This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A F*cking Mansion
"Holy sh*t."
The words soared from the petite brunette's parched throat in an awed, panted whisper as the tires
of her cherry red bike squeaked to a halt, crunching leaves beneath the black rubber. Her bag, full of
every belonging she could possibly need over the next month, smacked against her back with a
heavy thump at her sudden stop and the momentum threw her upper body over the handlebars as
she gawked at the building before her.
At the horizon of a winding, cobblestone pathway was the biggest house she had seen in her entire
twenty one years of life. Decorated in old, looming trees, the gray stone mansion looked anything
but inviting. It appeared cold despite the summer wind, standing tall beneath the clear blue sky and
closed off to the rest of the neighborhood by an intimidatingly sharp gate. She appeared to be a tiny
speck amongst vast acres of freshly mown grass dancing in the wind as she dropped her feet onto
the gravel, fishing inside her pocket until she found a crinkled ball of paper and slipped it out quickly.
She glanced over the address she had hastily scrawled down a week ago, after speaking to a
boisterously booming man over the phone about a potential job, and double checked that she had
the right house.
Seeing that she was indeed at the right place, she hopped off her bike and slowly walked it down the
pathway, its greasy and old chains creaking. She tipped her head back under the warm rays of the
yellow sun, eyeing the closed off windows and tall wooden door as sweat trickled between her
shoulder blades and stuck her top to her skin. It had been a long bike ride from her tiny apartment
to this house, and at first sight, she instantly wanted to turn right back around and leave.
She had never been in such a glamorous area and she was immediately intimidated. But there was a
grand opportunity behind those doors and she was not going to let it breeze by.
She shoved the kickstand of her bike down with one flourish with the tip of her shoe, watching the
metal sink into the soft soil and lush green grass as she breathed in the scent of growing flowers. She
gripped the straps of her backpack nervously with sweaty palms as her shoes shuffled over to the
doorway.
Biting her lip, she took in a shuddering breath and hesitantly lifted her fist to knock on the door.
There was a brief period of waiting, to which she spent admiring the fine oak wood until the door
opened and she found herself staring back into the kind, wrinkled face of an elderly man wearing
something almost like a tuxedo.
"How may I help you, miss?" he asked, his voice low and sweet.
She blinked rapidly as she realized – holy shit – he was a fucking butler. "Um," she cleared her throat,
unsure of how to respond to such a person. "Uh… my name's Tegan Rain? I- I spoke to a Mr. Clement
on the phone about taking the spot of a cook while his, um… original chef was… er… otherwise…
occupied?"
Her attempt at fitting in with the heavy, intelligent atmosphere fell short and her cheeks heated as
he cocked his head with a small smile. "Come on in, Miss Rain," he stepped aside and allowed her to
amble inside.
Wiping her shoes on the ground, she motioned to her bike, "I left that there. I hope that's okay."
"Of course, dear. I will take care of that." he smiled.
Horrified at the idea of making such a frail looking man do her bidding, she shook her head. "Oh, shi-
I mean, no. That's okay. I'll do it. Just tell me where to go and I'll-"
"It's not a bother, Miss Rain." He waved her off with a small chuckle. "Just wait right here and I'll go
retrieve the lady of the house to speak with you."
"Oh, um… thank you." she muttered, shuffling her feet against the floor and cringing when her shoes
squeaked across the clean marble.
With one last smile her way, he disappeared down the spacious hallway.
She glanced around the entryway and wrinkled her nose at the empty ground of straight stairs and
one lone rug. The walls were white and bland, reminding Tegan of a mental institution. There was no
sign of life, nothing homey; no pictures indicating a loving family lived together. This place was
definitely not what she was used to. She could just imagine the look of sympathy on her mother's
face if she saw just where she was going to be spending the next month of her life; as a social worker,
her mum would have a field day in this stagnant, seemingly unhappy home.
She nibbled on the small ball of her labret piercing as she held the straps of her backpack, discomfort
squirming in the pit of her stomach. Growing up in a small town off the outskirts of this large city and
never living in a home that exceeded two rooms, Tegan knew she didn't belong in a house like this.
She was already sticking out like a sore thumb with her all black attire in the bright room. And
though she rather enjoyed having the spotlight most of the time, this was not one of those times.
Everything in her body begged to duck in the shadows unseen.
The sound of light footsteps broke her thoughts, and on instinct she lifted her head to the stairs to
watch curiously as a woman appeared at the top of the steps. The first thing Tegan noticed was that
the woman was young, far too young to be the 'lady of the house' that the nice old man had
referred to. In fact, she looked to be around Tegan's age, maybe even a year or so younger.
