Epsd 2

"Bisila? So it's been you all this damn time. What did I say?" Bradley growled.

"Am I in trouble, Godfather?" she asked, grinning.

"You've been making a fool out of me, and I still took you in as Patrick Smith? What can I do with you, child?"

"Forgive me and let me come back. Please, Godfather."

"Have you changed?" Bradley demanded, his face stern.

"Yeah."

"When was that?"

"Today. This morning."

"Get out of my sight, Bisila," Bradley said, standing up with a grunt.

"You've lost it already."

"Get out, you piece of—" he started, but Bisila was already darting out of the room, sprinting through the yard and garden, out the small gate as Bradley hobbled after her.

"I don’t ever want to see you again on my farm, you little rascal!" he hollered.

"Sorry, Mr. Bradley! I’ll ask for permission next time!" she yelled back, laughing as she ran.

"I’ll slaughter you like a guinea pig if you show your face again!" he bellowed, shaking his fist at the sky before heading back inside, muttering, "What’s with that girl?" He couldn’t help but chuckle.

Bisila walked down the street, still grinning. She reached into her pocket, feeling the freshly earned payment. Up ahead, a bar came into view, its large sign glowing:

**DONNIE AND THE BAR.**

Inside, a few men sat scattered around with drinks, talking loudly. One of them noticed her at the door.

"You're probably off bullying someone again," he teased, causing the others to laugh.

"You wish!" Bisila shot back, strolling into the bar.

"Hey, Donnie," she called out.

"Speak of the devil. Bisila, why are you dressed like a male worker?" asked Donnie from behind the bar, raising an eyebrow.

"It’s a long story," she replied, taking a seat.

"We love stories!" one of the men chimed in. "Who’d you terrorize today?"

"Mr. Bradley," she answered casually, sipping the beer Donnie handed her.

"Not the old man again!" Donnie groaned, shaking his head.

As she sat, a man beside her caught her eye. He wore a wide-brimmed hat that covered most of his face, expensive snake-skin boots, and a silver cobra ring on his thumb. His hands looked too soft for hard work, and though his face was mostly hidden, his presence was commanding.

"Hello!" Bisila snapped, trying to catch his attention.

"Hi," he replied, his voice deep and gruff.

"Tell us already, what happened at Bradley's?" urged a blonde man who’d taken a seat nearby.

"Has anyone heard about Andrew James Jr.?" a tall, bold man interrupted.

"John James's son? The one who went to England ten years ago?" the blonde guy asked, curiosity piqued.

"Yeah, he's coming back in two days. And he’s bringing his wife. Supposedly a beautiful musician from England. What was her name again?"

“Anna Witherspoon,” the man in the wide-brimmed hat said, his voice low.

"Yes, Anna Witherspoon," the bold man echoed.

"And why do we care?" Bisila asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, because Andrew was the one we all thought could steal your heart, but now he's married. We’ve all tried, and you’re not interested in any of us!" the bold man grinned.

"You’re all like fathers and brothers to me. Please, Travie, I’m years older than you!" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Age is just a number!" Travie shot back, lifting his glass to laughter and cheers.

"Alright, it’s getting late," Bisila said, standing up. "I’m heading home before any of you try something stupid."

"I’ll walk you," offered the blonde guy.

"Oh, so you can have me all to yourself, Daglous?" Bisila teased.

"No, no, I just—"

"I’ll walk with you," the man in the hat interrupted, his voice smooth. "If you don’t mind."

"Sure," Bisila shrugged. "Sorry, Daglous. Looks like the old guy won."

The man in the hat extended his arm, and they walked out together. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, don’t you, Ms. Bisila?” he said as they strolled down the street.

“Sharp enough to know when someone’s trying to pull one over on me,” she replied. “So, who are you really?”

“Oh, I think you know. Or at least you figured it out in Donnie’s,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Mr. James," Bisila said flatly, her smirk returning. "You think that disguise was fooling anyone? The second they started talking about Andrew James Jr., I knew."

"Guess I’m not as good at disguises as I thought," he admitted.

"Nope. So what do you want?"

