by Amelia LeFay
“Ahh…urgh… Fuck.”
Moving closer to my door, I listened but wasn’t sure what I was hearing. My mind told me to keep the door closed, but my hand didn’t seem to get the message. I opened the door a crack just to peek out, but I only saw a dim yellow light.
Stay in.
But instead I walked out by tiptoeing across the floorboards while clenching the towel to my chest. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but Maxwell with a red ball gag in his mouth, gripping the sheets as Wesley thrust into his ass was not it. I felt myself stop breathing and was awestruck at how beautiful they were. They were like wild animals as they grunted, ecstasy coating Max’s face. Just like before, his blue eyes fixed on me and yet the rage he’d had before was gone. When his mouth parted so did mine. I felt myself getting wet, and while I knew I should look away, I couldn’t—not with the way he was looking at me.
“Juahm …” Max tried to speak against the ball. Wes opened his eyes and stared straight at me as he stopped, a drop of sweat dripping from his chin onto Max’s back. He pulled out of him and Max collapsed on the bed, but Wes got off the bed and moved to the door. I stared at his cock. It was fucking huge, erect, and pointed right at me. I tried not to look, but I was human. Damn it! I then noticed his six-inch tattoo on his inner thigh, which read, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. He smirked at me, never breaking eye contact as he slowly shut the door.
I was far too embarrassed to think straight. Turning around, I just ran.
Slamming the door closed, I fell back on it and panted.
“Jesus fuck,” I muttered, dropping the towel and rushing back into the bathroom to turn the shower on cold. My skin was on fire.
When I stepped in, I shivered, trembling under the water as it beat against me. I wanted to think of something else. For the second time now, I had intruded on their private life, and I felt like a damn pervert. It was like I was mesmerized by it…two grown men in love…two men fucking. It wasn’t any of my business. It was wrong and rude to gawk at them, and I knew that—yet I couldn’t erase the scenes from my mind.
“Stop thinking,” I muttered, putting my head directly under the stream of ice water. It was easier said than done.
The look of pleasure on Max’s face, the way the whole bed jerked forward as Wes rammed his cock into him. The way Wes walked up to the door completely naked and proud of it. The grin on his lips when he stared me down, never breaking eye contact until the door was shut completely. How do you forget about something like that?
“You don’t,” I whispered to myself, turning off the water and stepping out onto the rugs. There was no steam on the mirrors. It was just a little wet, so I could still see my body perfectly: my hair sticking to my body, water sliding down my neck and chest only to drip off my very hard nipples, thanks to the cold. “What are you doing Jane?”
Reaching up, I smacked myself across the face because I need to wake up from whatever daydream or fantasy I was falling into.
I am not marrying Maxwell Emerson. The very fact that I had even considered his proposition proved just how desperate I was. However, I had worked every day of my life, and the number one lesson I had learned was that the only person I could count on was me. There was no saving grace or easy path. Cinderella was a good fairytale.
“But I’m a maid.” I nodded to myself. I pulled back my wet hair into a ponytail, deciding I’d dry it when I got back home.
Moving back into the bedroom, I didn’t bother to dry off. Instead, I grabbed my clothes, put them on, and rolled up my sleeves. Peeking at my phone, I stared at the time: 12:47 a.m. It was officially Saturday morning. I had to clean, and after that, I’d go back home. If I didn’t vacuum and did my best to be quiet, I wouldn’t disturb them. Plus, they were otherwise occupied.
Grabbing the towel I had dropped, I moved to the laundry room. The blue basket was filled with socks, underwear, T-shirts, and a few towels. Separating the colors and whites, I sorted them out to wash before taking the red basket for dry cleaning then closed the washing machine door. I was for grateful they had one of those silent machines.
Cracking my neck to the left and then to the right, I took a deep breath before I got to work and slid on my cleaning gloves. If I was lucky, I’d be done before they woke up in the morning.
“Mr. Window…we meet again.” I smiled to myself, staring up at the large window overlooking Boston.
“Wes!” Max grumbled at me when my phone alarm went off and rolled away from me, but I was far too tired to get up. “Turn it off before I throw it out the goddamn window!”
He could be such a twat sometimes. Rolling my eyes, I sat up and rubbed my eyes as I reached for it.
6:10 a.m.
The thought of going to the market this morning exhausted me, but I got up anyway and stretched.
“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked him, knowing he never stayed in bed long after I got up. He wasn’t a morning person, but once he was up, there was no hope he’d get back to sleep. Four years of this and you’d think he’d be used to it already.
“Anything.” He was lying on his stomach, the sheets barely covering his ass.
“Risotto with leeks, shiitake mushrooms, and truffles fine then?” I asked, reaching for my jeans.
He rolled over, opening only one eye to see if I was serious. The last time he’d said ‘anything’, I’d made him just that and he had to force him to eat it on my behalf.
“On second thought, bacon and eggs are fine.” He yawned.
Nodding, I opened the door, remembering why it was closed in the first place, and saw a pile of shirts, towels, socks, and underwear folded neatly at my feet. There was a note on top.
“Your fiancée is up,” I said and he groaned, most likely remembering the impromptu proposal he’d given last night.
