Highest Rank #61 in Fanfiction! Juliette McGill finds the perfect position as a nanny for a young boy with special needs. Only when she arrives at the family's home in British Columbia, she discovers that the boy is not quite what she expected and t...
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"This is Harry."
Theodore's voice held such contempt that I wasn't entirely sure he wasn't the kind of man who would murder me in my sleep.
The air in my lungs had been stolen by some unseen force. "Excuse me?" I answered feebly. "There must be some mistake. I...I answered an ad for a seven-year-old boy."
Theodore looked straight at me and deadpanned. "I'm sorry if you misunderstood the situation. Harry has the intelligence of a seven-year-old. He's Intellectually Disabled. Was that not clear?"
No, you sick mofo, that wasn't clear! My brain screamed but this was not a friendly person and I didn't dare anger him further. Instead, I steadied my voice, saying, "I apologize, sir, but no that wasn't clear. Somehow I must have been confused about the exact circumstances. I'm sorry for the inconvenience but this isn't really what I was looking for. I don't think I can take this job after all. Can I get a ride back to the airport in the morning?"
I felt a little guilty for discussing this in front of Harry but he didn't appear to have any awareness of our exchange.
"I'm afraid you've already signed the contract, Ms. McGill."
Shit, I did sign a contract for one year, didn't I?
Summoning a bit more courage, I said, "His actual age was not clear in the contract. I was looking for a special needs child, under the age of ten, to work with. Not an adult."
"Harry is only seventeen," Theodore stated as if that made anything better.
"Still, he's much older than ten," I argued.
"Ms. McGill, I've gone to considerable trouble to get you here so please, I'd like to discuss this in the morning. Does that sound all right?" He attempted a smile, probably to placate me, but it looked more like he had gas.
"Fine," I nodded. "If you will please show me to my room."
He led the way to a plush suite. "I hope you'll be comfortable here," he stated without a hint of emotion.
"And my luggage?" I questioned.
"It will be brought to you, shortly. Is there anything else?"
"No, Mr. Styles. Thank you," I answered.
"Very well. And I insist you call me Theodore." He left without another word. For a man of such formality, I was surprised that he wanted us to be on a first-name basis.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pondered this strange and unfortunate mix-up. Why wouldn't he just specify clearly in the ad that Harry was a teen with an intellectual disability? Or in the interview? I was determined to check my own contract to see what I had missed and I would do so as soon as my bags arrived. I was certain that the right person would come along for just such an assignment, but it wasn't me.
