Page 9 of Man of the Year

Nick: The security guard at the gate will know who you are.

Security? I guess that makes sense, considering Rosenberg’s wealth.

Nick: See you tomorrow.

I dial his number, but he cuts the call.

Nick: Can’t talk, doll ;)

Me: Thanks, handsome! I really appreciate this! Anything else I need to know before I start?

Nick: That place is a little uptight, but you’ll be fine.

I’ve worked at plenty of uptight places that cater to the rich. It’s the subtle undertone of the next message that makes me uneasy.

Nick: Make sure you follow the rules.

DAY 1

FIVE

NATALIE

The Splendors Mansion, says an elegant sign on the giant gate that disguises Geoffrey Rosenberg’s house.

I stop my car in front of it. I didn’t get a code to get in, so I pick up the phone, intending to text Nick, when the door of the security booth on the side of the gate opens and a large guard steps out.

I roll down the window. “I’m here for the job interview.”

Close-shaven beard, square jaw that could crack walnuts, thick eyebrows just below a baseball hat—the security guy looks like a bulldog.

He stares at me with unmistakable disapproval, like I’m here to replace him.

“I don’t think so,” he says slowly. “Wait here.”

He squeezes his six-foot bulky frame back into the security booth, checks something in a notepad, then steps out and shakes his head. “There’s nothing about you or any interview in my memo.” He swings his forefinger in the air. “Turn around.”

“This is a misunderstanding,” I say, then dial Nick.

He picks up right away. “Hey, doll.”

“Nick, I’m here, at the mansion, but the security guy says he doesn’t know anything about the interview.”

“Ugh, give me a sec. Stay there.”

He hangs up, and I apologize to the hostile security guy. “Give me a moment, please. I’m Natalie, by the way. What’s your name?”

He stalls, his iguana gaze on me like I just personally insulted him. “Dave.”

I tense and stare at my hands on the steering wheel, waiting.

His phone rings. “Understood,” he answers curtly. “Yes. Yes. No problem, sir.” He hangs up and shifts his glare to me. “Park on the west side of the building. Use the staff entrance. You are going to talk to Julien,” he says with reluctance as if I’m in the wrong here. He squeezes himself back into the booth and opens the gate.

“Thank you, Dave!” I call, hoping that this is the only hiccup at the job that hasn’t even started yet.

I drive in slowly through the opening gate, checking the rearview mirror, and see Dave on the phone again, his head turned toward me as he watches me drive.

“Whatever, man,” I murmur. “I’m here for a job, just like you.”

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