CHAPTER 6

"Sit down," Bridget Augustus commanded, her voice calm but with an undertone of authority, as she sipped her freshly brewed coffee. A faint line formed on her forehead, a sign that her thoughts were deep. "And have something to eat. I have something important to discuss with you."

Hans Seymour, looking slightly uneasy, followed her order and took a seat. His tailored navy-blue suit fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and disciplined physique. He looked too polished for someone supposedly hired as just a driver. Meanwhile, Manang Karen busied herself in the kitchen, clinking plates and utensils with an air of nervous excitement.

Moments later, she returned with a tray holding breakfast and a steaming cup of coffee. "Coffee for a gentleman like you, Mr. Hans Seymour," she cooed, her voice dripping with flirtation as she placed the cup in front of him.

"T-thank you, Manang Karen," Hans replied, correcting himself mid-sentence. He wasn't used to this type of attention and awkwardly took the cup, unsure if he should drink it immediately, given how hot it was.

"No need for formalities, just Karen will do. I look too old when I'm called Manang," she said with a playful smile. Then, leaning slightly closer, she added, "By the way, I have some juicy news for you."

Hans shifted uncomfortably, sensing her intentions. He glanced at Bridget, who had been observing the exchange with a cold, piercing stare that could freeze a furnace. Karen, however, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

In her head, Karen mused, "Try to stop me, Madam Bridget. I'll slap you a million times if I have to. But quietly, of course. Gotta maintain my charm. Hans Seymour, you’re the future father of my children." Her confidence soared as she lingered around the table. As if she was that young to even bore a child. Such a naughty grandma.

Bridget, on the other hand, was nearing her breaking point. She cleared her throat loudly, cutting through the moment like a blade. "You know, Karen, maybe you should step out of my sight. Or I might slap you two million times."

Karen flinched, but in her head, she thought, "Why two million? I only said one million. How unfair! Universe, explain this to me!" Reluctantly, she plastered on a smile and retreated to the kitchen. "Yes, ma'am Bridget. Leaving now," she said, dragging her feet dramatically as she went.

Bridget turned back to Hans, her composure intact. "So, Hans," she began, her tone measured, "there’s something I need to know about you. Why do you think... you’re here?"

Hans blinked, caught off guard by the question. It was like being called on in class without having read the chapter. He hesitated, unsure of how to answer, but his calm demeanor never wavered.

"Well," he started cautiously, "I think it’s because you need a driver, right, ma’am Bridget?"

Bridget smirked, a mix of amusement and irritation playing on her lips. "You’re always so composed, so calm. It’s almost like nothing ever fazes you, even when it should."

Hans merely smiled, taking a sip of his coffee, though in his mind, he couldn’t help but think, "I already know the kind of boss you are. But sure, let's play this game."

"Let me be straightforward," Bridget said, leaning back and crossing her arms. "You’re not a company driver. You’re my personal driver. That means no corporate perks, no standard benefits. You answer directly to me. And when I need you, whether it’s midnight or Sunday morning, you show up. Got it? And I don’t tolerate lateness. If you’re late, you’ll meet Saint Peter sooner than expected."

“Ah, so that’s why no one lasts long with this woman,” Hans thought, suppressing a smirk. Outwardly, he nodded, adjusting himself in his seat. "Got it, ma'am."

"Good," Bridget replied sharply. "Just because you passed the test doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. One mistake, and you’re out."

Hans raised an eyebrow. "Test? What test?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Bridget hesitated, her sharp facade cracking for a brief moment. "I mean… just because you managed to handle a situation yesterday doesn’t mean you’re a permanent hire. Don’t get too comfortable."

"Understood," Hans replied, his voice steady.

"Good," Bridget said curtly, rising from her seat. "Finish your coffee and tell Karen to clean up after you." She ascended the grand staircase, her silk robe trailing behind her like the cape of a queen retreating to her chambers.

As she disappeared, Hans exhaled quietly. "At least she’s upfront. Better than dealing with liars," he thought, sipping his now lukewarm coffee. But his thoughts were interrupted when Karen reappeared, carrying a rag and wearing an exaggerated smile.

"Oh, Mr. Seymour—" Karen started. She saw Hans's reaction, "Shh!" so she cut him off, raising a dramatic hand. "I told you, no more 'Manang'! Call me Karen. I’m still young, you know. Very marketable, especially to Australians!"

Hans chuckled, unable to resist teasing her. "Australians, huh? Really?"

"Of course!" Karen replied, puffing out her chest proudly. "One almost proposed to me back when I was in Sydney. But I told him, 'Not yet! I need to focus on my career first.'"

Hans grinned. "And what career is that, Karen? Perfecting the art of folding bedsheets?"

Karen laughed, but there was a flicker of indignation in her eyes. "Oh, you’re funny, Mr. Seymour. If you want, I can show you all my achievements. Let’s hang out sometime—my treat! It’s like a date."

"Uh… maybe not," Hans said, scratching the back of his neck. "Busy schedule, you know. Can’t risk being late for ma’am Bridget."

"Ah, you’re scared of ma’am Bridget, huh?" Karen teased, raising an eyebrow. "Don’t worry. I can handle her! I’ll knock her down a peg or two if she gets too bossy."

Hans tried to hide his amusement, shaking his head. “Yeah, she's boss–,” But before he could respond, a cool, familiar voice cut through the air.

"Who’s bossy, Mr. Hans Seymour?"

His heart skipped a beat. He turned to see Bridget descending the staircase, now dressed in a chic office outfit with oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. She looked like a model stepping off a runway, despite the simple attire.

"Uh…" Hans began, scrambling for an explanation. "Karen was saying the sports cars in your garage are bossy sometimes, ma’am."

Bridget arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Is that so?" she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

Karen, sensing danger, busied herself with cleaning the table. "I have no idea what he’s talking about," she muttered, avoiding Bridget’s gaze.

Bridget sighed, turning her attention back to Hans. "Finish your coffee. We’re leaving in ten minutes," she ordered before walking toward the front door, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Hans leaned back in his chair, watching her go. "This house is a circus," he thought, taking another sip. "And I’m stuck in the middle of it."

Karen, meanwhile, was mumbling under her breath as she wiped the table. "Just wait, Madam Bridget. One day, you’ll see who’s really in charge here."

Hans could only shake his head, wondering how he ended up in this whirlwind of drama and personalities. For now, he could only hope the pay was worth it.