Matthew swallowed. "I...can't speak for you concerning this, obviously, but for me, as long as he's exploring it all safely and doesn't actually intend to hurt himself or, take advantage of someone else, I...don't really see the harm in it. It's, also, a really interesting way to explore parts of history and cultures that aren't normally covered in school or museums." He shrugged, only able to keep eye contact with the older man for short moments. "What's the harm?"

"Hm," Mr. Yang muttered, turning his eyes back to Matthew's resume. "Do you have any current, or previous, affiliations with extremist groups or cults, be them religious, political, or otherwise?"

"I was a part of my college's Hillel for a year, but I don't think that counts." It didn't. Matthew cursed himself under his breath.

"Pity," the older man replied deadpan, his expression stony.

Matthew shifted under his gaze.

"Elliot would've loved hearing about it if you had," he sighed, rolling his eyes. Mr. Yang made another note, this one slower, like even he wasn't sure what the answer provided. "Do you enjoy teddy bear tea parties?"

Lilliana did not strike him for a girl to have 'teddy bear tea parties'. Yet he still shook his head and answered, "I...haven't been to one in a while. I might be a little rusty."

Mr. Yang's eyes narrowed as if perplexed by the answer supplied.

"Sorry, can I answer that again? I'm...nervous. This has been...” Matthew breathlessly chuckled. “...quite an interesting interview."

The man sat back into his chair. "Hm," he murmured, this one slightly longer than the previous ones.

"...may, may I ask a question, sir?"

He nodded after a moment of contemplation.

"Have you considered an au pair, or one of the agencies? You might have better luck with finding a nanny that suits your needs."

Mr. Yang rolled his eyes and shifted forward. "We would, if I wasn't already so dissatisfied with their services. Every nanny we've had over the past few years have...lacked, shall we say, in encouraging Lilliana's interests, and fielding Elliot's. They either end up running the house like a ship rather than a home, or lean too far into a...hippy 'self-expressionist', 'screw-the-rules' vacation. I end up getting blamed, as well, so the agencies have stopped sending me nannies unless they're incredibly confident in someone." He grunted, laying down Matthew's resume. "The children, meanwhile, seem to have a pension for driving the nannies insane only when I'm working. When I'm with them, they're fine, but otherwise..." He sighed.

Matthew nodded, breathlessly adding, "Sounds...quite like a 'Mary Poppins'-esque situation."

The older man's gaze focused in on the applicant. Something in Mr. Yang's stare suggested the comment wasn't funny, or wasn't understood.

He turned his eyes away. God, how he wished he could swallow his tongue.

Clasping his hands on his desk, Mr. Yang continued, "I very strongly feel that having a female presence would curb the children's behavior. Except every one we've hired has brought out the absolute worst in them."

Nodding, Matthew swallowed.

"The past few years, as well, has been...quite chaotic, for myself and the children."

His gaze darting away for a moment, Matthew turned back to Mr. Yang and asked, "I realize this might be an impertinent question, but...did you, adopt...Lilliana?"

Mr. Yang shook his head. "No, my wife and I conceived her before we moved into the house."

His stomach began settling. “Then...why doesn't your wife fill –" Matthew stopped when the man's glare darken. "Wife's out of the picture. Got it."

The older man cocked his head to the side. “That's quite a leap to take without proper evidence.”

Matthew smiled wearily and waved. “Masters in psychology. Didn't have to guess that something bad happened when your physical reaction was all I needed.”

Mr. Yang's eyes narrowed. He appeared impressed.

The younger man breathed, his heart pounding in his ears. “Please don't be offended, but can I ask...? Is she, just, out of the picture or...?”

He leaned back in his chair. "My ex-wife has expressed no interest in being a part of our daughter's life, or helping raise Elliot," he whispered coldly. "Lilliana's shown little interest concerning the woman, either, apart from the once a week calls she gets from her. She sees Lilliana even less than that, but the situation works for everyone."

Matthew's eyes dipped to the floor again, studying the grooves between the concrete tiles. He wasn't sure where to start processing everything. Maybe this wasn't the position for him, especially when the man seemed hell-bent on fulfilling a role left behind by someone else.

"Do you have any other questions, Mr. Robinson?"

Eyes moving back to Mr. Yang, Matthew shook his head. He shook his head, still unable to keep his eyes on the older man for too long. “No, sir. I am still sorry for wasting your time. But thank you for the interview." He stood.

Mr. Yang stood, smoothing out the creases in his blazer.

Next to him, Matthew felt so supremely underdressed; he hoped Mr. Yang hadn't noticed out of respect. "I hope you find someone who suits your needs as well as the children's. They are...certainly extraordinary, to say the least." He offered his hand.

The man nodded, though the look in his eyes seemed to be of confusion rather than resolution; Mr. Yang took Matthew's hand in his firm grip. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Robinson.”

Matthew released the grip, his cool touch lingering against his palm. Turning towards the door and simultaneously cursing himself under his breath, he paused and asked, "Uh, Elliot promised to show me the voodoo doll he's making of me. Could you, perhaps, send me a picture of it when he finishes it?"

Mr. Yang's eyes widened slightly. Nodding, he stated, "I'll have Deborah work something out."

He smiled warily. "Don't get up, I can find my way out." He bowed again, only to curse himself through his teeth. "Thank you for your time, and have a good rest of your day."

The man nodded again, sitting back in his chair.

Matthew left, closing the door behind him. Sliding to the wall, he pressed his back up against it, sighing a quiet breath of relief. His head spun. Closing his eyes, he swallowed and tried to steady himself as he stood up, plastic folder clasped in his hands. “...well, that went well,” he whispered, adjusting his shirt and pants as he made his way back to the front door.

Mrs. Weiss closed the door for another applicant, a stunning brunette with dimples. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Jones.”

“That's all right; sorry, I'm here early," the woman laughed. "My GPS miscalculated the route. But I'm glad I got here early. Can I ask, and I don't mean to be rude, but can I ask if this is a Frank Henry Sullivan house? It's absolutely gorgeous." Catching sight of Matthew, she turned. Her green eyes glanced him over before she asked, "Hey, is that your blue car out there?"

He nodded. Something in his stomach fluttered from her attention.

"It's so cute." After a pause, she added, still smiling, "Very you."

His stomach settled again. 'Fuck you,' he thought as Mrs. Weiss handed the girl slippers and gestured her into the living room. Nevertheless, Matthew got the intense pleasure of watching her smile waver at the scent of vinegary pickle juice and smoke. 'She'll be great.'

Mrs. Weiss turned to Matthew. "I am sorry it didn't work out."

Matthew shook his head, squatting down to retrieve his shoes. "No worries." At least it wasn't Audrey's fault this time. Just his.

Sighing, she offered a hand when he stood. "Well, any place that gets you, with your experience, will be quite lucky, Mr. Robinson."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weiss." After shaking, he left, feeling her eyes watching him walk back to a waiting Lloyd. Liza's comment on securing the job floated through his head, embarrassing him indefinitely.