Mr. Archer
MILLIE
I’m as wet as a drowned rat. The weight of the dampness forces my black hair to lie flat on my skull as water beads trickle down my yellow raincoat. The motion creates rowdy streamlines on its waxed fabric, before the water lands on my boots or on the soaked floor of the bus shelter. I wish the tiny roof above my head could shield me from the cascading rain.
It’s only 4 p.m., but the dark cloud makes it feel later than it is, especially since the temperature has dropped a few degrees from what the weatherman predicted; it’s rather too cold for the beginning of autumn. I have all the reasons to head home, dry up, and wrap myself in my fluffy blanket with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands, yet here I am, waiting for the bus to take me to work.
At least, I won’t be home and see my ex’s face. There’s always a silver lining.
I peer at the timetable board for the third time because the bus should be here now. I’m sure there was no sign of a bus passing when I sprinted toward this bus shelter, but now I’m starting to worry that the bus might have been here earlier. This is not good. Turning up late on the first day at work isn’t a great way to impress our employer, is it? But what can I do? I just wish my car hadn’t broken down since it could have taken me to places in this shitty weather.
After a few minutes, which felt like a century, a dim light peeks through the downpour and slowly grows in size and intensity, followed by the bus emerging and pulling over in front of me. Finally.
“Let’s take you home! Better late than never,” shouts the friendly driver when he sees me scrambling into the bus.
“I have to wait for that. I have one more task before I call it a day,” I reply, glancing at the nearly empty bus. Only two boys are sitting at the back, one is on the left and the other on the right, their faces buried on their phone screens. I take the front seat.
“Alas!” the driver says as the door closes, looking at me from the rearview mirror. I think he’s smiling, but I could be wrong, given his thick mustache hovering over his lips. “Let’s get you there, then.”
Once the bus moves, I retract my phone from my jeans pocket and heave a sigh. Maybe I can still arrive at the Archer’s residence on time, since I don’t need to waste time searching for the building. I went there last week to see Ms. Heartwood, Mr. Archer’s housekeeper, for an interview and to meet the twins, whom I will watch over during their father’s absence in the evenings.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and focus on the road. The rain is pouring like a madman, obscuring the view outside the window, though I know exactly what is standing on either side of the street like I know the back of my hand. The white, square building on the right is my campus library, where I’ve been spending most of my days working on my final assignment. On the left is a convention hall, built in an asymmetrical shape with a crooked white roof like a snow-covered mountain; the building where I will be attending my graduation ceremony in the spring. I can’t wait for the day to come.
I can’t wait to move into a new phase of life and end this nightmare. Zayn had better realize he made a mistake by then.
In a split second, my mind wanders to my ex, who is probably sitting in my living room now, or maybe on Mia’s bed, doing heaven knows what. All I know is I don’t want to be there to find out. Learning about my ex-boyfriend dating my roommate is hard enough, let alone witnessing them together in my own space.
Mia brought up the topic last night when we bumped into each other in the kitchen. Since she and Zayn announced they were dating, I’ve been staying inside my room more, not that she and I have been super close, either. We’re just two college girls who share space to save money.
“Hey, Millie,” she started the conversation last night, “Zayn’s probably going to spend the night here tomorrow since his roommate’s fiancé is coming to visit this weekend, but I want to check with you first if you’re okay with him being here?”
“Of course,” I lied. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
She looked hesitant as her eyes studied my face, and then a smile broke across her diamond-shaped face. “I wanted to make sure because you guys were dating before. I just don’t want to make it awkward, you know.”
“Is that why I haven’t seen him at our flat since you two started dating?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
I should’ve hated her for taking my man without even having to break us up, but I couldn’t. Zayn left because of me and because he got lost in our five years of relationship; it wasn’t because of her. “I’m fine. I promise,” another lie rolled off my tongue effortlessly, accompanied by the sweetest smile I could muster. “You should let him come over. I will be at work tomorrow evening, anyway. You two can have the flat yourselves for several hours.”
“Right. Thanks.”
With awkward smiles plastered on our faces, we nodded at each other and headed to our rooms.
I left our flat this morning with the dread of coming home to find them cuddling on the couch. How would I deal with that? How would I act cool when I saw another woman in the arms of the man I love? I know this won’t last. He will eventually find his way back to me after he finds himself again, but this is just too much to take.
The urge to crash on someone’s couch tonight has gotten stronger ever since, despite the voice in my head telling me I’m ready for this because I’m a big girl. I guess I’m just not that big today.
***
Mr. Archer’s residence appears larger than I remember it in my head. I know a house doesn’t grow like a living being, but it’s just how my mental eyes perceive it because I’m late and feel small and uneasy about it.
Unlike last time, the main entrance is now closed. The intimidatingly tall iron gates covered by the black screens make it ten times scarier, as if they’re scowling at my tardiness. From the narrow gap between the gates, I spot the granite cobblestones sprawling along the driveway and ending at the double garage doors. I have yet to see how many cars are sitting inside. It’s going to be five cars easy. There is a pathway on the right side of the driveway, even though I can’t see it from where I stand now, which is laid across the front garden and leads to the porch.
