His Nanny Mate By Eve Above Story

Chapter 4 The Interview

Moana

I pulled up to the address of the house a couple of hours later wearing a brand new set of clothes. During the time between getting the phone call and arriving, I took out my credit card, which I only used for emergencies, and ran out to buy something new to impress the family. It was just a crisp button-down shirt, tailored pants, and loafers, but as I pulled up to the enormous mansion in the mountains and saw the line of women at the door, I was glad that I had purchased the new clothes. I made sure to double check that the tags on the clothes were hidden, which I had kept on in case I didn’t get the job and would need to return them.

As I parked and walked up the pathway to the front entrance and got in line with my resume in my hand, my heart started to pound.

My heart started to pound even more when I noticed that women were not only filing into the mansion, but were also coming out with sad and defeated expressions on their faces. One girl, who was very pretty and looked a little younger than me, even had tears streaming down her cheeks as she came out with her resume crumpled up in her hands.

Was the employer so awful that he was making these poor women cry during their interviews?

As the line got shorter and I slowly made my way inside, I felt a lump rise in my throat. The inside of the house was stunningly beautiful, with dark Tudor-style wainscoting and creaky wooden floors. There was a massive double staircase in the front foyer, which was where the women would go when their names were called — up one side looking excited and confident, and down the other side looking defeated after their interviews.

“Name?” a woman’s voice said from in front of me. I looked up to see an older woman with gray hair that was pulled back into a tight, slick bun. She wore a dark blue dress with a high collar that was buttoned all the way up and had a clean gray apron on top that looked like it was freshly ironed. Needless to say, as she stared at me with her thin lips pressed into a straight line, she made me nervous.

“Moana Fowler,” I said, feeling my voice crack a bit under the pressure.

The woman muttered something to herself and looked down at the clipboard in her hand, making a tick mark next to my name.

me a somewhat disgusted

a plush armchair in the corner, where I sat quietly and mulled over

few minutes later as an older woman came running down the stairs in hysterics. “She’s a little monster!” she said, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. “In all my years of being

the risk; I really needed this job, regardless of the child’s behavior. The children at the orphanage I volunteered at absolutely loved me, even the difficult ones, and I was certain

my interview, and eventually, as the sun went down and I sank into the plush armchair, I found myself involuntarily nodding off. My night out with

“Moana Fowler.”

jumped, awoken abruptly as the stern woman from before called my name and looked up to see her standing over

I’m sorry,” I said, sitting upright and nervously wiping a bit of drool off of the corner of my mouth with the back of

sternly, stepping away from me and

frantically, standing with my resume clutched in my hand. “I’m sorry I

see any more candidates,” she interrupted. “Especially not young, pretty girls

heart drop into my stomach as I shook my

her. I promise you won’t regret it if you just

sighing. “Fine,” she said,

where she silently led me down a wide hallway that was lined with large, ornate wooden doors. Finally, we stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. She opened the door and let me in

behind a high-backed chair that faced the empty fireplace. “I don’t want to see

like to see you,” I said softly, stepping toward

small head of blonde hair poked out from behind the chair and glared at me, appraising me, for several moments as I stood in the middle of the room. Suddenly, as if my appearance didn’t meet her standards, the little girl leaped out of her seat and rushed toward me, her childish face twisted into an angry snarl and her werewolf fangs bared. Between the mop of messy blonde hair poked two pointed little ears on either side of her head, which twitched

ground and stared down at the little ball of fury, which only became more furious

aren’t you running like the rest?!” she shouted, her high-pitched

into her eyes. I slowly extended my hand to

the little girl’s ears pricked up and her

at the floor, and when she spoke her face was still pointed down

I said. “My name is Moana.