C3 Accusations and Desires

"You don't look like a twenty-five-year-old nanny." He looked me up and down, smiling warmly. "You seem like an eighteen-year-old party girl."

I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from acting on my nervousness. That was not a good sign. I could see police cars in my head. I rustled around in my bag, looking for my outdated cell phone. I was already considering sending a text to tell Winnie to hide because the old man was starting to suspect.

I applied for the job because of the promise of money, security, and food. I hesitated because I might get jailed. I had no experience being a nanny. Here I go.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I don't have any experience as a nanny. I'm only here because I'm looking for a good job," I said, feeling nervous and inadequate.

Here I go.

He closed Agatha Rivera's folder and smiled tightly. "Hello again," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's start the interview over, miss," he said in a warm voice. It reminded me of my father encouraging me to study math, believing that I wasn't stupid. His willingness to give me another chance felt like we had a close-knit family tie.

"My name is Jane Rivera, and I'm not Agatha Rivera. I'm eighteen years old, and I don't have any nanny experience, sir," I said, closing my eyes, trying to remind myself that good things were possible. Assistant Diordano nodded and tapped my back, which felt stupid because I had come here without any clear information about these people.

My innocence and naivety could get me into trouble. I studied the assistant, trying to figure him out. He looked like my father, someone who wouldn't hurt me, but I couldn't tell if he felt any remorse despite my lies.

"Do you know Laurent Diordano?" he asked, and I shook my head, feeling like I was already ruining the interview.

Acid hit my throat, and tears threatened to fall from my eyes. "I have no idea," I admitted, gripping the fabric of my jeans.

"He's a famous person in the business community. That guy is a control freak," the old man said with humor, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "The reason why we posted the job in the newspaper without any specified information is that we want someone who is not well-oriented in city," he explained.

I blinked a few times, realizing he wasn't joking. I remembered that Agatha Rivera was from a far-flung place, meaning she might not be familiar with the elite society of city.

I was too scared to regulate my emotions, unable to form any words. "Go ahead, you could ask questions," he encouraged.

"Are you going to put me in jail?" I asked, biting my lip hard to keep my tears at bay.

He pursed his lips, observing my misery. "Sir, I didn't do anything wrong. If you investigate me, you'll find out that I'm innocent. I didn't mob Uncle George's house," I said, grabbing his hand as a lifeline.

"I already knew you weren't Agatha Rivera the moment you walked into this room," he said, scrutinizing me. He ruffled my hair and wiped my tears away with his handkerchief, a warm and compassionate gesture I hadn't experienced often. "Please don't put me in jail. I need to prove my innocence," I pleaded.

"Of course, I won't. I know how to spot a thief, and you're not a thief, dear," he said, smiling at me. It wasn't my proudest moment, but I was happy someone believed me.

"I have a feeling that men like Assistant Diordano spend their lives assessing people on their employer's behalf," I thought.

"How will you prove your innocence? I just read the news, and your face is plastered all over it," he asked.

"I'll find work and an attorney," I explained my plans, which sounded idealistic and simple. I clasped my hands on my lap as he digested my response.

"Indeed, you could do that. But people won't take you seriously," he said, causing tears to stream down my face. I couldn't understand why everything had to come to this.

"I'll help you, but I want you to be Laurent's son's nanny," he offered.

We didn't speak for the rest of the drive to Mr. Laurent Diordano's mansion, but that was fine with me because I was more intrigued by the billionaire's mansion. I had never seen a house like this before – so grand and majestic. It was my first glimpse of such luxury, and so far, Diordano's mansion was living up to my entire childhood princess dreams. The cream-colored buildings were done up in French architectural design, making it absolutely breathtaking. Our house didn't come close.

Everyone seemed exceptionally regal and aloof. I guess this was the consequence of money – it would create distance and harden your heart too.

I raised my eyebrow as I considered the possibility of Mr. Laurent Diordano's cold disposition in life. I looked over my shoulder as I drank in the view of his French-inspired mansion. The colossal house was impressive, and it was located far away from the city, where you could see the beautiful beach. I gaped, and it would put shame on the luxurious experience that I'd had with my parents when we stayed in a private villa in a famous beach. "It's too much," I said, gawking out at the tall French door in front of us. I couldn't believe I was having this kind of experience.