Fake It Till You Make It

3

I was on the phone with Ava, letting her know that I had just arrived at the mansion. "Go and get the job," she encouraged me. But before I could say anything else, she quickly said she had to go. "You will do amazing, sweetie!" she exclaimed before ending the call.

Her words of encouragement should have made me feel better, but instead, I felt even more nervous than before. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

I was wearing a light pink knee-length bodycon dress and a white blazer borrowed from Ava. Sitting in the car outside the grand Vasilios Mansion, I couldn't help but admire its impressive white brick structure and the vast garden surrounding it. The enormous wooden doors, reminiscent of the 18th century, caught my attention. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that this was just an interview, and I didn't have to accept the job.

"I hope this doesn't take too long," I whispered to myself before getting out of the car. Walking towards the door, I rang the bell and waited. After a minute or two, a lady in her mid-thirties opened the heavy wooden doors.

"You must be Yasmin," she said, opening the door wider. "You look lovely, my dear." She glanced at my outfit, and I felt a bit out of place compared to the mansion's aesthetic. While the outside looked bright and colorful, the inside was dim and somewhat empty. There was a big staircase leading to the first floor and a chandelier in the middle of the room. Black and grey paintings hung on the walls, and a large cabinet displayed Mr. Vasilios's medals and achievements.

"Yes, I'm Yasmin," I replied, offering my hand for a handshake.

The lady, named Madeleine as stated on the name tag on her blazer, looked disapprovingly at my hand. "I don't do handshakes, dear."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologized, quickly withdrawing my hand.

"Who knows what you kids have been touching with those hands," she muttered under her breath. "Anyway, follow me. I'll show you the kitchen and then give you the meal plan."

I followed Madeleine through the mansion, noticing the contrast between the grand exterior and the somber interior. We entered a spacious kitchen with shiny countertops and modern appliances, which felt more welcoming and practical.

Madeleine explained my role and responsibilities while showing me around the kitchen. She handed me a detailed meal plan, outlining Mr. Vasilios's specific dietary requirements and preferences. The pressure to meet his expectations weighed heavily on me.

I quickly skimmed over the meal plan, my eyebrows raising in surprise. "He doesn't eat anchovies?" I asked, looking at Madeleine with curiosity. She responded with a flat expression, "No, he gets diarrhea from it."

"Oh," I replied, slightly taken aback, before continuing to read the meal plan. As I scanned through the days, I noticed that there was no chicken on Thursdays. I couldn't help but question this peculiar detail. "No chicken on Thursday?" I inquired.

Madeleine sighed and explained, "He had a pet chicken when he was a child, and unfortunately, it passed away on a Thursday. That's why he doesn't eat chicken on Thursdays." Her response surprised me, but I quickly realized that Mr. Vasilios was just a weird man with weird preferences. Football players, always a pain in the ass.

Madeleine took the meal plan from my hands, her tone becoming more direct. "Just follow what is on the meal plan, and you should be fine, dear," she instructed. I nodded, understanding the importance of following Mr. Vasilios's specific dietary requirements.

She then asked about my availability for preparing his meals. I informed her that I could come after 2 pm since I had classes from 8 am to 1 pm. The drive from my college to the mansion typically took about an hour.

"That's great," Madeleine acknowledged. "During that time, he's usually at practice. Your schedule will be from 3 pm to 7 pm every day. Mr. Vasilios typically comes home after 7 pm, but you must be gone by then. He likes coming home to an empty mansion."

Relief washed over me as I realized that I wouldn't have to serve Mr. Vasilios his meals directly. I asked Madeleine for confirmation, grateful for the chance to avoid direct encounters with the King of Football. She looked at me as if I were crazy before responding, "Mr. Vasilios only needs help with his food preparation. He can feed himself, dear. He is not handicapped."

"I was just wondering," I chuckled nervously. As I continued listening to Madeleine's instructions, she also provided me with further guidance on navigating the mansion and accessing the necessary ingredients and equipment in the kitchen.  "Remember, dear, Mr. Vasilios values professionalism and punctuality. Make sure to follow the schedule and always deliver the highest quality in your work. With that being said, you can start tomorrow."

My heart sank as I heard the finality in Madeleine's words. "Um, sorry, but don't I have a chance to think about it first?" I asked, my voice trembling. Madeleine gave me a strange look, clearly surprised by my question. "What do you mean, dear?" she responded.

I gathered my thoughts, trying to find the right words. "Shouldn't we discuss my salary and the working days before I make a decision?" I inquired nervously.

Madeleine paused for a moment, seemingly amused by my request. "Oh," she finally replied, "your salary is £5,000 a month. Mr. Vasilios was quite impressed with your CV. As for your working days, you'll be working Monday through Saturday. On Sundays, Mr. Vasilios flies to Barcelona to have brunch and dinner with a... well, a family member."

My heart nearly stopped as I heard the salary figure. £5,000 a month was a substantial amount, far beyond what I had ever imagined earning. It could help me finish college, save for the future, and even indulge in some nice things along the way. The financial opportunity was undeniable.

However, I knew I couldn't make such a life-altering decision without consulting Ava, the master mind behind this crazy plan. I needed her perspective and advice. "Can I get back to you tomorrow?" I asked Madeleine, hoping for some flexibility. "I mean, about accepting the job?"

Madeleine stared at me for a moment, and then burst into laughter. "You're quite funny, darling," she chuckled. "But there's no need to get back to me. You start tomorrow. This is your job now. Mr. Vasilios has made it clear that he wants it that way. You start tomorrow, and that's final. His words, not mine."

As her words sank in, a wave of panic washed over me. The decision had been made for me, and it seemed there was no turning back.

I was truly fucked.

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