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

okay?” I was nearly whispering, my voice trapped somewhere in my chest at the sight of her.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, I’m sorry,” she attempted to close the door but I put my hand in, instinctively, so she couldn’t.

“Is this about today?”

Had I moved too fast? I wondered, since my hand was the only thing keeping me in her life at the moment. But she’d wanted it, she really had. If I’d been wrong, I’d been so far off-base. It had to be something else.

“Yes,” she nodded, not meeting my eyes. “I mean, no, not the part of my day with you,” she explained, and the simple clarification allowed me to breath. Thank god I hadn’t been the source of her current state but still, I needed to know what was wrong.

“Can I come in?” I lowered my head, tilting it slightly, trying to force her to look at me. She still wouldn’t and her hesitancy sent a panic through me. This can’t be it.

“I don’t think so,” she said, an uneven sob breaking free from those pouty lips, her bandaged hand covering her mouth as she did.

“Britta, please, what’s going on?” I found myself needing to know what’d turned this beautiful young creature into such a mess. What, or, as I was about to find out, who.

“I like you,” I said, my fingers curling around the doorframe, pulling myself a little closer to her. “If you want me to go, I will.”

Finally, she looked up at me. The tip of her nose was red, like her eyelids, and her bottom lip trembled before she tucked it under her teeth, pulling the door open to let me in.

The apartment was tiny, nothing but a couch and a small table, adorned with a lamp. It was the end of summer, the evenings beginning to cool off, yet the apartment felt stuffy and warm. Paint chipped from the walls and the floor was bubbled, lifting from water damage throughout. It smelled clean, like my house - she had clearly tried to make it as nice as she could. She settled onto the couch, covering her body with an old, multi-colored afghan, drawing her knees to her chest underneath.

“May I sit?” I motioned next to her on the couch and she nodded, her hair wobbling on top of her head. I hated myself for it, but my cock stirred at the sight of her under the dim light, how innocently she wrapped her arms around her blanketed legs, resting her chin on her knee. Those wide green eyes so bright, despite the sadness around them.

I sat on the couch—which also looked old and worn—and another wave of sickness washed through me, that this beautiful woman had to live like this. She deserves so much more.

“Please, Britta, please tell me why you’re upset,” I spoke softly, reaching out, resting my palm on her exposed cheek, my thumb sweeping her smooth skin, finding some dampness there.

She lifted her head to the comfort of my hand, and I felt pride that I gave her that feeling. That meant something to me. I was merely a stranger, still, and I made her feel safe. How badly she needed someone, safety, love. I had to fight the urge to scoop her up off the couch, into my arms, and cradle her against my chest, plant kisses in her hair and make it all okay for her. I had to take my time; I didn’t want to scare her.

“Please,” I coaxed, and then there was a sharp knock at the door, and Melody sailed in, hands on hips, concern and fury twisted on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she looked directly at me, and I looked back at Britta, unsure if she had shared with her cousin what transpired between us today.

I wasn’t sure what to say and it was unlike me to be speechless. I didn’t want to admit to Melody that Britta had planned to see me, not if she didn’t want her cousin knowing. The last thing I wanted to do was cause her more grief. I looked back to Melody.

“What’s going on?” I asked, rising to my feet, wanting to cut through the veil of bullshit. Something was clearly wrong.

“Did you tell him?” Melody questioned, walking past me to take my place on the couch next to Britta.

She shook her head.

“Tell me what?”

I had to know now. Because clearly, I hadn’t been wrong. Something had happened. And it was bad enough to make Britta this upset.

I took a breath, their nervous eyes on me, both of them silent.

“Look, I understand you both want to keep your jobs and you don’t want to say anything that could jeopardize that, but if—” Britta leapt off the couch, the old afghan puddling at her feet. Then Melody was on her feet, too, with Donny lingering in the doorway.

“Some fucking guy said some nasty shit to her at work today, he touched her they took off,” he said, pulling the loose cigarette out from behind his ear. “There, now he knows what’s up.”

“Donny, what the fuck!” Melody hissed, rushing to his side, grabbing him by the arm like a mother scolding her child in the supermarket. It occurred to me right then that Donny had taken a liking to me for some reason or another. He had to have, after all, he was helping me.

“What?” it was a cross between a shout and an accusation, aimed at no one and everyone at once. Immediately, I knew. Sickness brewed in my belly as I remembered that I’d driven her there. I’d taken her to him. Ted Nolan. My hands rolled into tight fists at my side. Inhaling, I knew I needed composure. Rage and anger would not help Britta to feel better. I took a steadying breath.

“Thank you,” I nodded to Donny and he nodded back, our allegiance silently substantiated.

“Well, fuck, you may as well just tell him now,” Melody hissed to Britta, her eyes still