I kept coming across the same variations of housecleaning jobs. I wasn’t interested in the ones looking for “topless maids” or “erotic dusting,” whatever the hell that was. I was proud of my body and had no doubt I could do the work, but the idea of letting some sweaty, overweight guy ogle me while I was cleaning his house wasn’t all that attractive to me. Not only that, but I knew what else would be expected once money changed hands. I had kept my virginity this long, I wasn’t about to give it up to some creep I met online.
So, I kept looking until one caught my eye.
Maid wanted, it read. Experience required. High pay, demanding environment. Payment up front.
It was the last part that got my attention. I could clean. I had experience doing it. Getting the payment up front was exactly what I was hoping to find. Assuming their definition of “high pay” and mine was in the same ballpark, I had a good feeling about it.
I took my time to craft a message to the man listed in the ad: a man named George Fisher. It was one of the few lessons I remembered my father teaching me- you only have one chance to make a good first impression. I took that one chance and gave it everything I had. My message was grammatically correct, well-structured, and clearly highlighted my skills and experience. It was a good introduction, and I was certain it would be received as such.
I was surprised, then, when I received a reply only a few minutes after sending it. It was simply an address and a time, and the time was just a few hours from now.
“Well, that was quick,” I said to no one in particular. “I guess that’s a good sign.”
I quickly showered and put on my “good first impression” clothes. I guess I needed them after all.
George was younger than I imagined he would be. He was impeccably-dressed in a charcoal grey suit and red tie, and he wore stylish, thick-rimmed glasses that somehow matched both his tie and his suit at the same time. The only thing that seemed out of place were his well-worn running shoes. It was a strange juxtaposition.
“You must be Ms. Kerry,” he said. His voice had laughter in it, which combined with his warm demeanor put me at ease immediately. It was a good sign.
“Please, call me Emma,” I replied, accepting his hand and shaking it softly. His hands were softer than mine. His grip, lighter.
“Emma, of course. I’m George, and we’re looking for a maid.”
“We?” I asked. I immediately scolded myself for the question. It didn’t really matter, not at this juncture, but curiosity had always been my weakness. Sometimes it got the better of me.
“My employer and I,” he replied. It wasn’t exactly an answer, but I wasn’t about to argue. “Light cleaning, mostly. Plus... um... absolute discretion is required.”
That part set off alarm bells in my head. I had seen that phrase in ad after ad- it meant that the married man didn’t want his maid to tell his wife that they were screwing. I sighed softly. As much as I needed the money, I just didn’t think I could bring myself to earn it that way. Not when I still had a little bit of time to look at other options.
“Discretion...” I repeated. “Regarding?” I was almost afraid to ask, but I didn’t want to waste either of our time if it was what I feared.
George smiled. “About what little you know about us, which isn’t much. And, more importantly, about who you’re really working for. Lucius Miller is buying up properties in the middle of Nebraska. Nebraska! They’re junk properties, but he’s buying them up at nearly double market value. We want to know why.”
“You want me to spy on him? I think you’ve got the wrong girl, I don’t know anything about business and I don’t really care what’s going on in Nebraska. I thought the ad was for a maid.” I stood to leave, but he stopped me with a waive of his hand.
“Sit down,” he said firmly. It was enough to cause me to stop. The smile and gesture that followed was enough to make me listen. “That’s exactly what it’s for, but not for us. We need someone inside. We can get you an interview to work for Miller, whether you get it or not is up to you. All we want you to do is to keep your eyes and ears open. Maybe poke around when you’re cleaning. See what you can find.”
“I really don’t think so,” I said as politely as I could. It all sounded so... sketchy. “Thank you for your time,” I said, standing once again.
“It’s your choice,” he shrugged. “But I’m sure you could use the money. It pays well.”
Once again, he found something that caught my attention. “How well?” I asked. I was curious, but not yet convinced.
