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When he doesn’t respond, I take out my phone and start entering things into the calendar app. “Yoga at seven a.m. tomorrow. Doctor on Monday. Now, how does she like her coffee?”
“Hot,” Frye says. “And the kitchen takes care of that.”
Does the kitchen have a human with a name? If so, he doesn’t provide it.
Frye goes on to explain that Ms. Bryant takes her breakfast and lunch in her room, delivered to her by himself or staff. Dinner is taken in the main dining room. “So, what is it that I’ll be doing for Ms. Bryant, personally?”
He blinks. “Assisting her with whatever she needs. Ensuring that she is prepared and on time for her appointments.”
One would expect a hard-ass like Frye to be more specific in his instructions. I hope he’ll let me know when I can peek at the secret art collection or tour the hidden passageways. But I don’t dare question anything more, lest I talk myself out of a job.
Surely, I only need to set reminders for these appointments on Esme’s smartphone. Any functioning adult can handle that without an intern, especially an adult under 30 who grew up in the digital age, but I’ll do it.
If these types of duties are all that’s expected of me, I won’t complain. This will be the easiest job I’ve ever done. And it’ll give me enough free time to explore and snoop around the castle on my own. Let’s face it: I’ll never have the chance to do so little for so much money.
Bottom line: I’m here for it.
Seeing no other pesky questions from me, Frye goes on to list off the rest of Ms. Bryant’s many appointments. My fingers fly over my phone screen to input all of them.
Monday: doctor, then physical therapy.
Tuesday: psychotherapy, nutritionist.
Wednesday: chiropractor, homeopathic, psychic.
Thursday: rotating spa treatments, therapy animals.
A lump grows in my throat as I type all this into my phone. Something is terribly wrong with this lady.
“Anything else?”
When he doesn’t answer, I look up and meet the steely blue gaze.
“I think that’s about all one woman can take, don’t you?”
Frye’s face is inscrutable. It is the slight rattle in his throat at the end of that sentence that gives away something like compassion. Not quite emotion, but …something.
“I agree.” Now, I’m getting somewhere with my boss.
“You will also field all inquiries from the media. The answer you give them is simply, ‘No interviews or photos at this time.’”
“Got it.”
“Study that map I gave you. And it’s best to show up to her rooms an hour early to ensure Mistress Bryant is prepared for her appointments.”
An hour early? When all of these appointments are here at the estate?
I don’t get it, but for this much dough, I’ll keep my annoying questions to myself.
“You’ll find your room marked on the map. I’ll leave you to get acquainted with the house until it’s time to fetch Esme for dinner.”
He turns to leave, then stops short and turns back to address me one last time. “No smoking anywhere on the grounds. No excessive drinking. No leaving without permission. And novisitors. That includes entertaining romantic acquaintances on the premises.”
I snort. “Don’t have to worry about that. I’m in a massive dating dry spell, sir.”
He blinks at me. “I’ll take that to mean you understand the rules.”
I salute him. “Loud and clear.”
