Thankfully, I reached the place before eleven. Somehow.
I had half-expected to be sweaty, late, and breathless like always, but for once the universe seemed to take pity on me. The bus hadn't broken down. The morning crowd hadn't shoved me into the wrong stop. My nerves hadn't made me throw up on the way.
But the moment I stood at the tall iron gates, clutching the folded parchment with the address, my stomach dropped.
This… was not what I expected.
Not at all.
I thought I'd find some sleek building downtown....glass walls, polished elevators, a professional office with chefs in neat uniforms moving around. That's how most big kitchens worked.
Instead, I was staring at a mansion.
A sprawling villa sat in the middle of a wide-open space, surrounded by trimmed hedges and flowers so bright they looked fake. The driveway curved like a movie set, and a fountain sparkled in the center, throwing diamonds of water into the air. Beyond that, I could see a shimmering pool and a garden that looked big enough to host an entire wedding.
Sunset here must look like magic. Golden light on the water. Shadows stretching across the grass. The kind of place people dream of but never actually step foot into.
And here I was. A broke culinary student standing at the gates with my cheap bag and shoes that had survived three monsoons.
The guard at the front gave me a once-over, his eyes pausing on my nervous fidgeting. "You're here for Madam Cora?"
"Yes," I managed, my throat dry.
He nodded and spoke into his walkie-talkie before stepping aside. "She's waiting in the garden."
The gates slid open, and for a second, I felt like I was walking into a different world.
The air smelled different. Fresher. Cleaner. Richer.
I followed the stone path toward the garden. And there she was...Cora Ma'am.
She sat at a garden table under a white canopy, her posture perfect, a pair of glasses perched on her nose as she read some papers. Her hair was a sharp, neat bob, and everything about her screamed efficiency and elegance.
The moment I stepped close enough, she looked up. Her eyes flicked over me once, sharp but not unkind. She rose gracefully and extended her hand.
"Good morning. Ms. Emma Blake, right?" she said, her tone brisk.
I blinked, taken aback that she knew me before I even introduced myself. Quickly, I shook her hand, trying to match her confident grip. "Yes, ma'am. Good morning."
She gave me the slightest approving nod before gesturing to the chair opposite hers. "Sit."
I obeyed, clutching my bag like a lifeline.
"I've already looked up some of your background," she began, adjusting her glasses. "Professor Carson sent over your CV, but I'd like to hear from you directly."
I quickly pulled out my printed resume and slid it across the table. "Yes, ma'am. I'm pursuing my master's in Gastronomy and Culinary Arts."
Her gaze skimmed the paper, then lifted to mine. "A master's student. Ambitious. But tell me, what makes you think you can do this job dutifully? You're still a student, after all. How will you manage?"
I sat straighter, trying to sound confident even as my heart raced. "No problem for me, ma'am. Summer vacation is coming up soon, and I've already managed a hectic schedule between classes and responsibilities at home. Balancing the job with college won't be an issue."
She hummed thoughtfully, tapping her pen against the folder beside her. For a second, I thought she wasn't convinced.
Then she leaned forward slightly. "You will be working as a private chef. For Mr. Nicholas."
I froze. "Private chef?"
The words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. I had pictured working under some well-known chef in a bustling kitchen, gaining experience, absorbing techniques. Not… cooking alone in some giant house for a stranger.
Cora lowered her glasses and peered at me over the rim. "Yes. Any problem with that?"
I swallowed. "Umm, it's just...I was hoping to work with known chefs. To get the kind of experience I really need for my career."
Her lips twitched, almost like she was amused. "Darling, you're in your master's. You still have another year left. You'll attend seminars, you'll learn in class. But don't you think this is the most suitable job for you right now? Flexibility, pay, and the chance to sharpen your skills without drowning in a restaurant kitchen."
She had a point. But still....
"Yes, but..."
She cut me off smoothly, her tone sharper. "We are offering you a part-time position. You will be working when Mr. Nicholas is not at home."
Something in her tone told me that was important.
"But…" I hesitated. "Wouldn't it be better if I had something that added to my references? Like working in an actual kitchen?"
Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "We will pay you five hundred dollars a week. Plus traveling expenses. Plus insurance."
My jaw nearly dropped.
Five hundred. Every week. That was more money than I'd ever earned. More than enough for rent, Tessa's school fees, groceries. Maybe even a little to save.
"Still hesitating?" she asked lightly, tilting her head.
"No!" I said quickly, cutting her off this time. "Not hesitating. I'll do it."
Cora studied me for a long moment, as if weighing whether I was serious. Then she nodded once. "Good. Then you're hired."
My heart thumped wildly. Hired. Just like that.
"You'll start today," she continued, rising from her chair. I scrambled up after her. "Mr. Knight does not like tardiness, so be punctual. Prepare his meals exactly according to the instruction manual provided. Not your own improvisations. Do you understand?"
I opened my mouth to say something about creativity, but she raised her hand firmly. "No. You will not. Follow the manual. Also, you will leave before Mr. Knight comes home. And you will not cross the borders of the kitchen. Clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said quickly.
"Good." She handed me a slim binder. "This will give you a very good reference, if you can last working for Mr. Knight long enough, of course."
Her words lingered in the air as she led me toward the gleaming kitchen.
And for the first time, a strange thought struck me.
Who exactly was Mr Nicholas Knight?