God, that house was huge. Autumn gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward, tilting her head sideways in order to get a proper look at the mansion. It wasn't imposing, but it was impressive—especially how it seemed to fade into the trees.

How did I get here? Autumn wondered. How am I baking for this guy? She was a nobody, a self-taught baker who somehow managed to make rent payments on birthday cakes and cookies. And yet, here she was, parking the Subaru next to some sort of art-deco fountain with three horse-fish things spraying water in the air. She felt as out of place as cottage cheese in a cannoli.

"We're parking here?" Jordyn wondered.

"If they want me to move, I'll move," Autumn replied, putting the car in park and shutting off the engine. Once the car was off, she could hear the sound of water hitting the exterior. Well, free car wash, she thought with a shrug.

"Is anyone coming out?"

Autumn sat back and unbuckled herself. There didn't appear to be any movement in the mansion. "Let me see if I can find someone. Stay here."

"Ugh," Jordyn huffed, pulling out her cell phone. "I can't get a good shot through the windshield."

"You'll live," her mother replied, lips twitching in a smile.

Getting out of the car, Autumn walked around the front, shading her eyes with one hand. A narrow brick path angled off to the side of the house, dipping down a slight hill into the trees. "Hello?" she called out tentatively, standing on her tip-toes.

No answer. You'd think that a place as large as this would have some sort of groundskeeper or gardener wandering around. Okay, then, she might as well try the front door.

As she walked back around the car, a flash of movement in one of the upper-level windows caught her eye. Autumn turned and looked up. Standing framed in a big bay window was a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair.

Is that Mr Westbrook? she wondered.

"Ms Milford?"

The deep voice startled Autumn and she spun around; a burly, dark-skinned man in tan trousers and a blue polo shirt emerged from the front door. If Denzel Washington had become a linebacker instead of an actor, he would have looked liked like this guy. The man descended the stairs, an affable expression on his face. "Welcome to Ashford Estate."

Glancing at the car, Autumn gestured at Jordyn. "C'mon," she hissed, waiting for the teenager to get out.

"Mr Feldman?" she asked, moving to meet him in the middle of the courtyard. Jordyn bounced to a stop next to her.

"It is." He reached out and clasped her hand, fairly engulfing it in his massive one. "How was your trip? I hope the directions were easy to follow." He turned and shook Jordyn's.

"It was a little harrowing," Autumn admitted. "But the directions were fine."

Mr Feldman clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, we are off the beaten path, but Mr Westbrook enjoys the solitude."

"Was that Mr Westbrook I saw just now?" She gestured to the upper floor.

The butler didn't even look. "It may have been. His study is on the top floor." He said that casually, but Autumn took notice of the slight crease between his eyes. Oops.

The first rule of working for the rich: never ask too many personal questions. It was a piece of advice Marnie had given her just before they left. For the sake of getting out of here with all the money that was promised, Autumn vowed to keep her mouth shut and do her job. Now Jordyn ... well, her kid was another matter. She had a bright, vivacious personality that was in stark contrast with her mother's more reserved, practical nature.

"Anyway," the butler continued, "why don't I show you where you'll be staying?"

Autumn blinked. "Oh. Should we get our suitcases ...?"

"We'll have the staff take care of that. If you trust us with your car?" Mr Feldman arched an eyebrow inquiringly.

Jordyn laughed. "She doesn't even trust me with it!"

Autumn's eyes snapped to the butler's face, but his face was crinkled in amusement. "Sure," she replied after a pause. Digging her keys out of her pocket, she handed them to the butler.

A trio of black-clad staff members emerged from the house; Mr Feldman passed the keys to a woman and leaned down, whispering instructions in her ear. She gave a brief nod and turned to confer with her co-workers.

"Follow me," Mr Feldman said. But to Autumn's surprise, he didn't aim towards the house—rather, he began walking down the narrow path.

"Uh, where are we going?" Autumn called out, shooting a worrying glance at Jordyn.

"To the cottage."

"Cottage?" Jordyn mouthed to her mother. Autumn shrugged and picked up her pace.

