1
Sarah
The irrigation valve refuses to cooperate, and I’m already covered in mud from crawling around behind the pool equipment. It’s my first day on the Barinov estate, and I’m wrestling with corroded pipes like some kind of plumber instead of the gardener they hired me to be.
The morning started simply enough. I’d arrived at seven sharp, just as the groundskeeper instructed when he called yesterday to confirm my start date. He’d been gruff over the phone but not unkind, giving me basic directions to the equipment shed and a list of areas that needed attention.
“Start with the irrigation behind the pool,” he’d said. “System’s been acting up for weeks. Previous gardener never got around to fixing it.”
Now I understand why. The valve assembly looks like it hasn’t been serviced in years, and the connections are so corroded I need both hands and most of my body weight just to get the wrench to turn.
I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, probably smearing dirt across my face in the process. The valve finally gives way under my wrench, and water gushes out faster than I expected. I scramble to redirect the flow toward the garden beds, but the pressure is all wrong, and I can already see the poolside flagstones getting soaked.
“Dammit,” I mutter, cranking the valve in the opposite direction.
The estate spreads around me like something from a magazine, with its manicured lawns, imported stone, and gleaming windows. I landed this job through pure luck and desperation, answering an ad that most people probably ignored because of the vague location and minimal details. All I knew was that it paid well and came with minimal supervision, which sounded perfect for someone trying to stay invisible.
I adjust my position, trying to get better leverage on the stubborn valve, when footsteps click across the stone behind me. Designer heels and definitely expensive, no doubt.
A woman walks past without slowing down, her platinum blonde hair catching the afternoon sunlight. She’s tall, willowy, and carries herself like she owns everything she sees. Her dress is cream-colored silk that flows as she moves, and her heels click against the stone.
She pauses near the pool’s edge, close enough that I could speak to her if I wanted to, and close enough that she definitely sees me kneeling in the dirt with my wrench and my growing puddle of irrigation water.
“Excuse me,” I call out, thinking maybe she needs directions or has a question about the maintenance work. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
She turns slightly, just enough to glance in my direction. Her face is stunning in that sharp, expensive way that suggests good genetics enhanced by better cosmetic work. Her gaze sweeps over me once, cataloging my muddy clothes and disheveled hair, and then she simply looks away.
No response. No acknowledgment that I spoke. Nothing.
She continues walking as if I never existed, disappearing around the corner of the pool house with the same unhurried grace she arrived with.
I stare after her, irritation flaring. I wasn’t asking for conversation or trying to be her friend, but basic human decency doesn’t seem like too much to expect. A simple “No, thank you,” would have sufficed.
Then again, people with this kind of money probably don’t see staff as fully human. We’re more like appliances that occasionally make noise, being functional but not worth engaging with.
I turn back to the valve, giving it another aggressive twist. The water flow adjusts, but I’ve overcorrected. Instead of a gentle stream feeding the irrigation system, I’ve created a miniature flood that’s spreading across the pool deck faster than I can contain it.
“No, no, no.” I scramble to adjust the flow again, but my feet slip on the wet stone.
The world tilts sideways as I lose my balance, and I have a split second to imagine myself crashing onto the flagstones, probably breaking something important and definitely losing this job before I’ve even finished my first day. Then strong hands catch my waist, pulling me upright and back against a solid chest.
The hands that steady me are large and sure, and the body behind me radiates power that makes my pulse accelerate. I can smell his cologne. It’s something expensive and subtle that mingles with his own scent in a way that makes me want to lean back into him.
I don’t. Instead, I step forward as soon as I’m stable, turning to face whoever just saved me from a potentially painful fall.
The man watching me has presence that fills up space without effort. He’s tall, maybe six-four, with dark brown hair cut close and blue eyes that seem to catalog everything they see. His face is sharp and intense, and he’s looking at me like he can see what’s inside of my head.
“Thank you.” The words come out steadier than I expected, considering my heart is hammering against my ribs. “The valve was stuck, and I?—”
“You flooded the deck.” His voice is low and grumbly, with the faintest trace of an accent I can’t place. Russian, maybe. His tone doesn’t carry judgment, just observation, but something about the way he says it makes me want to explain myself anyway.
“I’m sorry. I can clean it up right away. The irrigation system was backing up, and I thought if I could just adjust the pressure—” I’m babbling now, words spilling out faster than I can control them. “The valve was completely corroded. I don’t think it’s been serviced in months, or maybe years. The whole assembly needs to be replaced really, but I was trying to make a temporary fix so the gardens don’t dry out.”
He raises one hand, and I stop talking immediately. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but there’s authority behind it that makes my mouth snap shut without conscious thought.
“How long have you been working with irrigation systems?”
The question surprises me. I was expecting criticism or maybe instructions to pack up and leave, not what sounds like genuine curiosity about my background.
