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21
CIARAN
When I stumbled down to the kitchen in the morning, a woman was humming a tune under her breath while making breakfast and brewing coffee. She was facing away, or else she would have spotted me right away.
The patio glass panels were thrown open. It was a gray, rainy day, which suited my throbbing head. I had an epic hangover. Glaring lights or loud sounds might short circuit my brain.
The fresh scent of cheese omelets and buttered toast mingled with her coffee concoction. To the right of the stove, a bowl of pineapple and mango chunks offered a bright contrast to the ash-gray granite counter.
“Hazelnut coffee?” I asked, my voice groggy. The idea of eating actual food turned my stomach, but I’d take coffee any day.
The short, redheaded woman twirled, a kitchen utensil still in hand, which she promptly put down.
“You startled me.” Her smile was instant, radiant, and powerful enough to banish shadows. I immediately felt like I was in the company of a genuinely good person. “I was about to stab you with my trusty spatula. You must be Ciaran. I’m Franky,” she babbled before moving around the island and forcing me down into a squishy hug.
My face was shoved in her unruly red hair and she smelled of coconut oil, fresh cut fruit, and cooking spray.
Who needed the sun when Franky was nearby? She looked to be twenty-five, give or take.
“Nice to meet you, Franky.” I sat on a stool at the counter, feeling useless while she worked. “I’d offer to help, but I’m barely standing upright.”
Franky chuckled as she poured black liquid into a cup and slid it over to me. “You know your coffee. It is hazelnut. My own blend.”
The coffee was hot, smooth, with an excellent nutty, bold taste.
“This is perfect,” I said after several sips. “This may sound strange, but do you know how I got home last night?”
I scrubbed my face and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It didn’t escape my notice that I said the word “home.”
The corners of Franky’s eyes crinkled. “You went to a beach party last night, didn’t you?”
“I…think so? I remember being in the car with Matthias. We met Joan…somewhere.” Memories of a bonfire came to mind. Music. Dancing. But that was it. The clothes I woke up in smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, campfire, and vomit. “How I got from there to here is a mystery.”
I massaged my knuckles. They were red and bruised, as if I’d punched something—or someone—last night.
“I’m sure Matty brought you home. Sure, he can be as nice as an ax to the head, but I don’t see him leaving you stranded.”
“I’ll take your word on that since you’ve known him longer. To put up with Matthias Vaulteneau, they must pay you well.”
“Matty’s not horrible to work for, unlike a few of my former employers.” Franky pulled a carton from the fridge and poured a green goopy, soupy liquid into another cup. “Drink this,” she said, offering it to me. “It will help with the hangover.”
“Another one of your concoctions?”
Franky beamed. “You bet.”
“How horrible were the other bosses?” I ventured to ask.
She finished preparing the breakfast, divided everything between two plates, and placed one before me. She ate from the other one.
I wondered where Matthias was, but didn’t want to ask.
“I’d get yelled at for things that weren’t my responsibility,” Franky started, ticking things off finger by finger. “I’d have to pay for stuff when they wouldn’t reimburse me, like when picking up their groceries. Rich people can be the stingiest people on the planet. A few bosses were creepy and thought that by hiring me I owed them sexual favors. Here, though,” she added with an appreciative look on her face, “I work directly for Matty. He only asks me to be on hand on the weekends and a few days a week. He’s never, ever looked at me suggestively. The estate paid off my credit card debt, I have a 401k, and as long as I get a passing grade, they pay my college tuition, too.”
The nasty boss part was horrible, but I was impressed by how the Vaulteneaus paid their employees. Maybe I’d been a bit too harsh toward Matthias.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all that.” I sipped the green liquid and wished I hadn’t. I was relieved to know that Matthias didn’t abuse his employee. “I am surprised, however, to hear that Matthias doesn’t have a torture chamber hidden away. No regular beatings in the courtyard?”
Franky finished chewing before answering. “That depends. Who’s doing the beating? Am I beating Matty, then definitely. I am a task manager. No one has ever dared lay a hand on me since I started working for the Vaulteneaus, even people not connected to the family.”
