All. Only. (A McDade Brothers Novel Book 1)

coping with being evicted. Stanley’s good-for-nothing son wasted no time in storming into the house to announce that he was selling. Being a generous type, he’d given her a week to vacate.
There were three days left on the clock.
The elevator didn’t ding, it just came to a stop. After a moment of anticipatory silence, which Shyla speculated may have been programmed in for maximum suspense, the gleaming silver doors opened.
As the view was revealed, it took her breath away.
On the opposite side of the room, a glorious vision of the gleaming blue ocean was laid out before her. It wasn’t like she’d never seen the ocean before, but at this elevation, she got a real sense of its vastness.
She stood there dumbfounded for so long that the elevator doors began to close. Inhaling her panic, Shyla grabbed one to hold it in place while bounding out onto the grey ash floor that spread through the sleek modern space. One wall, to the right, was smoked mirror. The wall on the left was a warmer brown color. A low marble shelf, around knee height, ran along that wall and around the corner.
Between her and the view that had first captured her eye was a large square lobby area with a dining table beyond and a terrace on the other side of the full height windows.
The residence was incredible. The ad for a housekeeper said the job included room and board. It said nothing about the room being in an amazing condo. Jumping to conclusions could lead to disappointment. Maybe she was wrong and wouldn’t be living there at all. Shyla didn’t want to get her hopes up. It could just be a business premises used for interviews. They might be miles from the location of the job.
She tiptoed forward to take in more of the open plan space. The living space opened out to stretch far to the left. The terrace wrapped all the way around, as far as the eye could see.
Her mouth dried.
The gleaming white marble kitchen next to the dining table was separated from a hallway by a wall. Contemplating where that hallway might lead, she peeked at the light glowing from the end and wondered if the terrace wrapped around that side of the apartment too.
“Miss Bellamy?”
Caught in her pondering, she whipped around, her anxiety cresting again. Someone appeared at the other end of the apartment. Figuring there had to be another hallway or room down there, she was sure no one had been sitting in either of the two separate seating areas of the living space.
“Yes,” she said to the well-groomed, if somewhat frantic, suited man hurrying toward her. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure where to wait.”
It was a sad state of affairs. At twenty-nine, she was less experienced than most nineteen year olds in how to conduct herself at interviews.
“No, my fault; I was using the restroom. It’s been an insane day, I have to apologize,” he said, coming toward her, his hand outstretched.
Hoping that he hadn’t been too rushed to forget washing his hands, Shyla shook his hand because it was the polite thing to do. She didn’t expect him to tug her toward the closest seating area, guiding her in his haste. More than once, she almost lost her footing. Face-planting hadn’t featured in her interview experience… yet. That would be a brand new low.
Winding around the end of the couch that had its back to the dining table, he let her go and spun around. “Will you sit down,” the businessman said, gesturing to one end of the couch as he sat at the other. “Please.”
Sitting on the edge of the couch with her knees tight together, Shyla clutched her purse in her lap. The heavy chess board in the middle of the central glass coffee table snagged her attention. The pieces appeared to be hand-carved wood. Shyla was impressed. Bernard, her grandfather would be elated to see such craftsmanship.
Frantic Man shifted an inch closer and opened his hand. “Do you have your resume?”
This was the part of the interview process that she hated. Not that she’d found an enjoyable part yet. Most online vacancies required her to attach a copy of her resume. So far, not one of those employers had got back to her.
Opening the front pocket of her purse, Shyla slid out a folded document that she handed over. “Uh… sort of.”
He unfolded it and began to read. Just as she expected, his optimism began to fade fast. “This is…” He turned it around to show her what she’d given him. “Your birth certificate.”
“Yes,” she said, trying to make her smile seem genuine. No matter how hard she tried, her anxiety must have been obvious. She pushed her interlinked fingers together and raised her hands, pulling and twisting at her fingers as she did. “It is… I… I did try to make up a resume, but after I got past name and date of birth, well… things get a little… sparse.”
“Did you graduate high school?”
Shyla grinned. “Yes!” Nodding, she squeezed her twined fingers around each other. “Yes, I did that. I did graduate high school.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding too like they were making progress. “That’s good, that’s… something. College?” Wincing, Shyla kept working her fingers and shook her head. He sort of cringed, but was polite enough to try to hide his reaction by glancing down at her birth certificate. “According to this you’re… twenty-nine.”
“Yes,” she said, showing her teeth in more of a grimace than a grin. “I am twenty-nine. I did graduate high school. I didn’t go to college… and I’ve never had a real job.”
“Let me guess,” he said, folding her birth certificate and handing it back to her. “Knocked up by your high school boyfriend, married young, pushed out a couple of kids, and now he’s split… probably