Mr. Archer must have put on the screens for safety reasons since the house is on a busy street. Unless people plant their faces in the gap between the gates to peep, all they can see is the house’s dark roof over the gate’s acorn-shaped finials.
After announcing my arrival to the lady on the other side of the intercom line, the gates buzz and slowly slide open, revealing the full display of the Scandinavian two-story building. It’s large, modern, and rather dark, yet fascinating. Like the gate screen, the glass on its large windows is also tinted. Mr. Archer must love his privacy.
As I reach the front door, a middle-aged lady with a white apron is standing on the side of the porch. Her salt-and-pepper hair is pulled into a neat bun, and her face is free from makeup. She doesn’t need any facial correction with that smile, anyway.
“Hello,” she greets me. “This way, please. It’s better to enter the house from the backside.”
“Oh, hi. I’m Millie,” I reply as I stride in her direction, offering my hand.
“Millie?”
“I mean Mildred,” I correct myself when I see the confusion on her face, inwardly groaning at how this stupid introduction is affecting me. Who wants to be named Mildred nowadays? I would whine at my mom from time to time if she was still alive. “Millie is just easier.”
“Ah.” She shakes my hand. “Tina, short for Christina, and I’m the cook. Let’s go in.”
I follow her to the narrower path along the side of the house, which brings us to the backyard. “My apologies for coming late,” I say as we walk. “The bus was late because of the weather, and the traffic was horrible.”
“Poor girl. You must be wet and cold from the rain.” She glances at me, quickly taking my figure, and sighs. “And the hard rain always does that to the traffic. But you’re just in time. Mr. Archer has not departed for his dinner appointment and wants to see the new sitter before he leaves.”
“Oh.” I peer through the kitchen window we’re passing. The light above the counter is on, allowing me to check inside, but there’s no sign of a human presence in that spacious, modern kitchen. “Ms. Heartwood is still here?”
“No. She left at four and will be back on Monday.”
The housekeeper told me about how she worked on the schedules with the rest. She said there had to be an adult’s presence when the twins were home, but everything else is muffled in my head now. All I know is I need to start after dinner, except for today. “I see.”
“I believe she told you that you could come to me if you had questions when she wasn’t around.”
“She did. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away.”
“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t here when you came last week. It must be overwhelming to take all the information at once.” She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture as we climb onto the back porch. “I work on weekdays too, unless Mr. Archer needs me on the weekend. But most of the time, he takes the kids on a trip or to visit a family.”
“Okay.”
The aroma of grilled meat hits my nostrils when Tina opens the kitchen door, causing my mouth to water slightly. She escorts me to a small room, where I can keep my belongings before she leaves me to freshen up in the bathroom down the hall. When I saw Linda Heartwood last week, she gave me a house tour for an early introduction. It’s a huge building, but not the confusing kind with too many rooms and corridors to remember. At least, I won’t get lost here.
“Mr. Archer is waiting for you in the study room,” Tina says when I join Tina in the kitchen. “You know where it is, I suppose?”
“Yes. Second floor...west wing?” My reply sounds more like a question because I’m not fully sure if I’ve mapped the house correctly in my head.
“Yes.” She smiles again. “I’ll be bringing your tea upstairs together with his coffee. Now, off you go.”
I gulp. “Alright. Thank you.” I turn and stride toward the stairs in the foyer.
I haven’t met my boss in person, but I have looked him up on the internet and learned a few things about my future employer. Sebastian Archer is the owner of a well-known IT company, Advanced Connect, where he started his career as an operational manager. He climbed his career ladder until he made it to the CEO role, and on his thirty-fifth birthday five years ago, he acquired the company.
Naturally, his appearance and money easily attract women, but there is no news about him having a wife. Several years back, he dated a model and knocked her up with twins, and the kids ended up under their father’s care. I searched for more information about the twins’ mother but to no avail. She seems to evaporate into thin air and disappears from the internet radar.
The door to the study room is hard to miss since it has a red sticker saying “Do Not Enter. This is a Lion’s Den”. Ms. Heartwood said one twin stuck it there, but Mr. Archer never removed it. Still with my eyes on the cute sticker, I hold my breath and knock on its wooden surface twice.
“Yes,” says the deep voice from the other side of the door.
“Mr. Archer, it’s Millie Wilson, the new sitter,” I reply.
Instead of instructing me to come inside, I hear a soft shuffling before the sound of heavy footsteps approaches the door. I haven’t had a chance to move away from the door when it’s pulled open, and in one blink of an eye, I’m face to face with my boss.
Mr. Archer looks more intimidating in real life, but everything else is like what I saw in his pictures: broad shoulders, brunette hair, a pair of chiseled jaw adorned with a short stubble beard, pointy nose, and thin lips. He’s wearing a white shirt wrapped in a grey vest and anthracite slacks. His wavy hair is gelled in a slicked-back hairstyle, which shifts my focus to his beautiful, heart-shaped face. He’s taller than I expected, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him, especially when we’re standing this close.
What makes me forget to breathe for a moment is the intensity of his blueish-grey eyes as our gazes meet. It holds me rooted to my spot, unable to move a muscle. His stare locks me captive, as though he can see right through me, as though he can read every single thing that has been written in my entire life. I feel bare, defenseless, and bothered.