He smiled. It felt a little bit like the smile a lion would give to a zebra. “A thousand to apply. Another five if you get the job. Twenty more on top of that if you find what we’re looking for.”
It was tempting. Applying alone would keep the bills paid up for a few months. Getting the job would let us keep the house, for a while at least. Plus, there was whatever I earned for the work itself. And if I found something... yes it was tempting.
“I’ll apply. That’s all I’ll promise.”
George smiled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick stack of twenty-dollar bills, bound in a paper band. “It’s all there. Get the job, call me, and there’s another five for you. He handed me a business card; there was only a phone number on it.
...
I felt the usual excitement of starting a new job, except this time I had a $5000 bonus to look forward to. There was paperwork to sign and forms to fill out, and I made my way through it all with a sort of bittersweet detachment. I didn’t like lying to people, but I didn’t like seeing my mother cry, either.
They didn’t waste any time, either. I was introduced to the housekeeper, Mrs. Cooper- who was apparently also my supervisor, and given a brief tour of the home. The tour took ages- even the living room was larger than my entire house- and ended in the laundry room. I noticed that the only room I hadn’t seen was Mr. Miller’s. I filed that away, but I didn’t feel it would be appropriate to ask so soon.
“You’ll need a uniform,” she said, casually rummaging through a small rack of similarly-colored clothing. She eyed me carefully, then pulled out a single outfit. “This will work fine, until you can be fitted for more that is.”
I was relieved. I was afraid that it would be some unnecessarily revealing French maid-style outfit, but it was a surprisingly conservative black dress with a white apron and matching fringe.
Mrs. Cooper seemed to know what I was thinking. She laughed softly. “You were expecting something slutty, weren’t you?” she asked.
I blushed. “Maybe. I didn’t really know what to expect,” I admitted sheepishly.
“They always think that, and they’re always surprised. But I suppose there’s a lot of surprises in this household,” she added enigmatically.
“What sort of surprises?”
“Never you mind,” she said, waving the question away with her hand. She rattled off the list of rooms and areas I would be responsible for maintaining, as well as other tasks that I would be assigned. It didn’t seem very difficult, if only a little bit tedious. And with little more than that brief orientation, I was left to my own devices.
In the days and weeks that followed, I began to look forward to coming into work- something I hadn’t really experienced before. The household seemed to have its own rich energy, which ebbed and flowed depending on who was around. Mrs. Cooper kept the house running in a tight, rigid order. Everyone had their place in it, and everyone was doing exactly as was expected of them. When she was gone and Mr. Broadstreet was directly overseeing the staff, things tended to get a little more relaxed. He turned out to be a very funny man; he reminded me of my father in some small way.
And then there was Tyler; he was Mr. Westin’s personal assistant. He was young, witty, and perhaps just a little bit too ambitious for his own good. There were others that filled out the rich tapestry that quickly became my second home. And it was because of the unusually generous pay that I earned in the second home that I w
as able to afford the first. That, and the amount that George had already paid.
I had started to resent George for what he was trying to do; for the position he had tried to put me in. I supposed that I was as complicit as he was, seeing as how I had taken the money willingly, but I started to dread his frequent calls and ignore his email messages. I felt like a hypocrite, especially since I knew I could still use the money. I wasn’t out of the woods yet, financially speaking, but I didn’t really desire to help him other than that.
Over time, he became more insistent. More desperate. The bounty increased by half. The temptation was there, but I had nothing to offer all the same.
The one man that I hadn’t yet met was Lucius Miller himself. Everyone spoke highly of him; his staff seemed to nearly love him, or at least merely admire him. He began to take on a nearly-mythological status in my mind, so much so that I was unexpectedly nervous when I learned that I would finally meet him.
After an extended time away- somewhere overseas was all I knew- Mr. Miller was due back home. The rest of the staff was busy with their various tasks, each preparing for his arrival in their own way, leaving me to be the one to greet him.