“You mean our own penthouse Peeping Tom,” he grumbled. Getting up out of bed, he winced and gripped his back. I grinned proudly. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I shrugged. He put on his boxers, finally noticing the folded laundry. I let him pick up the message. Sorry, I wasn’t able to clean your room. It will be given a twice-over next time.
I paused before glancing back down at the time. Stepping over the laundry, I looked around the penthouse. It was spotless.
“She made breakfast?” Max came up beside me, nodding toward the kitchen, where two trays were left out. There was plastic wrap over the plates along with another Post-it note.
“It’s six in the morning. When the bloody hell did she does this?” I asked, walking down the stairs. I could see that the room she was supposed to be sleeping in was now empty. From the temperature of the plate of scrambled eggs, strawberry pancakes, bacon, and toast, she had left only minutes before. This time I read the note.
I know this is probably not up to par with the great Wesley Uhler’s cooking, but I made breakfast, first to apologize for last night (again), and secondly because I didn’t want a lot of dishes left in the sink. She had tried to write small but still needed to use the back of the Post-it. Maxwell just stared at his plate.
“If the maid thing doesn’t work, she should try a career in burglary,” he stated, and I understood what he meant. How could we have slept through all of this? Sitting down on the stool, he pulled back the plastic wrap to eat.
“Well?” I waited.
“Too much salt,” he replied, but kept eating.
Reaching for my fork, I cut into the pancakes and scooped the eggs with it before taking a bite. The moment I did, I smirked. He had lied. It was good. Not better than me, but good. He just couldn’t admit it.
“You’re right, too much salt,” I lied along with him.
“I’m guessing this means she’s rejecting my proposal?” he asked, still eating.
“Are you disappointed?”
His glanced up at me and was luckily saved when my phone rang.
“What?” I answered.
“Chef, we only got two truffles—”
“Well—”
“I’ll be there in twenty.” Hanging up, I took another bite before getting up. “I have to go.”
He just nodded and I licked the syrup from the corner of his lips before rushing up the stairs. When I got to the top, I paused to glance at the spare bedroom. I wondered what was going on in her mind…
“Jane you begged me for this job,” Mary reminded me as I sat in her office on Monday morning. I had slept all of Sunday, missing six of her calls. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was until I’d laid down. I didn’t even eat; I just slept.
“I know and I still want to clean, but just not that penthouse. It would be better if I could switch jobs with another maid.”
“Did something happen?” She leaned toward me and I could tell she was scanning for any marks or bruises. “If something happened, I swear—”
“Nothing happened.” That wasn’t a lie. Nothing had happened in the way she was thinking. “I just…” I needed to think of something she’d believe. “I have crush on the owner and I act awkward, okay! I don’t want to be there. I need to focus.”
“You, Jane ‘the Warden’ Chapman, have a crush?”
“No please!” I groaned at that name. The girls at the Bunny Rabbit had given it to me as a joke, but it had stuck, and I hated it with a passion.
“Something smells fishy here,” she pressed. I just pointed to the angelfish she had in the corner of her office, which made her glare at me. “You aren’t funny.”
“It was a little funny.” I beamed. “Mary, you know me, and I always do my best to stay focused, so it’s weird for me, too. That’s why I want to get out before anything happens.”
“So there is a possibility of things happening?” Her red eyebrow rose. At this point she was just being nosy.
“Mary. Please.”
“I can’t just switch you out. Mr. Emerson made it very clear that he wanted one maid only. I have to let him know.”
“Fine, but in the meantime do you have anything else for me?”
She made a face, her lips stretching out into a thin line. “You are so lucky sometimes.”
Me, lucky! Ha! Luck and I didn’t even live in the same hemisphere.
“Irene Monrova—you worked for her on Friday—asked if you could fill in on Mondays, which is why I tried so hard to call yesterday.”
See? This was the type of ‘luck’ I got.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’ll go there now. It’s only noon.” I grabbed my scarf and bag and stood up to go.
“Are you still able to work on Wednesdays at Mrs. Crofton’s and Thursdays at Mr. Wells’, or do you have a secret crush on one of them too?” she mocked with a fat grin on her face.
I pretended to think. “Now that you mention it, Mr. Wells sure knows how to rock a cane, and that receding hairline, those missing teeth and wrinkled old hands…it’s kind of hot.”
“Eww…Jane!” Her face bunched up and she even wiggled in her chair as if she was trying to shake the thought from her whole body.
“Bye, Mary and thank you.” I flashed her a smile before leaving, since she always told me to.
Just like that, I had washed my hands of Maxwell and Wesley. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself any more. The second rule of survival I’d learned growing up was that if it got messy or dangerous, then it was okay to run.
Running was good; anyone who said otherwise would be the first one to die in a horror movie.
Chapter Four
Why did I answer the phone?
“Hello, Mr. Emerson? Are you there?” said the voice on the line.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“This is Mary Turner from Mary’s Magnificent Maids. I wanted to ask you if you would be all right with a change of maids.”
Why did I answer the phone? I saw the number on the screen. I knew who it was and to add to the discomfort, I was at work. I didn’t have time to worry about a damn maid. Yet I answered the fucking thing anyway.