"I need someone tough and clever. I’ve been watching you for a while, and I think you’d be perfect to work for my son’s wife as her caretaker."

“Caregiver? You think I’m cut out for that?” Bisila laughed. “I cause trouble wherever I go.”

“Exactly. That’s why I need you. You’re hard-headed and unpredictable—perfect for keeping things in line,” he said, his grin widening.

“Okay, but who told you I’d take the job?”

“No one. I’m offering because I think it’d be mutually beneficial. My servants are all male, except Lady Matilda, who’s already spoken for. I need someone like you.”

Bisila raised an eyebrow, stopping in her tracks. "And what makes you think I'd be suitable?"

"Because you're tough, and I’d feel comfortable having you around the house. You don’t take crap from anyone, and that’s exactly what I need."

She laughed. "Mister James, I’ll be real with you. I’m a mess. You don’t want me on your staff."

"Perfect. You’re hired," he said confidently. "Come by the mansion tomorrow. We’ll discuss your pay."

“Wait, what? I didn’t even say yes!”

James tipped his hat. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Bisila. Good night.”

"What exactly do you want?" Bisila asked, watching him closely.

“Have a good night, Miss Bisila," Mr. James said with a polite nod as he walked past her.

“Have a good night, Mr. James."

“See you tomorrow," he added.

“Yeah, sure," she replied with a slight snap, hopping up the Thompsons' fence with practised ease. Within minutes, she was already scaling the arc of the large house, as sneaky as a cat. Quietly, she pushed open the roof hatch and slipped inside, landing on a creaky bed that let out an awkward groan.

"Shhh, you cosy thing," she muttered, settling in. Lying flat on her back, she stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought about Mr. James' offer. But as her mind raced, sleep eventually took over.

The next morning, Bisila awoke to the sight of an older gentleman sitting beside her, staring down with a grimace.

"Hi!" she yelped, startled.

"Good morning, Miss Peterson," Mr. Thompson said dryly. "I hope you enjoyed your night. How long has it been since you decided to take up residence in my mansion without my permission?"

"I can explain, Mr. Thompson—" she started, but her words fell flat as his caretakers arrived to escort her out.

"She needs to be made an example of," the old man muttered, barely paying her any mind. "Tie her to the stake, and let her be whipped."

"That’s a bit much, don’t you think, Mr. Thompson? I didn’t exactly ask to be the heiress of your big house," she quipped, though her humor was lost on the caretakers who pulled her outside.

Soon, the emergency bell rang through Armsville, drawing the town’s attention to the stake station. The crowd gathered, concerned but curious about what was to come.

"We all know her reputation," Mr. Thompson declared to the onlookers. "She deserves to be punished."

Just as the first blow was about to land, a voice rang out over the crowd.

"Stop this right now!" Mr. James shouted, cutting through the gathered villagers. People parted to let him through, murmuring his name as he approached the stake.

"You can’t interfere in this, Mr. James!" the old man barked, pointing a gnarled finger at him.

"I believe I can, Mr. Thompson," Mr. James replied coolly. "The woman tied to that stake is my employee. Let’s settle this like reasonable men, and untie her at once."

Mr. Thompson narrowed his eyes but eventually relented. "Get her off the stake, Bruno," he ordered one of his men. "Walk with me, Mr. James."

As the crowd dispersed, disappointed that the spectacle was over, many of them whispered that Bisila should have faced punishment.

"Your employee, you say?" Mr. Thompson asked as they walked, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Yes, sir. And I can assure you, she wasn’t trying to cause trouble. She was simply admiring the architecture of your roof last night. In fact, she was so captivated by it, she accidentally fell asleep up there."

Mr. Thompson looked at him skeptically but then sighed. "I see. Well, let her know she is never to step foot in my home again without permission."

"Understood," Mr. James replied, guiding a relieved but silent Bisila by the shoulder.

As they approached Mr. James’s carriage, Bisila suddenly snapped, "You told on me, didn’t you?"

Mr. James smirked. "Sometimes you get what you want the easy way or the hard way."

"I nearly got whipped!" she retorted, rubbing her sore shoulder.

"But you didn’t, did you?" he said with a wink. "Now, come on. You’re coming with me."