Maid for the Millionaire by jewel crotan (different ereaders TXT) 📖

to pry more information about our boss from him, but James was just as clueless. Occasionally, he provided bits of gossip that I obsessed over.

“Have you seen Mrs. Carawell lately? Cid is telling me that she’s been fed up with Victor. There might even be a separation.”

I felt my heart pound at the prospect of a single Mr. Carawell, even though my mind kept telling me why it meant nothing. I was confused as to why I felt this way about such an older man. I was a college graduate with no money, a plain face, and little to offer to a man like Victor. If he was used to women of Mrs. Carawell’s caliber, there was no way I could ever hope to compare. Still, my mind ran wild with fantasies of him coming into my bedroom late at night and having his way with me. I didn’t share my secret with James.

“Huh. I wonder if she’s going to do it before the Lockheart dinner party. Everyone is already stressed out as is.”

“Let’s hope she waits.”

I hope she waited too. From dawn to dusk, it seemed all that everyone talked about was the upcoming dinner party in hopes of securing a new account for Mr. Carawell’s portfolio. No one talked the exact specifics of the deal, but there were rumors of a thousand dollar bonus to all staff if the night ran smoothly. It wasn’t exactly charity money, but I still found his respect towards his staff endearing.

“They are looking for extra hands on deck. I can put in a good word for you if you want it.”

Standing at attention during dinner and serving. Placing napkins on laps. Refilling wine glasses. I could do that!

“Oh James, that’d be fantastic! Thank you so much!”

As I gave him a friendly hug, I thought about what this opportunity meant. I’d be in the same room as Mr. Carawell for an entire evening. Back against the wall and silent, of course. My mind judged my reasoning. But my heart pounded in excitement. Maybe, just maybe, I would be noticed in his eyes.



James certainly put in a good word in for me, and then some. The very next morning Helen tested me in my serving aptitude. Thankfully I had grown used to the heels I wore as part of my uniform and was able to walk in a straight, concise manner. Even when balancing five plates (thank you, teenage waitress job). The detail that Helen demanded was absolute, from my chin always behind held high to the way I held my hands when waiting for further instruction. Several hours of training later, I was accepted into the position for the night. It still felt like I was accepted by the skin of my teeth.

The day of the party I felt as if I could fall apart at any moment. I meticulously checked my makeup, my dress, my hair, my posture. And still I wished I had more time to prepare. By the time 7 rolled around I was already lined up with the other servers in the dining hall. Every single pair of eyes was focused on the entrance door. It opened promptly at seven fifteen. Helen was the first to lead; followed by Mr. and Mrs. Carawell, what I assumed was Mr. Lockheart and his wife, and several other men and women I assumed to be their lackeys. As Helen introduced the woodwork design on the walls of the dining area, I kept hoping his head would turn in my direction. No such luck, although Mr. Lockheart did give me a small smile when he passed by. I returned the smile as best I could while his body odor invaded my nostrils.

It was like a synchronized dance. I played my timing with the other servers to the second; setting down silverware, handing off food, lighting the candles. When placing Mrs. Lockheart’s napkin I noticed her husband staring down my chest. Combined with his increasing familiar smell of whiskey and sweat I suppressed the urge to throw up.

“Beautiful house, Victor. If your business sense is as good as your sense of decor, I see an very bright revenue stream in our futures..”

Laughing, Mr. Carawell continued his sell.

“I certainly am proud of this place. Though I cannot take all the credit, we have an exceptional staff here at the Carawell estate. Now, I understand you’re proposing a reverse split on Irvine Energy. I’ve seen this pattern before, the shareholders will come knocking about their value...”

The business talk bored me, so I focused instead on the atmosphere. Mrs. Carawell had not spoken a word since she entered and seemed to be avoiding her husband’s conversation at all costs. Mr. Carawell was clearly dominating the conversation, meticulously picking apart each and every point of Lockheart’s business plan. Even with a large prize on the line, he never shied away from being brutally honest. Yet he never jumped the line from critical to insulting. I could see why he was good as what he did. Lockheart raised his glass, signifying the need for a refill. I had hoped another server would assist, but the man was looking directly at me. Keeping my face straight and holding my breath, I grabbed the bottle of wine from the bar and paced back to the table. The man’s eyes violated me with great interest. I fought the urge to run away, instead focusing on pouring the wine.

