Upon reaching the house I was supposed to be interviewing at, I immediately found myself feeling woefully underdressed. This place was magnificent! Honestly, the pictures I had glimpsed online didn’t do it justice. I was shocked they let my car past the iron gate.

I’m not a master architect or anything. I couldn’t tell you what the style was called, other than that it was ivory white with a garden that seemed to stretch on forever with every manner of tree and bush I could name, and a hundred I couldn’t. The porch was wraparound, and had an accessibility ramp installed at the edge of the steps. I could hear the trickle of water from what I knew must be the lake in the back, could smell the sweet must of fresh earth and moisture meeting to create what must be a very rich soil.

Was that how soil worked?

I nervously adjusted my purple skirt as I made my way up the steps and rang the doorbell. I knew there had to be no way they would look at me and think this was the woman for the job. What with my beatup old corolla, flyaway brown curls, and outfit with a stain at the base of my shirt that I was desperately attempting to hide as the door swung open and a handsome gentleman with piercing blue eyes and his hair slicked down neatly smiled at me. 

“Ms. Evans, I presume,” he said, stepping back, and gesturing for me to step inside. A sudden thought came boiling to the surface of my anxious mind. Was I about to step inside and have my organs harvested? Is that how these people afforded to live here? Take in hapless folks looking for a job, then sell them for a pretty price on the black market and use the rest of their corpses to feed all that luscious soil. 

“Umm, uuh,” I stammered, hesitating at the door. Could I fight this guy if I had to? He seemed nice enough. I didn’t get the serial killer vibe, but then what was the serial killer vibe?

“Is everything okay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

I glanced back at my shitty car, that I was frankly embarrassed to have parked in front of this sweeping castle of a modern mansion, and figured I had already imagined the worst that could happen. It couldn’t hurt to try. Hopefully death would be merciful, and my bones wouldn’t go to waste. 

“Sorry,” I murmured, finally crossing the threshold, “I feel a bit underdressed. This place is stunning.”

The man smiled as he closed the door behind me, “please don’t let it overwhelm you. You are just as stunning, if not more so. Apologies if that was inappropriate to say. We would love you to feel at home, Ms. Evans. Could I get you something to drink, perhaps? Or a snack? Do you like charcuterie?”

“Uh, yes. That would be lovely,” I said, gazing around in awe at the inside of the mansion, which was easily as gorgeous as the outside, with crystal chandeliers that danced rainbows of light off of the floral patterned walls. 

“Please, follow me,” said the man, turning to walk ahead of me before pausing and facing me with a smile, “Forgive me, where are my manners. My name is Joel Fields, and I am assistant and butler to Mr. Sebastian Vascile.”