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

I smiled. I wished I was in school to be anything, even if it was a nurse and not a baker.

“No, my mom was a drunk and I wasn’t old enough to drive so I learned how to tie tourniquets and apply butterfly bandages and make compresses. A lot.” I could feel the embarrassment take its hold of me, my cheeks going red and my chest getting flush, too. Why did I just tell him that? Though I’d yearned to be around this man for months, I was overwhelmed with the urge to go. Go before I embarrass myself further and lose my job.

You need this job so you can pay off that debt, Britta. Quit playing around!

I hopped to my feet and grabbed the remaining items from the counter and held them to my chest, stepping behind him towards the butler’s pantry, which was where he kept our supplies.

“I will pay you for the glass and the towel. Tell the agency how much and they’ll take it out of my check. Again, I’m really, really sorry that I broke that glass. Thank you for helping me clean it up and letting me use this,” I held up my wrapped hand and, seeing the blood was soaking through, I put it back down to my side immediately. “Okay I think I should go. Again, I am so, so sorry,” and I rushed out of the kitchen, through the back pantry, into the service driveway. I was in the passenger side of Mel’s car quicker than I’d done anything in my life.

“You gonna help with these?” she shouted through the window; a step ladder tucked under one arm, an adjustable cob web sweeper under the other. She had just come out of the house and was loading the trunk with the stuff we brought. I usually helped.

I shook my head no as fast as I could, making my eyes wide, I leered at her with my head tilted. She turned and looked back at the door, where Mr. House on Top of the Hill was now standing, watching us. My heart raced, my thighs instinctively drew tightly closed and thank God Melody wasn’t in the car yet because I swear, I made a little noise seeing him again. A cross between a heated moan and an exhale, it was just between the car and I, how bad I wanted this silver fox. He was better looking, more handsome, taller, sexier—he was more than I’d ever imagined.

Melody put her hand up to acknowledge him and he waved to her, too. Then she slammed the trunk shut, jumped into the car and started backing out.

“What did he do to you? Did he do something to you?” she nearly shouted through clenched teeth, a fake smile still on her face as she began driving to the road that would take us down the hill, away from him.

As soon as we made it around the corner, I sighed and cradled my face with my hands.

“Did he? Oh my god, if he did, we will call the police!” Melody was screaming now that we were out of eye line of the house and I immediately stopped her.

“No, no! no! no!” I repeated. “Okay, first of all, I need stitches so please take me to the hospital, and then second of all,” I took a moment to catch my breath, Melody waiting silently. “Don’t judge me, okay?” I held up the bloodied-kitchen towel-wrapped hand for sympathy and she nodded, glancing between me and the road, her eyes wide.

“Jesus, Britta, I can’t keep looking at that hand! It’s making me dizzy. Tell the story already,” she said, taking one last glance, her skin going pale.

“Okay, when I first started this job with you, when I was cleaning the office here at the house,” I nodded over my shoulder to where the house was behind us now. “There was a piece of paper on the ground, near the bin, and it was face up. A little poem or something was written on it. And I didn’t want to read it, but it’s like, impossible to have your brain not just automatically read a couple of sentences. I mean, I knew I shouldn’t have read it and I didn’t want to be nosey. But I read it.”

Her eyebrows dipped between her eyes and she shook her head, slowly, her mouth moving silently.

“What did it say?” she looks to me quickly twice, panic rising up her throat. “Oh my god did you read some weird thing he wrote after he murdered someone?” Though we were alone, she whispered those last few words.

“What?! No! Why do you think he molested me or murdered someone?!” I don’t know why, but suddenly I’m defensive about Mr. House on Top of the Hill.

“Because you’re being really weird and your hand is all bloody,” she said, and when she spoke it so plainly, it actually seemed fairly reasonable.

“Okay,” I took a breath, “I can see where that makes sense. But no. No, okay back to the paper,” I said, taking another deep breath, holding my hand tight between my knees. “I remember my first vacation, I remember my first heartbreak, I remember my first drink, I don’t remember my first kiss, I remember everything,” and I went silent, and so did Melody. We stayed quiet for a few minutes and just when I wondered if she’d followed the story, she spoke.

“Okay,” she was pensive and spoke slowly. “Now what does that have to do with whatever happened today?”

“I made his bed and got his whiskey glass off the nightstand. Then when I was washing it in the kitchen, I said aloud ‘I remember everything’ and I guess he’d come in through the back and was standing behind me. And he heard me. And, and he said something like, what did you say, and then I freaked out and dropped the glass.” I took another deep breath. “Then I