“What is wrong with the maid I already have?” I questioned, signing off on the segment board in front of me.
“She was personally requested by another client,” she replied; I could feel my jaw clenching, but I had no idea why.
“Ms. Turner, is this how you do business?”
“Excuse me?”
“Maybe you aren’t aware, but I’m a private person. I do not do well with change. It has taken me over a month to get used to this new maid, and now you are telling me she has another client who wants their home cleaned at exactly same time as mine? Or maybe you do know and this just a ploy to get more money.”
“Mr. Emerson, no never—”
“Then I want the same goddamn maid on Tuesdays and Saturdays like always. Have a nice day, Ms. Turner.” Hanging up, I threw phone back on my desk and leaned back.
If I hadn’t been sure before, I was now. She’d rejected my offer and now she was trying to quit. Here was the same woman who had the goddamn nerve to lecture me on the value of working extra, no matter how hard it is, was now quitting a perfectly good paying job.
Hypocrite.
Great! Wes was going to blame me or at the very least think I got rid of her because I was jealous. I didn’t give a fuck. We never said we were exclusive. We hadn’t been with anyone else in years—or at least I hadn’t, but that still didn’t change the fact that there were no rules between us.
“She is just a maid,” I muttered to myself. So why I am so damn pissed off!?
“Mr. Emerson?”
“What?” I snapped when my assistant poked her head into my office. She jumped back, pushing her glasses farther up her nose.
“Ahmm…I…you’re…the meeting is starting.”
Rubbing my eyes, I nodded. “I’m on my way.”
Rising, I took my phones before walking around my desk and stepping out of my office and into the pit. Over two dozen employees on this floor alone were glued to their computers, and on some nights they looked like zombies. Everyone in the media business started there until they found that one story that would help them climb up.
Walking around them, a few of them looked up and nodded to me. They were the ones who were going to sink, and soon. The ones who paid no attention to me, who were typing, on calls, sliding back and forth on their chairs as they shared information, were the workaholics who would make it far.
“What do we have?” I said as soon as I walked into the meeting before taking my seat at the front table. An intern ran up to place a coffee cup in my hand.
As always, Scarlet de Burgh, my producer, got up first. As she moved to the front of the white conference table, her wavy brunette hair brushed the top of her shoulders. “The Governor MacDowell scandal is a treasure trove; the more we poke, the more we find. There is correspondence with Tyson Pharmaceuticals and an RMH which all have questionable financial ties to him. All are denying. The police aren’t releasing anything—”
“Who do we have outside of the police station? It’s all about timing,” I questioned, taking a sip of the coffee before sliding back and spitting it out. My eyes snapped to the intern I was going to fire. “What the fuck is this?”
“Your coffee?” he replied.
Lifting the lid up, I showed it to him. “I drink my coffee black. Does this look like black to you? I would ask if you’re colorblind, but seeing as even then you should be able to tell the difference between coffee shades, that isn’t an excuse! Which leaves me with the belief that you are an idiot. Are you an idiot, intern’s name who I do not know or care to know? Never mind. You’re fired.”
“What?”
“GET OUT!” I yelled, and he ran tripping over his own feet as he went. Spinning back to the table, all of their eyes were glued to me, terrified with the exception of Scarlet.
“Tonight, we make public that the police and the district attorney are not being transparent. We are going to put pressure on them, and I want a story t
o be published immediately after I go live doubling down on that. The people of this state have a right to know what the fuck their governor was doing with their tax money. If you meet resistance, call them out for being in someone’s pocket. If they aren’t, they will be vindicated. If they are, well…that’s just another story.”
No one moved. They just stared.
“You can go,” I snapped. They grabbed their tablets and quickly filed out one by one as I leaned back in the chair.
“You know this is why they call you the Maxasaurus Rex, right?” Scarlet asked, coming up beside me and taking a seat on the table. “However, today you are a little more bloodthirsty than usual; what’s wrong?”
I don’t know!
“Nothing,” I lied.
Her bright blue eyes narrowed and she lifted her head up. “Your parents again?”
“Are you my producer or my therapist?”
“For you, I have to be both.”
“I’m fine Scarlet.”
“Mr. Emerson?” My assistant once again popped her head inside. “Your mother is holding on line two—”
“What did I tell you to do when my family calls?”
“Send them to voicemail, but she said it’s important and keeps calling.” No sooner had she said it than my phone rang, proving that my mother had this office wiretapped. I was sure of it.
“Let’s go Lily, before our favorite dinosaur tries eating us whole.” Scarlet patted my shoulder before walking out.
“For the record, if I hear anyone else referring to me as giant a lizard, I’m firing them too!” I called out as she left. She only waved back, obviously not caring.
Reaching for the phone, I prepared myself for the tongue-lashing I was about to get.
“Hello Mother,” I said politely.
“Mother.” Her high voice stabbed into my ears. “Siri Google ‘Mother’.” She must have spoken to her other phone and lifted it for me to hear. “Females who inhabit or perform the role of bearing some relation to their children, who may or may not be their biological offspring.”
“Is this your way of saying I’m adopted?” If so, it looks like life is finally looking up.