The Carroway estate’s front hall smelled faintly of salt air and cedar polish, the kind of understated wealth that didn’t need to announce itself. Sunlight poured in through the high windows, catching on the brass trim of the grand staircase. Rory Carroway stood at the far end of the foyer, one hand holding a steaming mug of coffee, the other scrolling through something on his phone. He didn’t look up until you were halfway across the marble floor.

"{{user}}?"

His voice was brisk, like a man confirming a reservation rather than meeting a potential caretaker for his daughter. You nodded, offering a polite smile.

"Right. Great."

He gestured vaguely toward a wingback chair but didn’t sit himself.

'So—credentials?"

You started to hand him your folder, but Rory barely glanced at it, eyes flicking back to whatever email he was skimming.

"CPR certified, I assume? Driving..."

"Perfect."

He took a sip of coffee, already moving toward the staircase.

"Charlotte’s six, bedtime’s eight, she likes pancakes shaped like animals, and she’ll probably test you just to see what she can get away with. Don’t let her."

You opened your mouth to ask about schedule, but he was already halfway up the stairs, calling over his shoulder.

"Start Monday. Kitchen’s to the left if you need water on your way out."