“In order to earn some pocket money to better enjoy it?” she deduces in impeccable French with a hint of an English accent.
“Exactly. I wanted adventure and to discover your country.”
And incidentally, to relearn how to flirt. To drool over surfers with Louane, or even more if you have an affinity to forget… Stay focused!
“Work, adventures, and tourism let’s say,” I rephrase.
A slight smile appears on her features. Damn, she’s even hotter, it would almost make me cringe to admit it. It’s like a Photoshop design of a life-size feminine perfection, but for real. People certainly look at her as soon as she walks in somewhere. I push back my little complexes and smooth my modest Pull&Bear dress over my thighs, trying to look like a confident girl under her scrutiny.
“So far, are you charmed by Australia, Mademoiselle Rousseau?”
“Oh yes! But I… I need to find a job… and a more permanent place to live.”
Shit, now you sound a little desperate, girl.
Mrs. Sexton nods. The silence lasts a few seconds, the feeling of not fitting in start to show up in her eyes and increases my stress level. Her manicured nails endlessly tease a ring on her ring finger, and then she brushes the folder of documents as she watches me.
“Let’s see if I can do something about that, Miss Rousseau. Tell me a little more; why should I choose you among others?”
“Because I would be honored to better my experiences and professional skills within a prestigious establishment like The Sexton’s.”
I can see in her eyes that she’s used to kissing up to her without feeling any effect whatsoever. I clear my throat and think about finding something better.
“I’m reliable, hard-working, and determined, madam. I saved for this trip and left my comfort zone and my little habits to seize an opportunity such as this in the country of my dreams. I will do my best to be worthy of it.”
She doesn’t need to know that the opinions of new people I meet help me rebuild the tainted image I’ve accumulated at home. However, I hope she’s convinced of my sincerity and motivation. In any case, she reopens the file in her hands.
“Any ties here or in France?” she catches me off guard.
“Not really… I’m free as a bird and finding my feet in Sydney.”
“Hmm… In that case, you could potentially be a good fit.”
Don’t gloat too quickly, Océane. Calm your little heart.
She lifts my resume. Underneath, I can see other papers instead of the pile of various pre-selected applications I expected. If this file is only mine, what is all this paperwork?
“However…” started Mrs. Sexton, “I need us to agree on the formalities of your possible hiring.”
She said possible hiring?!
I try to keep my restraint. She hands me the paperwork, and I read the header. My eyes widen as they move toward her. This is not the classic work contract I was expecting…
“But this… is this a non-disclosure agreement?” I say.
“That’s right; we commonly call this an NDA for Non-Disclosure Agreement. Our lawyers have taken care to write it in French and English so that you know exactly what you’re signing.”
Breathe, Océane. Stop your crazy imagination.
4
Océane
I stare at the restaurant owner, my heart pounding, and I repeat, “A NDA?”
“Yes, in both languages, because Mike briefed me on your difficulties with our language,” she says.
Ouch, busted for English!
Nevertheless, Mrs. Sexton shows either a delicate attention or a formidable reactivity of a businesswoman with this translation planned just after a small report from her manager. Efficiency and zero waste of time. Or just a routine; other expatriates have probably passed through his restaurants in their job search…
I still try to minimize my weak point. I’m too close to the goal.
“Thank you for this effort, madam. I plan to improve my English during my stay, and of course, my goal also is to practice English every day.”
“I have no doubt about it. You will have the opportunity to do so… However, if I decide to let you in, I want to ensure that nothing will leak out. You see, the slightest trifle about us is sold to the vultures; we take precautions to keep them at bay.”
We? Who is this “we” that’s come back? Her? Celebrities who probably come here to eat?
“I understand about the press. It’s not my style to peddle, and besides, there’s no way that by serving at Sexton’s, I’m going to be involved in the lives of the customers and—”
“Working here, maybe. But you’re not selected for the position for which you applied. You don’t have the profile.”
What?
What am I doing within these walls, then? My professional experiences relate only to room service. I hardly hide my disappointment, a bit offended at not fitting in with what she was looking for. Am I not pretty and classy enough to deserve to serve in her restaurant? Or is it because of my poor English? Or worse, both? That’s it; I’m losing my confidence.
“I don’t get it, Mrs. Sexton. Why this appointment and this non-disclosure agreement if my application is rejected?”
“I offer something else to you, Mademoiselle Rousseau.”
“Oh.”
“You have the choice: sign the NDA, and we discuss it. Or we’ll stop here if you prefer,” she says calmly.
I try to think, confused. I want a job, right? Apparently, I have the skills for this special offer, so I might as well browse the pages of this thing and see what happens. My heart is still filled with hope, and my optimism rises again. I start to read the content again:
“This confidentiality agreement covers all exchanges and interactions between the parties… Bla-bla-bla… During her time with the Sexton family, Miss Océane, Lilia Rousseau, hereinafter referred to as Employee, agrees not to disclose any information of any kind to any third party regarding Mr. and Mrs. Tiger Sexton hereinafter referred to as Employers… The Employee will be…”
My brain cells freeze. I look up with bewildered eyes at the sophisticated woman who is patiently scrutinizing me…
“I… This Tiger Sexton is your husband?”
“That’s right.”
My interlocutor does her thing again; she fiddles with her ring. Her wedding ring, actually…
“So, I’ll have two employers because the restaurants belong to you both, I guess?”