Chapter 110

Evelyn Whitmore offered a faint smile. "I'm here to work."

Cassandra Blackwood raised an eyebrow. "Work here? I thought you were a nanny for some wealthy employer."

"My employer is rarely home, and there's not much to do there," Evelyn explained smoothly. "I figured I'd take on a part-time job to earn extra money."

Cassandra's gaze swept over Evelyn's deliberately plain appearance, her lips curling in disdain. "Pathetic. You actually need a side job? Guess your rich boss isn't paying you enough."

Evelyn nodded without hesitation. "Not nearly enough."

"Cassandra, what's the hold-up? Aren't you here to pick up your magazine proofs?" A warm, middle-aged voice called from inside the office.

Cassandra turned, instantly softening her expression. "Mister Kingsley, I was just leaving, but someone's blocking the way."

"Blocking the way?" Mister Kingsley stepped out, ready to reprimand whoever dared inconvenience his star model.

Then he saw Evelyn.

His sharp words died in his throat.

Decades in the entertainment industry had exposed him to countless beauties, but this woman—bare-faced, effortlessly striking—was something else entirely.

He cleared his throat. "And you are...?"

Evelyn met his gaze evenly. "Evelyn Whitmore. I was told to see you about a job."

Mister Kingsley's eyes widened in recognition. "Ah! Evelyn Whitmore—of course! Come in, come in!"

Lucas Sinclair had called him minutes ago, requesting a respectable position for a woman by that name. Though Lucas hadn't elaborated, Mister Kingsley wasn't stupid. If the CEO's right-hand man was personally involved, this girl mattered.

Evelyn followed him inside.

Cassandra stood frozen outside the door, nails digging into her palms. What the hell just happened?

Mister Kingsley should've scolded that nobody and sent her packing. Instead, he'd looked at Evelyn like she was some rare gem and practically ushered her in with red-carpet treatment.

Fury burned in Cassandra's chest. She wasn't about to leave. Stomping back inside, she planted herself near the desk, determined to witness whatever farce was about to unfold.

"Miss Whitmore," Mister Kingsley began, settling behind his desk, "what kind of work are you interested in?"

Evelyn didn't hesitate. "Anything. As long as it pays well."

Mister Kingsley studied her, tapping his chin. "Have you ever considered modeling? With your looks, you could—"

"No," Evelyn cut in. "Not interested. Got anything else?"

This was just a temporary gig—three months, then she'd vanish from Nathaniel Grayson's life for good.

Cassandra's grip tightened on her purse. Modeling? The suggestion alone was a threat.

She refused to admit Evelyn was beautiful, but she wasn't blind. If this nobody signed with the agency, she'd steal contracts, attention—everything Cassandra had worked for.

Over my dead body.