by Viola Vera
~
Copyright © 2019, Viola Vera
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 years of age or over. All sexual activity within this work are performed by fictional, unrelated, and consenting adults 18 years of age or over.
Cover Design by Kasmit Covers.
* * *
Description
My past is riddled with mistakes, my present burdened with disappointment.
I should have known better, but the magic words had been spoken:
More money.
When I fall, only a devil is there to catch me.
Handsome and mysterious, Graham West knows I’ve done something wrong in pursuit of the magic words.
And he’s going to make sure I’m schooled on the consequences of bad choices for all to see.
Contents
Title Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
About the Author
One
* * *
The sofa cushion made a dull thump as I smacked it into a plumper, uniformed shape. When I was done, I took a step back to survey my handiwork.
Every surface gleamed in the living room after my hard work of cleaning it. The rug was vacuumed, the picture frames righted, the surfaces dusted and wiped clean to a shine.
It didn’t hurt that all the items in this room were expensive and of impeccable quality. The couch alone was worth more than two months of my rent. The Hardings, the couple who owned this condo, were wealthy and they made sure it showed in their home.
Joseph Harding was a general surgeon while his wife, Cynthia Harding, was an art director. They didn’t have kids, so their money was spent on expensive art, nice cars and trips to exotic places I’d only ever be able to see through a Google image search.
The Hardings were only in their early thirties, yet they were better off than most. They’d made all the right choices to cultivate the lifestyle they wanted.
Unlike me.
I was only twenty-five years old, yet I’d already fulfilled my mother’s prediction about my destiny. I hadn’t amounted to much. Probably never would. I was a college drop-out who worked for minimum wage cleaning other people’s homes.
And the forecast for my life said my situation wasn’t about to improve anytime soon.
For a long time I used to be superstitious that it was my mother who cursed me. I used to believe her uttering the negativity into the world made the universe listen and gift me a shitty hand.
But my mother was dead for over year now. After being diagnosed with a tumour in her head, she’d passed away on the operating table during the removal surgery.
In that year since she’d been gone, nothing had changed. Nothing had improved. So I was forced to confront the truth: I had nobody to blame for my circumstances and my choices but me.
Exhaling sharply, I grew determined to get away from the bad thoughts. I bent quickly and grabbed up the bucket containing all my cleaning supplies.
All I had left to do in the Hardings’ condo was the bathroom, then I’d be out and on my way home. I’d already worked a shift in the morning at the Miltons, and their 3 bed, 2 bath house had winded me. Thank goodness the Hardings lived in a condo. They only had the one bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen to clean.
I was looking forward to heading home and resting on my couch while I mindlessly channel surfed. That’s all I had to look forward to most days.
Taking care of my mother when she was sick consumed my life. I’d neglected friends, going out, and didn’t even pay attention to men. Since my mother passed away, I’d found myself totally alone. No family, no friends, no love life.
Sure, I had Angie, but it wasn’t the same. She had started a relationship with a handsome doctor who adored her. So I didn’t blame her for not calling as much as she used to, or not wanting to hang out with me as much either.
Sometimes, jealousy stabbed me in the gut, but I preferred being happy for my friend. If I had a boyfriend as hot as Maddix, I’d probably never leave my apartment either.
I entered the bathroom and set my bucket down. I surveyed the room. It still looked clean from the last time I was here and had cleaned it, but the doors and tub needed to gleam for when the Hardings’ arrived home from work this evening.
My gaze moved to the mirror and I remembered that I’d forgotten the paper towels in the kitchen. The paper towel worked great to get mirrors to a sparkling, spotless shine. I was about to leave when my gaze landed on the slim, cylindrical medicine bottle sitting innocently on the sink.
I went absolutely still. The bathroom light added a dull shine to the bottle’s smooth surface. The bottle was turned and only the last few letters of the label was visible.
But I knew what word contained the last four letters D-O-N-E.
I knew it all too well.
As if my hand developed a mind of its own, I reached out and snatched up the bottle. I turned it to read the label. Printed in capital letters were the dosage instructions, and beneath that was the word my eyes glued on. To the point that all the other words blended into the label’s white background.
HYDROCODONE.
My fist tightened around the slim, smooth surface of the bottle. I was sure the cap would pop right off or my fingers would leave little dent marks in the side of the bottle when I released it.
Open the bottle and put one in your mouth, said a familiar voice. It never shouted or demanded. It was always a tantalizing whisper. A suggestion wrapped in convincing logic designed to make me feel stupid if I didn’t follow it.
It would make your shitty life a lot less shitty. So take one.
No
Take one. Just one. You’ve worked hard enough. You deserve it. You deserve at least one. Take it.
“No!”
Yanking the medicine cabinet open, I shoved the medicine bottle onto a shelf, disrupting the other bottles and jars inside. Then I slammed the cabinet shut to silence the voice. Out of sight, out of mind.
