An Agency Story: Beach Blonde: Agency Stories

By Emme Salt

Hired by a mysterious agency that caters only to the elite, Cassie thinks she's spending her summer vacation working as a nanny in Tahiti for the Doyle family. Once she arrives, innocent Cassie discovers more than just beaches and tropical sunsets. She gets closer to Seamus and Mary Doyle than she ever imagined, and uncovers their naughty secret—theirs and the Agency's.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emme Salt
• Release date: Mar 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201052058

Book preview

1

It’s an old, bad habit, but I really can’t help it: when I get excited, I hold my breath. When I saw the letter in the mailbox, I knew right away that it was from the Agency. By the time I ripped it open I was growing lightheaded, my heart pounding in my chest. On a thick, letter pressed card, there were only three words:

The Doyles. Tahiti.

Nestled in the envelope was a single airplane ticket. I checked every corner of the envelope, but that was all there was. The flight left at 8 in the morning on Monday, which gave me exactly fifteen hours to plan for the three-week vacation.

Well, technically, it wasn’t my vacation. The Agency matched up elite college student nannies with families, who paid for the trip and gave the nanny a generous stipend. My three week stint in Tahiti would pay for next semester’s tuition, and I’d even have a little left over—I could buy a whole new wardrobe with the extra! It was an unbelievable opportunity, and I’d been on pins and needles for months waiting for my assignment to arrive.

The Agency never advertised or recruited for nannies. I only learned of the Agency through my sorority sisters, who were pretty shy about the whole thing in the first place, and only a vouched-for girl could even get an interview. I nagged my big sis Ashlyn about it until she finally made a referral for me. It took a crazy amount of effort to get into their good graces; Ashlyn warned me that the Agency was super selective, and told me get myself dolled up in her best dress and makeup before the video interview—like, to the nines. Like I was going to fall formal. There’d been transcripts, background checks, even a required essay on why I want to work in a service industry. Multiple stages of interviews, where they could see me but I never saw them. And, of course, enthusiastic references from three other sisters. Somehow, I’d done it, and when the initial acceptance came in, my sisters celebrated with a chocolate fudge cake and wine. You’re going to do so well, Cassie, Ashlyn whispered in my ear, before giving me a hot, tight hug.

I put the envelope down on the mantelpiece and looked into the mirror that hung over it. I was lucky to get this job. The huge stipend, the unspoken prestige of it all...some girls had gone on to nanny full time after graduation, a great opportunity to rub shoulders with the rich and powerful; it could be a real stepping stone to the career of my dreams.

I studied my face: smoky green eyes and soft, curvy mouth. They were framed by a lush head of golden hair, which fell across freckled shoulders and full breasts. They were a little big for my petite frame, so I made sure to wear heels at every opportunity—you know, to lengthen my legs. You’re a total beach blonde, Ashlyn had said while painting eyeliner on my lids before my final interview. Bet you’re going to end up somewhere tropical. I’d laughed at Ashlyn, but if I was being honest, I’d been secretly hoping for the Caribbean, too. If I was going to wrangle children every single day, I could at least enjoy the sun and surf and maybe some creamy pina coladas during my off hours.

In my bedroom, I rifled through my dresser. Bikinis are definitely a must. Bikinis, a sarong or two, maybe a cute lacy sundress. Oh, and my big Ray-Bans. Some coloring books and puzzles for the kids. It occurred to me that it was strange that the Agency never mentioned how many children there were going to be, or their ages. Well—no worries. I was prepared for anything. I was going to be the best nanny that the Doyles ever had.

2

The limo pulled up outside my apartment at six in the morning. I had been expecting a taxi, and climbed into the limo to find it stocked with chilled champagne—amazing! It was wildly luxurious. Excitement fluttered in my chest so much that I could barely taste the pricey, bubbling indulgence.

The flight from Boston to Pape’ete was boring, even in first class.  By the end of it, I was so ready for some fun. The sun struck me full force the moment I left the airport, and by the time the driver dropped me off at the resort, I was flushed and faintly pink. Good thing I packed two bottles of sunscreen. I straightened my white sundress and checked my cherry red lipstick and pearl earrings. Clean and fresh and pretty.  Sugar and spice. Time to meet the Doyles.

Mr. Doyle was standing in the lobby, sunglasses covering his eyes. When I walked into the lobby, he pulled off his shades and gave me a good, long look. I blushed under his gaze. It seemed almost...predatory. Seemingly satisfied, he walked towards me, and extended a hand. You look even prettier in person than you do in the photo the Agency sent us, he said, gallant.

I flushed an even deeper shade of pink, if that was even possible. I’m Cassie, I said, taking his hand and feeling suddenly shy. He’s married, I told myself. Get a grip.

Mr. Doyle nodded to me. I guessed that he must have been in Tahiti for days already: he had a warm, handsome tan on his angled cheekbones, which framed rich, whiskey-colored eyes. He was taller than me by a foot, dressed in a classic polo and khakis. His hair was as dark brown as his eyes, with faint silver highlights at his temples. I’ll be honest: he took me completely off-guard.

Mr. Doyle was the most striking man I’d ever seen. Ever.

He’s the client, I reminded myself. Keep it professional. I played with the hem of my skirt, nervous.

The porter can get your things. Let me take you to Mary and the kids, he said, and guided me down the hall, his fingers on the small of my back.

Under the pressure of his hand, my skin was tingling.

They were lounging by the hotel pool. Mrs. Doyle—or Mary, as her husband called her—was a tall, striking woman in her early thirties with long auburn hair. It’s my Irish side, she said playfully. White skin that can’t tan for anything, and of course this hair. She ran a careless hand through her locks, which glowed a bright copper in the sun. I’ve got to wear these hats everywhere I go here, she said, carefully tilting her straw sunhat to gaze at me, her new nanny.

Their sons were Chad and John, a pair of five-year-old twins. Hi there, I said, smiling at them. I’m Cassie!

The boys took to