Page 13 of Man of the Year

“What happened to the other housekeeper?” I ask Julien when we are out of the kitchen.

“She had a seizure while intoxicated,” he says, without turning, as he leads me down the staff hallway. “On the job.”

“That’s not good.”

“No. Hence, one of the first rules in this house—absolutely no drinking. No alcohol is allowed in the house except for on special occasions and at parties. If you notice anything of the sort, you report it.”

“Understood. So the boss is the only one allowed to drink?”

Julien gives me a look over his shoulder. “No. The boss doesn’t drink. Because of personal history, this rule comes from him directly.”

I suspect that thepersonal historyis the reason the boss is engaging in some sort of self-intervention. I make a mental note to bring minis of booze to work. Meeting the boss and getting him to talk is my main goal. There’s no better truth serum than alcohol.

The staff hallway opens into a spectacular two-story space. The clouds have dissolved, and the living room and hallway are bathed in the sunlight streaming inside through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Wow! This looks like a palace.

Julien swings his forefinger in the air. “Living room.” He flicks his wrist in the direction of the main door hallway. “Main entrance.”

The furniture is minimal—a white living room set, an abstract painting the size of a Persian carpet on the wall. A staircase with a stainless-steel railing leads upstairs. I lift my face to study the intricate frescoes on the ceiling and a silver honeycomb chandelier.

“Second rule,” Julien says, already walking in the direction of an archway leading into the east wing of the ground floor. “No phones.”

I almost skip, trying to catch up with him. “Pardon me?”

“No phones are allowed at work.” He doesn’t look at me, just keeps walking. “When you arrive for work, you lock your personal belongings in the locker in the staff room. That includes your phone.”

“Why?”

“Conference room.” He motions to an open door that we pass so quickly that I don’t get a chance to look in. “Mr. Rosenberg works with sensitive information,” Julien continues, without stopping, in the same monotonous voice that annoys me. “His business depends on extreme discretion. If you had proper training and qualifications, you wouldn’t be asking these questions.”

I don’t bother responding. I will definitely try to dig into thesensitive information. That’s what I’m here for.

“Library,” Julien blurts out, motioning to yet another door without stopping. “Lounge,” he says next.

This time, I slow down and peek into the half-open door. The lounge could pass as a club, with modern red leather banquettes and armchairs, glass coffee tables, a grand piano, and a freaking DJ stage.

“Are you coming?” Julien says louder, demanding my attention and watching me with poorly concealed annoyance.

I hurry toward him.

“This is Mr. Rosenberg’s office.” Julien points to a closed door as we continue walking. “Rosalie is in charge of cleaning it. You are not to go there unless she specifically tells you to.”

“No problem.”

I make a mental note to make Mr. Rosenberg’s office my priority. Right after Rosalie. I have to be in her good graces. Though Julien is the house manager, I’m sure he has better things to do than watch me at all times.

“Do I need to sign a non-disclosure agreement?” I joke, then realize that the permanent staff probably have to.

Julien doesn’t respond to that question, just looks down at me. “You clean the main rooms during the assigned time slots. You are not to go into any rooms that are not assigned to you, unless the other housekeeper says so.”

“That’s intense.”

“We work around Mr. Rosenberg’s schedule and to his convenience. Not the other way around.”

The Pentagon sounds less intense than this mansion. And there are more rules to come.

“You are not to touch personal belongings,” Julien continues as we walk. “That includes clothes, paperwork, anything that’s not food or drinks.”

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