I waited by the door anxiously. I smoothed by dress for the thousandths time and checked my mascara in the mirror once again. I practiced my greeting over and over again until I was certain I would perform it flawlessly. Finally, I heard a car arrive. And then, footsteps.
The driver opened the door and held it open. After that, Mr. Miller entered.
That description doesn’t really do him justice. Mr. Miller didn’t just enter the room- he filled it with his presence. The pictures that I had seen throughout the home might have captured his image, but they failed to capture his nature. He was tall and breathtakingly handsome. His eyes were deep and piercing, and they blazed with his fierce intelligence. Everything about him, from his confident walk to his undeniably powerful aura, screamed power.
“Good morn... morning, Mr. Miller,” I stuttered. I cursed inwardly, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. I added a quick curtsy as an afterthought. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes, should you wish it.” I wasn’t accustomed to speaking so formally; I hadn’t even planned on it. But Mr. Miller had a certain effect on me. Suddenly, I understood why his staff spoke of him n the way they did.
He looked at me. Actually, he looked deep into me, even through me. He seemed to be studying me. “Who are you?” he asked finally.
“Emma Kerry, sir,” I replied. “I’m new.”
“Where’s Stefanie?”
“She left, sir.” That was the extent of what I knew of her or her situation. I knew she had left, and I knew that her departure was both sudden and unexpected, which was part of the reason why I was hired so easily.
Mr. Miller looked at me again, then at Tyler who had since emerged from somewhere inside the house.
“She’s pregnant, Lucius,” he explained, answering the question before Mr. Miller asked it. Tyler was the only person that seemed to be so familiar with Mr. Miller, which was interesting to see. “She’s returned to New Orleans to retire.”
Mr. Miller looked oddly pleased at the news. “Interesting,” he said simply. He turned to me, changing the subject. “Welcome to my home, Emma. I’ll be dining in my office tonight.”
One the surface, it was a simple statement. But there seemed to be some sort of implied direction within it, so I had no real idea how to respond to it. “Yes, Sir,” I said simply. I imagined that meant I was to make the arrangements for his meal.
As suddenly as he had come, Mr. Miller was gone again. He disappeared somewhere back into the interior of the home, leaving me alone with Tyler.
“He likes you,” Tyler said out of nowhere.
I was glad to hear it. Mr. Miller was a very hard man to read. “I’m glad, sir,” I replied.
Tyler laughed. “Don’t ‘sir’ me,” he replied. “There’s only one ‘Sir’ in the house, and it’s Lucius. ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr. Miller,’ depending on the circumstances.”
“How will I know the difference?”
Tyler shrugged. “Depends on if he looks like a Sir or a Miller at that moment, I guess.” He turned and left the room; I followed.
It wasn’t extremely helpful, but it was something at least. “Yes... Tyler,” I replied as we walked.
We were in the kitchen before I knew it. The chef was just putting the final garnish on Mr. Miller’s meal. There was some sort of steak, thinner than I would have imagined, topped with a thick white sauce. Roasted vegetables and potatoes surrounded the meat, which complemented the other plates of bread, cheeses, and something else I couldn’t quite identify. A bottle of wine, which could have been dirt cheap or priceless for all I knew, sat unopened nearby. I could imagine that the meal alone would have cost more than I spent on groceries in an average week.
Chef laughed. He always laughed, and his oversized stomach shook every time he did. “The eyes, Emma,” he said. I never could figure out where his accent was from, but I loved hearing it. “The eyes eat first. Every plate is a work of art, and every plate works together.” He carefully positioned the plates, the bottle, and every other accouterment onto a small silver tray, then stepped back to admire his work. “Good, good! Now go,” he said, laughing once again. He shoed me from the room with a final thought. “Hot food should be hot!”
I smiled to myself as I made my way towards the office. The smile only faded once I reached Mr. Miller’s office. The door was open and I could hear him working inside, but I wasn’t sure how to get his attention. I didn’t feel as though I should interrupt whatever he was doing but, as chef reminded me, hot food should be hot. I stayed where I was but cleared my throat.
