His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance Daisy Jane (love letters to the dead TXT) 📖

“Not bad at all,” I admitted, eyeing the bandage.

“I’m glad. And I’m sorry if I came across harsh last night. It’s just, I don’t want to see you get hurt, Brit,” Melody said, pushing the back door open with her hip, arms full of supplies.

“I know,” I replied, and I knew it was true. She didn’t want me to get hurt by some guy, especially a mature man whom I never had a chance with in the first place. She was right. She really was trying to prevent the inevitable—me falling for Brooks Bennett while he used me to cure his boredom, or fill a sex-with-a-young-woman fantasy. If that was what he was doing.

“So, are you gonna let him pay?” she said, sliding the supplies across the granite in the mudroom. Even the rooms they never used had granite, crown molding, fancy light fixtures and extravagant doors. She settled onto a stool at the counter as I started refilling the bottles of cleaner.

“No, I mean, it was my fault. I dropped the glass then cut my hand,” I said, realizing I hadn’t actually given any thought to his offer because I’d been so busy remembering the way his fingers felt curled up inside me, his lips hot on mine. The neckline of my polo grew warm as I relieved the memory. It had been less than an hour ago and I was already thinking about it, feeling a familiar tingle between my thighs.

“But he scared you, coming up behind you like that,” she said, a blend of defensive for my role as a maid and as her cousin.

“That was my fault, too. He only even said something to me because I was reciting what he’d written. He probably would’ve just gone up to his office without saying a word had he not heard me,” I finished pouring the concentrated cleaner into the bottle, the neon yellow liquid dripping down to the counter. “Toss me that rag, will you?” I asked, wanting to change the subject and get to work, to be left with my memories and fantasies.

She tossed the towel and leaned forward slightly, to find my eyes as I cleaned up the mess.

“Hey,” she said, “not everything that happens to you is your fault, you know that right? What happened with your mom, she had a disease. You did what you could. And Brooks Bennett? I think you should let him pay. He scared you. These rich people, they think they’re so above us.” She waves a hand flippantly in the air above her. “We’re all just people trying to be happy,” she said, standing up from the counter.

“Sorry I woke you last night,” I said, seeing the bags under her eyes as she watched me load the caddies.

“No, it’s okay. I was up fighting with Donny most of the night anyway. But hey, you should have him pay the bill. That kind of money is probably nothing to him, but it’s a lot to us,” she rose to her feet, tying her smock on, grabbing the supplies from the counter. “Ready?”

“Ready,” I added, knowing silently I’d never ask Brooks to pay the bill, not now.

As I made neat triangles up and back the carpet pulling the heavy vacuum, I thought about Brooks. Surely, he could have any woman that he wanted. Was it just because I’m young? He could probably get any young girl, too. Was it because he had power over me, being my employer? I paused in front of the mirrored closet door, vacuum tipping from my hand, and studied my reflection.

Messy, long hair, wavy from drying natural, a bit wild, too. Thin legs with little definition, unintentionally narrow waist, green eyes a bit too wide and skin peppered with freckles. Make up was a luxury and I couldn’t afford to wear it to work. Like everything in my life, I had to designate it’s worth and use it accordingly. As I looked at my plain reflection, I couldn’t help but wonder, why did handsome, established Brooks Bennett take interest in plain, unimportant me?

I didn’t let my mind linger there too long. Instead, I tried to let myself enjoy whatever it would be, while telling myself “this is just a physical fling, nothing more, do not get attached.” Knowing it’s just a fling should make it easy to not get attached. Focus on the fun of right now, I told myself, finishing the guest room, moving down the hall to the master. Taking me by complete surprise, as my hand rested on the doorknob, a man pulled open the door, sending my nerves into a tailspin.

“Oh, oh gosh. I’m sorry, I had no idea anyone was home,” I said, realizing that the door was closed, the universal sign for don’t come in. I was so lost in my thought about Brooks that I hadn’t realized what I was doing.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking around places you don’t belong?” the man snarled, his thick gray hair falling down across his head as he leaned forward aggressively, putting his face in front of mine. He was a large man, both tall and heavy, with a far too-tight white dress shirt and light khaki slacks that nearly swallowed his lower half. His face was red, allover, a fusion of anger and alcohol. I knew the tint all too well.

“No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I never go into rooms with closed doors, I don’t Mr. Nolan, I’m sorry,” I met his eyes just long enough to see him stepping towards me, ominously, my heart beating heavily. His voice was lower when he spoke, ripe with anger. And booze.

“You should follow the rules if you like this job. What if you had walked into something you didn’t want to see?” his breath was sour on my face, reeking of gin and agony.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, taking a step back, trying to put distance between us.