The second thing Tegan noticed was how unbelievably attractive she was.
Gray blazer stiff and ironed to perfection, she stood in polished shoes one size too large and tailored
trousers held up by a thin, tasteful belt. Her crisp white shirt was tucked into the waist of her pants,
the cream colored buttons done up to the gentle arch of her neck. Her chocolate locks were neatly
combed, not a short hair out of place as her fringe curled across her forehead in one swoop. Her
cheek bones were out of this world high, her eyes surrounded by thick lashes, her sharp jaw unreal.
But her thin eyebrows were poised arrogantly as the corner of her full red lips curled into a subtle
smirk.
Hot or not, Tegan immediately disliked the attitude emanating from this stranger.
"Ah," Dark eyes scanned over Tegan's body, taking in the neatly cut sleeves of her loose t-shirt and
colorful ink decorating her lightly toned arms. Tegan felt herself stiffen under the woman's stare;
there was something unnerving about the way her eyes took in her ripped jeans and beloved Doc
Martins. Her stare was full of judgments and assumptions; Tegan could read it in the small twitch of
her face. The woman's dainty hand trailed across the dark wood of the banister as she descended
the final step, the short heel of her dress shoes meeting the marble quietly. "You must be the help
mother was speaking about."
Even the woman's voice was soft and careful. Every move she made was cautious and calculated, as
if she were creeping past a sleeping giant ready to attack if awoken from their slumber. And though
she had only heard ten short words drawl up that elegant neck, Tegan could already feel dislike
stirring beneath her skin for that gently pitched voice.
"The help?" she parroted, a small scowl pulling at her brow as all thoughts about the attractive level
of this woman disappeared from her mind.
The other woman plucked one eyebrow, "Are you not the new cook? I can't imagine why someone
like you would be standing in my home otherwise."
"Yes," Tegan's raspy voice curled into a growl as she reigned in the annoyance she already felt for
the woman standing before her, "I am the cook."
"Touchy touchy." That smirk reemerged, patronizing and setting Tegan's sharp tongue on fire with
snappish retorts she could not spit her way. "What's your name then, cook?"
"Tegan." she snarled through clenched teeth. "Tegan Rain."
"Bond. James Bond." The other woman quipped, but that irritating smirk ruined any sort of hilarity in
her teasing. When Tegan remained expressionless, she held out her hand, "I'm Sara Clement. It's
so… lovely to meet you, Tegan."
Tegan stared down at that ungodly pale hand for a moment. Had this woman – Sara – ever ventured
to the outdoors? Had she ever seen the light of the sun? Her fingers were long and thin, nails clipped
cleanly and rather short. Tegan searched for any sign of nervous nail biting or tiny cuts of skin
around her cuticles, but she found nothing. The lack of humanness was off-putting, but Tegan did
not have long to linger in that thought as that perfect hand wavered slightly.
She peeked up through dark lashes to see Sara's brow knitting the slightest bit in confusion as Tegan
had yet to meet her handshake. She contemplated leaving her hanging, desperate to see the
affronted line of her mouth twist as she dropped her hand to her side and shook her head at Tegan's
lack of manners.
But that fantasy was cut short as Tegan reluctantly lifted one hand to meet her proffered clasp in a
bout of professionalism. A chill ran up her arm and rushed down her spine as she met Sara's frigidly
cold palm. She glanced back down at their hands to make sure she was indeed touching a human
and not grasping an icicle.
"So awesome to meet you too, Sara." she ground out, quickly taking her hand back.
Something akin to amusement sparked in Sara's hazel orbs. "Tegan Rain," she repeated, as if tasting
it on her tongue, "What a peculiar name." She traced the shiny piercing below Tegan's bottom lip
and the mess of short waves sitting on her head. "Yet oddly fitting, isn't it?"
Tegan did not even try to mask the roll of her eyes. The topic of her name had found its way through
every mouth she had ever encountered and if Sara thought she was being clever, she was dead
wrong. "Sara Clement, a pretty boring name." She exaggerated her glance over Sara's safe attire and
stiff back. "Completely fitting."
Sara's eyebrows shot up her forehead and Tegan couldn't help but allow herself a small grin at
throwing Sara off her game of passive aggressive insults.
But to Tegan's disappointment, she quickly regained composure and even more upsettingly, that
goddamn smirk. "Oh, Tegan Rain, I can show you just how completely riveting I can be."
It was Tegan's turn to gape in surprise as her eyes widened and her mind raced over the possibilities
of just what lurked under that vague promise. She opened her mouth to question Sara, but the
confident click of heels in the distance distracted her words and Sara's body grew tight at the noise.