My face ran cold as I felt the sudden sensation of Mr. Lockheart’s hand run up my skirt and grope my butt. It startled me so much that I lost control of the wine. It fell from my hands, spraying all over his suit. You would have thought a gunshot went off with how ballistic Helen went. Within a second she was screaming.

“Young April, you will take Mr. Lockheart into the kitchen and clean your mistake up!”

She continued apologizing for quite some time. With a brutally red face, I hoped someone had noticed what the pervert had done. Apparently not. Instead of outrage at him, there was only disappointment towards me. The stupid server who had spilled wine all over the important guest. The saving grace was that Mr. Lockheart was not outraged himself, instead insisting that it was a simple mistake over Helen’s profuse apologies. I looked up at Mr. Carawell. He looked back at me with cold, stern eyes.

At least I was finally noticed.



The sink was in the back area of the kitchen. My mind ran wild with fear. What if I got fired? I had no plan B. For the first time since I graduated I wasn’t worrying about where my next paycheck would come from. If I would have enough to buy food for the month. The fear of losing my job outweighed the fear of this repulsive man standing before me. I wet a towel with the sink and began patting his shirt down. My mind was so distracted that I didn’t even notice we were out of sight of the cooks.

“There there, you made a mistake. We all do. Your name is April?”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s a very pretty name. Do you have a boyfriend?”

The warning bells began to go off in my head. I felt frozen to the spot, unable to decide what to do.

“...I don’t think that’s appropriate to ask, sir.”

“Of course, you're a professional. Let's speak business then. Dear April, do you know why I’m here?”

“Of course sir. To reach an agreement with Mr. Carawell. I couldn’t tell you the details, the maids don’t concern themselves with that.”

“Aren't you precious? Then again, I doubt Victor would tell his staff. You see, he’s fallen on hard times recently. A bit of bad choice in investments. Of course, the public doesn’t know about this, but he’s losing credibility. He’s very good at hiding it, but he needs people like me to continue paying for the lavish life he lives. Which places me, the business partner, in a very good position.”

I felt his hand on my shoulder. Looking up into his eyes, I felt very small. He continued to speak to me.

“To be honest, I’m not sure I want to partner with Victor anymore. At least that’s the decision I’m leaning towards. He's lost his edge. Can't be trusted anymore. I’m a understanding man though, and I can be persuaded. Do you want your employee to have my business?”

I nodded silently. My body shook.

“I thought so. You’re very pretty. I think you can persuade me more than your employer ever could.”

“Sir, I...”

He roughly grabbed my hair, edging my face forward to crotch. It smelled worse than his odor.

“No talk. I’ll make it simple. You take care of me, I’ll make sure Victor doesn’t lose this home. You refuse, I not only will make sure Victor loses his home, but I’ll also make sure you lose your job. I’ll make sure you never work as a maid again. We wouldn’t want that, would we dear?”

Choking back tears. Head sweating wildly. My mind knew to run away, to scream, but his grip on my hair was powerful. To hell with my job. I screamed.

“LET GO OF ME!”

“Mr. Lockheart, what the hell is going on?!”

That voice. I turned my head to see Mr. Carawell standing not five feet away. His eyes raged with a fire I had never seen before.

“Ah, Victor. I was just sampling your staff here. Even with the little spill, I dare say they are quite exceptional.”

“Let her go.”

There was a pregnant pause before he released me. I stood back up, too overwrought to say anything.

“Come now Victor. Let’s not forget the person you were when we first met, you hypocrite.”

Mr. Carawell's face didn't change a beat. Still burning. Not even slightly unfocused.

“April, retire to your room. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Sir, I...”

“Now!”

All I could do was walk out of the back of the kitchen, crying and shaking. Both men silently watched as I retreated. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’ve had hansy boyfriends before, I could always hold my own. But here, in such a different environment, with such high stakes... I was out of my element. I was ashamed of myself. Embarrassed, ashamed, and scared. The stares I got as I walked back to my room only made me walk faster. By the time I was lying in my bed the tears had stopped.  chapter 3

Starring up at the ceiling in my uniform, the events of the evening repeated themselves over and over in my head. I was glad that Victor had stepped in to my rescue, but I was more ashamed that I wasn’t able diffuse the situation on my own. No job was worth getting molested over. But what about Mr. Lockheart’s statement about Victor being a hypocrite? They obviously had a history together. What kind of man was he then? What kind of man was he now?

After about an hour of reflecting I decided on three things. One, none of it was my fault. Mr. Lockheart was obviously a egotistical pervert, and if I was unlucky enough to cross paths with him