Diamonds Dancing

One

"Mr. Ivanov will be with you shortly, in the meantime, could I get you anything sweetheart?"

The elderly woman asked with a warm smile. The dire nerves she was currently suffering weakened at the sound of the friendly voice. Bright blue eyes, short grey hair and a loving smile. The housekeeper had been nothing but accommodating to the twenty-year-old the second she had arrived at the property.

"Oh," replied Rika, shaking her head. "I'm good, but thank you anyway." She placed her handbag down onto her lap and straightened up her posture. The kind woman gave her another smile before turning around and fleeing the spacious study behind the large oak door she had entered from.

Breathe, she reminded herself. In, out, in out.

Still, she couldn't stop find the appropriate time to exhale out her shaky breath, she was in Slater—fucking—Ivanov's study for goodness sake. The very man to produce every hit single to ever exist, that being both current and of all time. She was certain her application had gotten lost in the post, and then only last night did she receive an email in her inbox confirming the interview at the fancy manor.

And so, here she currently was- on the other side of Manhattan, sitting inside of Slater Ivanov's study waiting for her nerve-wracking interview to begin. 

After falling into a bit of a major life crisis, she was running more than a little low on cash. She had used the last bit of her savings on travel fare for the interview. It was safe to say she was freaking out, the thought of possibly having the chance to babysit for the famous music producer was plenty of pressure on its own. Though the trauma was lessening the longer she sat in the grand abode. The second she had been accepted for the interview, she was certain it was all one big mistake.

Rika was waiting for a crew of people to jump out and yell 'gotcha!' at her.

It was too good to be true, and good things never happened to the struggling young woman.

She had always had a hard life, from being an orphan and jumping through the foster care system, life frequently rained down heavily on her. Her almost black eyes flew across the room, scanning everything and anything insight. It was everything she had imagined it would be like.

A large desk paired with an excessively big computer, various different expensive gadgets scattered around the place. The woodsy feel made the room appear homely, and cosy. All-around, it was a neat, well-kept-after study, to the side sat a mountainous bookshelf; although, in true celebrity fashion, no authentic books decorated the shelves. There was a myriad of trophies, ranging from some small and others so large, that they took up an entire row. It was far too many trophies for her to count, the achievements were clearly not hidden away. He most definitely was a proud man, and she didn't blame him. Heck, she would be too if she was in his shoes.

Her darting eyes drifted off to the side and honed in on a particular row.

One, two, three, four, five...

Holy shit, how many Grammy's did this man have again?

Suddenly, her mouth ran dry- she felt parched. Rika mentally cursed herself for refusing the glass of water from the housekeeper, she didn't know how on earth she was going to speak to someone who possessed as many Grammy's as he did.

She hastily skimmed over the mini autobiography she had engrained into her brain, she had come prepared in advance.

Thirty-four years of age, father of two daughters, recently widowed. Said daughters were the young age of five, and seven was it? No, no, eight. Given names, Lilia Rose, five; Janessa Kamile, eight. Preferred names, Lia and Nessie Ivanov.