The butler led them down the tree-lined path that dipped slightly downward. At the end of the driveway off-shoot was a miniature version of the mansion—all golden brown wood and rustic brick. It was two stories tall with a brick base, a wooden second floor, and a high-pitched slate roof. A wide deck extended from the second floor, held up by four thick wooden pillars. Two large, triangular windows faced the road on the top floor.

Adjacent to the cottage was a massive garden; as they drew closer, Autumn spotted giant tomatoes ripening on the vine, yellow squash, dark green zucchini, and the club-shaped heads of Romaine lettuce. They were all larger and much further along than they should be at this time of summer. What sort of gardeners did this Mr Westbrook employ?

"Welcome to Eastwood Cottage," Mr Feldman announced, indicating the door with a sweep of his hand. "This is where you'll be staying."

Autumn's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Although she was speechless, Jordyn was not.

"No way!" the teenager exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. Immediately, her cell phone was up and she was clicking away.

All of this—for a pastry chef and her daughter? Finally, Autumn found her voice. "We're—we're staying here?" This was nothing like she had imagined—a small room for her and Jordyn, sharing a cramped kitchen with the rest of the contracted help. But this—this was beyond expectations.

"Yes."

"But—why?"

"Mr Westbrook's guests will be taking up all the extra rooms in the main house. Also, there simply isn't enough room in the kitchen for both you and the main catering team. The cottage is equipped with a full kitchen and has ample space for refrigeration and storage, should you require it." Mr Feldman smiled. "Shall we go in?"

Why the hell not? Taking a deep breath, Autumn nodded. She had to remain professional.

Mr Feldman led them inside. Jordyn's phone clicked away as she took photo after photo. The door led to a living room that had polished wooden floors, a sleek brown sectional couch, comfy reclining chairs, a flat-screen TV that was almost as wide as the Subaru, and a dark brown gas-fired fireplace.

"Holy shit," Jordyn swore, tipping her head back to stare at an elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "This is bigger than our whole house!"

That was no exaggeration. Their rented house in Northampton was a little more than 800 square feet. It could comfortably fit within the cottage's living room and not even scrape the walls.

"Living room, kitchen ..." Mr Feldman explained, deftly ignoring Jordyn as she cataloged everything for her social media. "Double-wide refrigerator with freezer, island with dual sinks, fully-stocked pantry, restaurant-quality stove ..."

Autumn nodded automatically, eyes nearly glazing over as she walked around the room. All of this equipment was light-years ahead in quality than the stuff she used at home. Each appliance on the kitchen counter cost more than two hundred dollars.

"Bedrooms are on the upper floor," the butler continued. "The master bedroom has an en-suite bathroom; a second bathroom is down the hall." He turned slightly, regarding Jordyn with a wry smile. "We also have a high-speed internet connection for your daughter's streaming."

The minute he mentioned streaming, Autumn snapped back to herself. "Are you sure? We don't want to impose." She had mentioned Jordyn's hobby in passing during their correspondence, but she hadn't expected Mr Westbrook to follow through. She had even prepared Jordyn for disappointment.

"It's no trouble. One of the caterer's sous chefs has a five-year-old daughter; we have a babysitter on staff to help during the day."

Autumn's head began to swim. "Please tell Mr Westbrook that this is exceedingly generous of him." Dear God, how was she going to create enough pastries and sweets to blow this man's mind? The very thought of it made her break out in a mild sweat.

"Of course." Mr Feldman nodded. "Why don't you ladies get yourselves situated? I'll be by later in the day to go over the menu and we can discuss what ingredients you will need."

A rattling sound echoed through the room. "Ah, I believe that's your car." Mr Feldman blinked. "Shall I have our mechanic look at it? That doesn't sound right."

Autumn lifted both hands sharply. "Oh, no—no. That's quite all right. You've already provided us with enough assistance."

The butler raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you," she replied firmly. This was far more than she deserved. There was no way she was going to impose on Mr Westbrook's staff any more than necessary.

The door swung open and the trio of black-clad staff members entered with their luggage and Jordyn's gaming set-up.

"Very well," Mr Feldman agreed reluctantly. "I will see you later." He bowed his head slightly and left with the rest of the staff.

The minute the door closed, Jordyn began screaming and running around like a madwoman, shrieking about how awesome all of this was. Autumn stood in the middle of the kitchen, tapping her fingers to her lips.

What the hell did I get myself into?