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through an iron gate if the need arose. 
    The long drive paved with cobblestone winded up a hill lined with ancient trees whose limbs appeared more like knarred fingers as the landscaping lights highlighted them through the mist and the darkness of early dawn.
    It truly was the perfect setting for a Horace Walpole novel, she mused, trying to find anything to keep her mind off the anxiety that was mounting.  It was easy to imagine a young heroine held captive high in a hidden tower by a mad protagonist, which might be exactly her fate if their first conversation was any indication.  Okay, she may not be held captive, but forced into indentured servitude was a definite possibility.  Snickering at the thought, Tessa grinned at her over-active imagination.  Things were never as bad as she had a tendency to make them out to be.  Hopefully, it would be the case this time, although she was harboring some pretty serious misgivings. 
    Eventually, the driveway ended in front of what looked like a four car garage, although the fog hid everything beyond the forth bay.  Turning off the lights and shutting off the engine, she chose to sit quietly for a few seconds to try and convince herself that there was nothing to be nervous about.  Still, questions continued to pop into her mind.
    What would Mr. Richards think of her?  Obviously he was a man of great wealth.  Would he judge her merely on the condition of her aesthetically challenged car, or the fact that everything she owned could be shoved into it?  She was a woman of a certain age now, who should have had her financial affairs in order; a home of her own, a shiny new vehicle, at the height of a career with a nice fat 401K.  Yes, he would judge her; there was no sense in trying to sugar coat things, because she judged herself.
    As soon as she forced her body out of the car, Tessa was met by her two imagined hell hounds that turned out to be two very large, and very sweet Chesapeake Bay retrievers, who immediately began vying for her attention.  Her hands were covered with saliva and dog hair before an inpatient baritone voice called out through the mist and ordered them to sit.  It was her new employer; she recognized the disdain in his voice.  The dogs obeyed immediately and so willingly that she couldn’t help but to kneel down and compliment them on their good manners.
    “Such good boys,” she cooed, scratching behind their ears as they moistened her cheeks with big wet kisses.  “What fine gentlemen you are, indeed…”
    It wasn’t until Mr. Richards appeared that Tessa stood and wiped both hands on the legs of her jeans.  Extending her palm, she smiled and greeted him.
    “Good morning, sir.”
    Standing at least six-two, he was much more intimidating than she had hoped.  It was also obvious that he took the time to work out and keep fit, which was the second strike against, his dismal personality being the first.  The third strike came quickly when he refused to accept her hand, so she let drop slowly to her side.  Instead of displaying any semblance of politeness, he stood there staring down at her without even a word of greeting.  But he didn’t have to say anything.  The agitation in his expression said it all.
    “I did say five : thirty, didn’t I?” she tried again.
    With only a nod as a response, he turned and started walking toward the house that once in view turned out to be the largest, most opulent English Tudor mansion she had ever seen.  How many rooms were there beneath the slated roof and behind the stained glass windows?  Whatever the exact number, it would definitely be a full time job taking care of it.  Perhaps a certain degree of maturity was required for a job that size. 
    Dang.  She was screwed.
    What did he do again?  Oh yes, something to do with international finance, his mother had mentioned in one of their conversations.  Undoubtedly, managing other people’s investments and money laundering paid quite