Unsuitable
Page 13

After changing into my work outfit, which surprisingly fits me, I get to work. I figure I’ll begin downstairs. So, I make a start on the kitchen.
By the time one o’clock rolls around, every surface in the kitchen is shining. The oven is sparkling, inside and out, and the floor is so clean that you could eat your dinner off it.
Speaking of eating, my stomach is rumbling.
I wash up my hands and grab my bag from where I left it hanging in the coat closet in the hallway. Then, I head outside to the back garden as the sun has made a rare appearance, and I’m determined to enjoy it while it’s here.
I do a little wandering around the huge back garden where it’s clear that it’s been lovingly cared for. A lot of hard work has gone into this garden.
I can’t see Kas-hole—see what I did there?—getting his hands dirty with gardening, so I’m guessing he has a gardener. Unless his parents do the gardening.
I wonder when they’ll be back. Hopefully, they’re nicer than their son.
But then, if they raised that miserable twat…I shouldn’t hold out much hope.
It’s such a shame he’s a wanker because he’s really good-looking. Shame his personality spoils what could have been a perfect person.
I spy a bench by a colorful shrubby, so I decide to sit there.
I take out my phone and check it.
There’s just one text from Cece, sent a few hours ago. Not surprising, as she’s the only person who has my number—well, aside from Kas-hole and my probation officer.
How’s your first day going?
I type back.
My new boss is a wanker. But, aside from that, good. The house is beautiful.
She replies back instantly.
Do I need to kick his arse?
I chuckle at that.
Nah, it’s nothing I can’t handle. You on your lunch break?
Yeah, just about to head back in though. Catch you tonight. Love ya.
Love ya, too.
I keep my phone in my hand, and I go to the only other contact I have in there. I press Call and put the phone to my ear. I wait, listening while it rings.
It goes to voice mail. “Hi, you’ve reached Anne Burgess, Department of Social Services. Leave your name and number, and I’ll call you back.”
Disappointed that I won’t get to talk to her, I wait for the beep. “Hi, Anne, it’s Daisy Smith. I’m just calling to let you know that I was released yesterday. I was hoping we could get together to talk…about Jesse. I’m hoping I can see him soon. If you could call me back on”—I rattle off my number—“I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.”
I hang up and put my phone back in my bag.
Hopefully, she’ll call me back soon.
Anne is Jesse’s social worker. Over the last eighteen months, I’ve kept in regular contact with her, regarding Jesse. She knows my keenness at getting Jesse back home with me. Anytime I ever tried to broach getting custody of Jesse, she’d always tell me that it was something we’d need to discuss after my release.
Well, I’m released now, and I want to talk about it. I also want to see my brother.
Determined not to let the frustration I feel overtake me, I reach inside my bag and get my lunch out.
I have this sudden feeling of being watched, but when I look around, I don’t see anyone.
Weird.
I open my Dairylea Snack Box and start eating.
I enjoy sitting in peace and just eating my lunch, but I’m done in fifteen minutes, leaving me with just over half an hour left to kill.
I put my empty wrappers back in my bag and dust off the crumbs from my dress. I decide to take a walk around the estate and check out the paddocks and stables.
I hang my bag on my shoulder and set off walking across the garden. I hit the garden path and follow it. It curves along the garden and then leads me out through an archway.
I stop on the other side of the archway and look around.
This place is massive.
Far off to my left and straight ahead is the wall that surrounds this place. It disappears off into a forest of trees.
I can’t even imagine how long it took to build that wall—or the cost alone. Although it’s not like they couldn’t afford it.
To my right are the stables. The paddocks are to my left and ahead. They cover a lot of the area. Horses are dotted around in each one.
I start to wander toward the paddocks. As I near, I see a guy who looks to be fixing one of the fences that keeps the horses in.
As if sensing my approach, he lifts his head.
I smile. “Hi.” I lift my hand in a wave.
He waves back. Smiling, he stands.
Nice smile. He’s good-looking. Sandy-blond hair that’s cut short. Tan skin. Looks to be around my age. Seems friendly.
Complete opposite of Kastor Matis.
But, as much as I hate to admit it, Kas is better-looking. This guy is a pretty boy. Kas is a man in all sense of the word. Even if he is a complete dickhead.
“You’re new,” he says when I reach him. He has the most delicious Australian accent I’ve ever heard. Well, the only Australian accents I’ve ever heard have been on the telly. “And you can’t be a horse owner, as I know all the owners, and we haven’t had a new horse in recently.”
“I’m the new maid, and you’re Australian.”
Duh.
Dumb, Daisy. So dumb.
“You got me.” He chuckles, lifting his hands in surrender. “Cooper Knight, native of Adelaide.” He drops his hands and puts one out to shake mine.
Reaching out, I slip my hand into his. “Daisy Smith, native of London.”