to hiring someone close to Jon’s age. As a few years his senior, I figured I could connect with him best. Anything was better than having an old woman literally ‘nanny’-ing him anyway.

“Fine, we have a deal. I’ll take care of Jon for you, Mr. Young.”

He nodded, as if he had expected that reply all along, and checked the clock on his desk.

6.15pm.

“Call me Elxa.” He said briskly, and even though he had attempted to be more ‘personal’, his businessman tone of voice only made it more formal as he stood up, extending a hand over the table. I did the same, and shook his hand.

Somehow, it only felt like a business deal. It felt as if I had somehow been hired, hired to do something I wasn’t really sure I could do. But still, a job was a job.

How I wish it was just a job.

Turns out, Mr. Elxa Young had other thoughts in mind. It wasn’t just a job. It never really was.

With Elxa? It would never be just a job.

Especially since he knew of the ring that I had.