Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Make It Legit

"Well, don't just stand there," Martin threw to Anya. "Thank the man and sign the papers."

"There's no rush, Martin," Anders said with a benevolent chuckle. "Let Mrs. Ferguson make sure she's content with the conditions and the remuneration." He turned to Anya. "Although I do hope you approve, Anna."

Anya slowly stepped to the table and picked up the papers. It obviously hadn't been the first contract she had to read in her life - but it was surely the most generous.

"Martin, come help me in the kitchen," Sally's voice came from the stairs. She peeked into the room. "I left Henry with Varya, if you don't mind, Anya. They always play so well together."

It must have been due to the fact that she was one signature away from being paid more money bi-weekly than she had ever been paid for three months, in her entire life, but Anya felt a vengeful urge to say that Sally had never seemed to care whether Anya minded anything before. She didn't - but not out of the kindness of her heart. There was still a chance the contract was a fake, or a mistake; and she'd never see the money. She'd known from her experience how daft it was to burn one's bridges.

Martin muttered something and followed his wife.

"Just so you know, Niklas insisted on it," Anders said quietly, and Anya whipped her face up to look at him. "He's worried about people talking, you see. And how you and your daughter could be treated if it's known that you're dating him. He isn't universally loved in the county, that much is true." Anders shook his head mournfully. "I tried to argue, please know it. I don't think people will have any better opinion of either of you when it is discovered that you are... involved. One might think of you as a gold-digger, climbing the social ranks, from a housekeeper to a mistress."

Anya dropped her eyes and clenched her left fist. And there she was, thinking she'd had no pride left to hurt. And yet, the man's words stung.

"On the other hand, I can understand his protectiveness." Anders' voice softened. "I would want to shield the woman I love from the judgement and the hostility as well. So, if you find the contract acceptable, please, sign it. And remember, if you need anything, any supplies, just let Ms. Atieno know, and everything will be provided to you."

Anya started reading the contract, when the man spoke again.

"Niklas said you were doing it anyway, and he asked you to be paid for it. That would be the first thing he's ever asked for since he was a child." Anders' voice dropped lower, and Anya saw his expression grow grave. "Before the accident, he never needed anything. Or anyone, for that matter. And afterwards– well, let's just say, he's been systematically depriving himself of anything he might enjoy or even require." Anders sighed. "He also said you were looking for a better job; and once you found it, he'd move to the Hall. Needless to say, if you need a reference, feel free to use my name. I'm understandably invested in your proper employment."

Anya digested the information - and stretched her hand with the contract towards the man.

"I can't accept these conditions, Mr. Bjornsson," she said firmly. "The salary is too high. Offer me a fifth of this, and I'll sign it."

Anders' caterpillar-like, blond eyebrows jumped up in surprise.

"Pardon?"

"This is too much." Anya squared her shoulders, although still unable to meet his eyes. "No one charges that much for cleaning and cooking... and these are the only services I'm willing to be paid for."

The man studied her with some sort of an amused disbelief and then took the papers out of her hand.

"I'll have Ms. Atieno drop off a new contract at the Ekollon today," he spoke finally. "You're quite something, aren't you, Mrs. Ferguson?"

"It's Ms. Rosenfeld," Anya said and jerked her chin up. "My name. Anna Rosenfeld."

"That's a beautiful name, Ms. Rosenfeld," Anders rumbled and gave her a wide grin. "As you might have noticed, the working hours in your contract were left to your discretion. I did, nonetheless, emphasised the value of your service, when speaking to the Fergusons about it. Pardon my Nordic pedantism, but I think that a paid service should take priority over pro bono work. It speaks volumes for your decency, but taking care of yourself and your daughter should take precedence over your loyalty to your family. And now it's time I leave you to it."

He shook her hand again, and already by the door, he stopped and added, "Oh, and, Ms. Rosenfeld, I left a new mobile at the Ekollon. Would you be so kind as to make sure that it's always charged and my nephew can actually be reached on it? I wrote the number down, on my card. It's there, on the table. Let Ms. Atieno know if you need one as well."

"I've got a phone, Mr. Bjornsson."

"Excellent!" Anders patted his stomach gleefully. "Send a quick text to Ms. Atieno, so that there is an emergency number to contact if Niklas goes AWOL, as per his unfortunate habit. Just in case, of course. We won't be bothering you unless it's our last resort. Have a good evening!"

"You too, Mr. Bjornsson," Anya muttered and watched him close the door behind himself.

Anya heavily sat down on the sofa. Notably, Sally and Martin and that tea tray still hadn't shown up. She wondered if they'd been standing in the kitchen, holding their breath, and catching every word of her conversation with Bjornsson. Maybe even with their ears against a couple of glasses pressed to the wall.

***

She unlocked the door and pushed it open with a loud 'It's me!' She felt much less conflicted about using the key now that she was coming here openly.

He stood in the middle of the room, in front of a large mirror, propped against a wall. Anya froze on the threshold, half-pulled her only mitten off her left hand.

The suit on him - three-piece, dark navy, almost black; over a crisp white shirt, and a narrow tie, also navy, of the matching shade - was obviously bespoke and made before he'd lost all that weight. It hung on him, but thanks to his wide shoulders and the confident posture his appearance still impressed.

He turned to her, gestured around his chest, and announced, "This is a disaster, innit?"

That would be the last word Anya would choose to describe what she was looking at - and then she realised he'd just swirled on one spot with the ease and grace of a professional model.