Like a Pavlov's dog, Sara cocked her head towards the sound before that haughty expression she had
been wearing when she first stepped down the stairs slid back over her face. She turned to Tegan
with what looked like an attempted smile, but appeared more as a cringe than anything else.
"I'm afraid I have to cut this introduction short. Please excuse my abrupt departure." She spoke in a
rushed lisp that had Tegan raising a curious brow. "I'll see you around, cook."
And with that bid, Sara turned and made her way swiftly up the stairs. She was so quiet - a mere blur
of expensive clothes - that if it were not for the chilly lingering touch on Tegan's hand, she would
assume she had made Sara up.
Shaking herself from her peering up the white staircase at the retreating round bum, Tegan turned
around just in time to find the butler who had greeted her at the door and an elder woman making
their way over to her. Wearing a yellow cardigan and flowing black skirt, the woman's relation to
Sara was as clear as day with her sharp jawline and short stature. Yet her eyes were tighter and she
was much less talented in masking her offense at the mere sight of Tegan by her turned up nose.
Tegan sighed and willed herself to smile politely as the woman glided over.
"Ah, Miss… Rain, is it?" The woman held her hand out limply and after a brief pause, Tegan reached
out to shake the odd offer. The woman shot her a peculiar look and Tegan blushed as she realized
that whatever she had done was wrong.
"Yes, ma'am," she nodded, trying to fight off the heat beneath her skin. "It's nice to meet you."
"My husband spoke to me about you," her eyes traveled across Tegan's windswept hair. "Will you be
serving guests in that… outfit, or do you have a uniform? We have one that may fit you if you do not."
"Oh, uh," Tegan thrusted one thumb to shift the attention to her backpack. "Yeah, I have one in
here."
"Hmm," the woman pursed her lips and gave a short nod. "Lovely. Just be sure to iron any wrinkles.
Martin will be sure to show you the spare iron." The old butler gave a short nod behind her. "How
long have you been cooking, Miss Rain?"
"Please, call me Tegan," she smiled slightly, uncomfortable with the formality of her surname. "I've
been cooking for as long as I can remember. My dad owned a small restaurant when I was a kid and
he taught me everything he knew."
Mrs. Clement's eyebrows perked slightly at her use of past tense, but when Tegan did not elaborate,
she gave a nod. "My husband told me that you were looking for money to pay for your next
semester of college. What is your major?"
"Culinary Arts," Tegan responded, ruffling the back of her hair in a nervous tick. "It'll be my fourth
year."
Mrs. Clement gave a satisfied hum. "You have the night off, Miss Rain, but I expect breakfast on the
table at nine in the morning." Tegan noted that in the back of her mind as the older woman turned
to the butler. "Please escort Miss Rain to her room, Martin." She turned back to Tegan with a tight
smile, "Feel free to go to him if you need anything."
She turned and walked briskly away without another word and Tegan was left feeling vaguely lost as
she followed Martin up the staircase Sara had so hastily disappeared up. Tegan peeked around the
firmly shut row of white doors, white carpets, and blank white walls with squinting eyes.
She felt a headache coming on.
Martin opened the last door in the corner of the house, opening it up and exposing the room of a
simple queen sized bed and dresser. "Here you are, Miss Rain."
"Please, call me Tegan." she parroted her earlier words as she took her backpack off and set it
carefully on the ground.
"Miss Rain," he repeated, but something amused lit up his blue eyes at her vaguely exasperated sigh.
"The bathroom is five doors down on your right. This hallway is mostly empty, however the
Clement's daughter stays right across the hall from you."
Realizing he most likely meant Sara unless they had another daughter lurking in the walls, Tegan
sighed softly.
He smiled faintly at her frown. "I take it you have met Miss Sara? Not to worry, dear. She's rather
quiet, if not a bit of a firecracker when need be." Tegan simply raised an eyebrow at that statement
and he grabbed the doorknob, inching it closed as he said, "I'll retrieve the iron whenever you may
need it. Have a good afternoon, Miss Rain."
The door slipped shut before she could thank him and she perched herself on the edge of the bed,
fearful to rustle the covers or create any wrinkles. She gazed around the empty room and peeked
out the window to see nothing but miles of untouched grass and felt anxiety rise in her chest like a
balloon threatening to pop.
She would do anything to be on the comfy sofa of her apartment with Emy, her best friend and
longtime roommate. They could be binge watching television shows and scarfing down Tegan's
gooey macaroni and cheese while crowing with laughter and discussing Emy's newest painting. But
instead she was here, alone and intensely uncomfortable, just like she was sure to be every day until
she could finally escape.
She already hated it.
"Shit."