My breathing deepened, my heart raced. I hunched my shoulders and wrapped my hands around myself to contain my shivering. My skin was suddenly hot. I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with water to cool my skin and calm myself.
Then I stared at the woman in the mirror. Strands of my light brown hair had escaped my low ponytail. They hung limp against my cheeks, some damp and stuck to my forehead from when I’d washed my face.
It was strange seeing so much conflict in my own hazel eyes. Whoever said that the ‘eyes are windows to the soul’ wasn’t lying.
It had been years since I was clean. Yet it always unbalanced me how easily and how powerful the urge returned to use, to erode the progress I’d made so far.
Addiction to prescription drugs had ruined my life. It had fucked up my education, snatched away my bright future, and turned me into a criminal and an ingrate.
Worst of all, it had destroyed the relationship I had with my mother. She’d died thinking of me as a druggie who hid in sheep’s clothing even though I’d fought up to the end to change her perception of me.
I couldn’t go back to that life. I couldn’t go back to that insatiable need. To taking every dime
I had and immediately spending it on something that gave me a temporary high.
My life might not be the greatest, but it was better than the destruction awaiting me if I went back down that scary road of addiction.
I wasn’t religious in the slightest and I held no strong beliefs whether or not a God existed. However, my mother was what I’d call an ‘occasional Christian’. She didn’t align herself with any particular religion, but she believed in God and liked to go to any nearby church once in a while.
One day, she’d needled me enough to go with her to a New Year’s Day church service. During the service, the pastor had talked about resolutions and holding strong to them.
He’d read a phrase aloud that stuck with me. One that comforted me and helped me through the worst moments when I struggled to get clean. It let me believe that I didn’t battle my demons on my own. That I had an ally who was stronger than me. Who could help me defeat them.
My words came out as a whisper. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”
And I repeated that phrase over and over until I felt sure of myself. Until I was certain the call of that medicine bottle was drowned out by my own resolve.
Two
* * *
Tiredness weighed on my limbs as I made my way to my car.
My car was twelve years old and it looked and sounded its age. Most people could jump into their cars, turn the key and it would purr to life. Not mine. I had to beg or threaten it to start. And when it did start, I’d drive around with a niggling anxiety that any moment it would come to a stop in the middle of the road.
It was on its last legs, but money was tight. Between debt collectors and daily living, I couldn’t afford to have any work done the metal junk. I certainly couldn’t afford to buy a new one.
Relief filled me when after several seconds of wheezing, the engine rumbled to life. I started pulling out of my parking spot when my phone pinged with a text notification. Right after the ping, my phone rang.
I rummaged through my bag for my phone. Nadine. I answered the call and put it on speaker. Nadine’s voice came through in a demanding tone before I could respond.
“Julia, Kim is sick and can’t work her shifts. I need you to fill in for her until she is well. I’ve sent the address she was schedule to clean today.”
That’s pretty presumptuous.
“I don’t know, Nadine. I’m pretty wiped.”
“It shouldn’t take long. Kim says the client is tidy and the work is minimal.” She exhaled. “Look, it’s more money for easy work. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Her tone pissed me off and I hated it even more she’d spoken the magic words: more money. An unpleasant feeling coiled in my stomach. Nobody enjoyed confronting the darker truths about themselves. For instance, acknowledging how easily I caved to someone’s demands if it meant more cash in my hands.
I worked my jaw, fighting my instincts. It was no use. The moment I thought bills, I gave up.
“OK, I’ll do it.”
“Perfect. The client’s name is Graham West. I’ve already notified him a replacement is coming. He’s home and he’s expecting you in the next half hour. Don’t be late.”
Nadine ended the call and I reached for the phone to check the address she’d sent. I made a sound of irritation as I flung the phone back into my bag.
I hated when the client was home while I cleaned. It made me antsy and stiff. More often than not, the client liked to check up on me to make sure I wasn’t stealing their stuff or going through their drawers. Or, worse, they’d try to strike up conversation with me and delude themselves into thinking we were friends.
Some cleaners didn’t mind being chatty or making friends with their cleaning clients, but I wasn’t one of them. My aim was to keep a professional distance and do my work uninterrupted. Besides, I liked to listen to music and sing out loud while I cleaned to pass the time. That wouldn’t be possible if I was conscious of a presence watching my every move.
I sighed as I drove away to the new address. None of it mattered. It didn’t matter that this Graham West person would be home. It didn’t matter that I was running on fumes. Just like Nadine had said—it was extra money for little work. And that extra money would go toward the mountain of debt crushing the life out of me.