“Come in,” he said, without looking up from his work.
I didn’t reply, afraid to interrupt him. The room was dim, with he brightest light coming from the lamp on his desk. He was intensely studying something; it seemed important. I placed the tray on his massive mahogany desk and backed away.
“Thank you, Emma.” There was a weariness in his voice; a tiredness that I hadn’t heard before. There was also just a hint of something else... maybe a hint of tenderness.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied. I turned to leave, stopping only when he called after me.
“Emma.”
I stopped. Turned. Waited.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Have you had dinner?” he asked.
“No, Sir.”
“You don’t have to do that. Luke’s fine.”
I hesitated. I couldn’t quite bring myself to use such a familiar name for him, especially given the way the other staff had built him up.
He noticed my hesitation; he could sense my conflict. “They talked to you, didn’t they?” he laughed.
“Yes.” His laugh was infectious, and I couldn’t help but join him. “They drilled it into me- you were always ‘Sir.’”
“I grew up with them,” he explained. “They were my family. Alan raised me mostly; him and Michelle.”
I didn’t stop him to ask who those people were. “Even Tyler- he said the same thing.”
That made him laugh again. “Tyler said that?”
I nodded.
“He got you, I guess. But the rest of them, they worked for my father.” He was suddenly very somber. “They want me to be him, so I suppose they treat me the same way they treated him. They... they miss him.”
“Did something happen to him?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if it was place to ask such a question, but Mr. Miller- or rather, Luke- seemed unexpectedly approachable.
Luke nodded sadly. “He died; half a decade ago, nearly to the day.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I meant it.
“Thanks. I hope you appreciate your father; I’m sure he appreciates you.”
My eyes flickered downward, but I didn’t say anything about it.
“Dammit,” he swore under his breath. “I’m sorry. He’s gone too, isn’t he?”
&n
bsp; I nodded. “When I was just a little girl.”
“How? If you don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “Car accident.”
He opened the bottle of wine and poured some into the glass. He handed that to me and kept the bottle to himself. “To fathers, wherever they may be.” He pointed the bottle’s neck towards my glass, and we clinked them together. “Eat, please,” he said, pointing towards the tray.
“I don’t have anything to eat with.”
“Are you kidding? Rene always gives me a dozen pieces of silverware, no matter what I’m eating. Seriously, I don’t see why I need ten forks every meal.”
I laughed. I was glad I wasn’t the only one that couldn’t figure it out.
We shared his meal- which, as I expected, was incredible. The meat was tender and juicy; it seemed to melt in my mouth. The rest of it seemed to form more of an experience than a meal. That experience extended past the meal to the man I was sharing it with.
He told me stories of his travels overseas. Exotic places and boundless adventure. He spoke, and I hung on every word. And when I spoke, he did the same. Even though he had lived a life that I had never ever imagined, he still listened to my stories as though they mattered. He made me feel interesting.
“Luke,” I began, the wine helping me to accept his direction. “You’re nothing like I imagined you’d be.”
“What did you imagine?”
I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. But not you.”
“Thanks.”
There was a moment, then. A very brief moment. Our eyes met; I couldn’t tell if it was the wine or something more, but I could feel something between us. It was instant and undeniable. He leaned in, just a few inches. He opened his mouth to speak, and his phone rang instead.
Luke snapped back to reality. The moment was gone. He glanced at his phone, frowning at the display. “Will you excuse me?” he asked.
Are you kidding? I thought to myself. You’re the boss. And then I realized he was actually waiting for an answer. Outwardly, I only nodded.
Luke practically jumped out of his chair and stormed towards the door, alternating between shouting into the phone in Chinese and shouting for Tyler in English. Curiosity, as it often did, became my master. I maneuvered around the desk, wondering what exactly had been so vexing for him. Immediately, I understood what was so important.
Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women Page 75