Grabbing something to eat and a cup of coffee helped perk me up. The closer I got to the address Nadine sent, the nicer the neighbourhood became. My old beater car looked so out of place, I was sure some ‘concerned’ resident was already on their phone notifying the police of a ‘suspicious individual’ lurking in their neighbourhood.
I parked outside the house I was supposed to clean. Grabbing my bag, I marched up the driveway to the front door and rang the doorbell. I didn’t have to wait long for someone to answer.
The door opened, revealing a man with short dark hair and deep blue eyes. He was tall, visibly fit, and dressed in a grey shirt and dark-blue jeans. My pulse kicked up a notch when our gazes met, but I ignored the effect of his attractiveness and extended a hand in greeting.
“Hello, Mr. West, I’m Julia.” I smiled. “I’m from Nadine’s Cleaners and I’ll be Kim’s replacement today.”
He took my hand and gave it a firm squeeze. His warmth raced up my arm and I had the sudden urge to yank my hand free from his grasp.
“Nice to meet you, Julia.”
His voice was deep, his tone measured. His gaze slipped over me. There was no sexual undertone to his look, just a simple assessment.
My face warmed with embarrassment. I became acutely aware of my messy hair, baggy t-shirt, faded yoga pants and clunky sneakers. Nadine didn’t make us wear uniforms, but this was basically mine when I cleaned. They might be comfortable while I did my job, but they were definitely unflattering to the opposite sex.
He stepped aside, motioning for me to enter his home. “Come in.”
The short entranceway opened up to the living room. Furniture was sparse, but the room designed tastefully with ivory walls and smooth wooden floors. Large windows with light curtains admitted lots of light.
Hung on one wall were eight large black-and-white photographs of different cities. A grey sofa sat on a thick, charcoal-grey rug. There were no walls separating the living room from the kitchen, so the high-end, stainless steel appliances were visible from my vantage point.
I turned to him and said what I always said to new clients. But this time, I really meant it.
“You have a nice home.”
“Thank you.” A soft lift at the corners of his mouth drew my attention to his lips. The soft shadow of hair around his jaw and chin emphasized their fullness and pinkness. I bet he’d be a really good kisser. “I’m sorry to hear about Kim not feeling well. I hope she gets better soon.”
“Uh… yeah.” I cleared my throat. Ugh. Why did I have to sound so moronic? Definitely because my inappropriate attention was clouding my judgement and my intelligence. “Yes, I hope she can return to her regular schedule soon. I know it can be disconcerting to clients to have someone they don’t really know in their home.”
“It’s nice to meet someone new.” He peered at me. “Although I’m sure I’ve met you before.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Because I’d remember you. “Because, I’m good with faces.”
Heat crawled up my neck. The directness of his stare convinced me he had the power of mind-reading and he knew the effects of his good looks on me. This was a shameful reminder of how long since I last had sex. A few minutes in the company of an attractive man and I was ready to hump his leg like a horny dog.
I looked away from and pretended renewed interest in my surroundings. It shouldn’t even be a pretence. I had a job to do and instead of focusing on Graham West and his handsome face, I should be thinking how quickly I could clean his home and get the hell away from temptation.
“So, where do you keep your supplies, and where would you like m
e to get started?”
He indicated the stairs. “Let me give you a quick tour.”
He led me around his house and true to Kim’s word, everything was neat and tidy. To the point that I wondered why he even bothered with a cleaning service if he was just fine on his own. I barely paid attention. Instead, my mind was focused on the breadth of his shoulders, and the way his jeans fit his body to perfection.
Keep it professional. Yet when he led me upstairs and showed me his bedroom, the silken sheets brought decidedly unprofessional thoughts. I imagined him dragging me down to his bed, ripping my clothes off, and making me scream his name with his face buried between my legs.
My shoulders sagged with relief when we returned downstairs to safe territory. Get your shit together, Julia. Nadine’s number one rule: don’t fuck the clients. It was printed in big bold text on a sheet of paper she’d given me the first day she hired me.
Finally, he showed me the closet where he kept the cleaning supplies.
I forced a cheeriness in my voice.
“Great! I guess I’ll get started.”
He nodded. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
He began to walk in the direction of his office when I spied a door beside the stairs we hadn’t entered.
“Wait, Mr. West.” He turned and I indicated the door. “Is that a closet or another room you’d like me to clean?”
He didn’t respond right away, but something in his demeanour changed. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Just a strange intuition I’d prodded a predator awake. He strode back toward me, his gait slower than we he’d taken me on the tour.
“I should tell you, Julia, I’d prefer whenever you speak to me you refer to me as sir.”
My eyebrows rose. He can’t be serious? I parted my lips to ask him that question out loud, but thought better of it out of politeness. I waited for him to break a smile or show some sign he was joking, but his features were serious. Expectant. Holy shit, this guy was for real. He legit wanted me to call him ‘sir’ like he was my dad or my teacher.