Jamison’s eyes softened.
“And don’t think I just mean I miss our...personal time.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and shook my head. “Chelsea was more than a maid from the get go.”
I straightened in my chair and looked at Jamison smiling at me from across the table.
“You saw it didn’t you? The first day she came and you brought her in my office to meet me…” I gave a short laugh. “Damn. When I saw her face…I could’ve swore I heard bells.”
Jamison shook his head, smiling. “Yes, yes, I remember.”
“Was my jaw on the floor?”
“Well, you did look rather surprised.”
I shook my head. “Man, it felt like I’d been hit with a wooden mallet. I was seeing stars and hearing bells…what the hell?”
“I believe it’s called being love struck,” he said with a chuckle. “So, did you make another date?”
“Sort of, sometime after this big bash Benji is throwing,” I said, slumping back in the chair. “I don’t know, Jamison. It’s still all kind of strange. Don’t you think that if she really liked me she would’ve stayed and worked for me and not taken Benji’s offer?”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that.”
“I mean, she took the job for the money, I get that, but…” I shrugged my shoulders, doubts creeping into my mind. “I don’t know, maybe that’s all I was, a stepping stone to a bigger salary?”
Jamison folded his hands again and fixed me with a cool look. Clearly, I'd disappointed him. “Chelsea’s not like that.”
I picked at the design on the patio table, lost in thought. She’d already chosen a paycheck over me once before. Why not Benji's money this time? It'd almost made me sick that night, when she'd said she'd take the job. Benji wasn't really a bad guy, but I didn't like the idea of him ogling her. Plus, there was still something off in the way he and my father had behaved around her that night at dinner. At the time, I'd chalked it up to Henry trying to control my life the way he always did. It didn't matter if he knew it was my love life or not.
I snorted. What love life? I could sum it up in about two words right now. Love stinks. All I wanted was to see her and talk to her. Shit. My whole body was aching to be with her. I needed to see her face, to hold her in my arms, and kiss her. When we'd talked on the phone last night, it'd been all I could do to keep myself from getting in the car and driving over to Benji’s to say to hell with this. But she'd said she was too busy to talk, although she really wanted to have dinner with me, but her new, freaking job got in the way.
I told her I didn’t care if we ate late, I just wanted her to come over. I begged her. I should've just understood and let it go. Instead, I felt rejected, like maybe she was making an excuse. Like she'd gotten what she'd wanted, and now she was trying to blow me off.
Our short phone conversation circled in my head all night, playing on my doubts, and now I was hurting. I gulped the rest of the coffee despite my initial opinion. Jamison’s coffee was fine, as always. It’d only tasted bad because I was pissed. And moping. I still had a long list of phone calls to make this morning, but first, I had to make real plans to see Chelsea. I needed to know how she felt about me. What if she wasn’t missing me like I missed her?
“You know it was Henry’s idea for Chelsea to work for Mr. B,” Jamison said.
“Yeah, that’s strange that he’d do something helpful for once,” I said. “Though I suppose living with April is making him do all kinds of strange things. Like come over here for dinner.”
“Why do you suppose Henry suggested Mr. B. as an employer?” Jamison asked.
I rolled it over in my mind. My father and Benji were friends, but then he knew all of our neighbors. He could’ve asked any one of them to hire Chelsea. And yet, the one possible employer he brought to dinner just happened to be single, handsome, and was notorious for changing mistresses like other men changed shirts.
Shit.
“Do you think April has plans to get between Chelsea and me?” I asked.
Jamison was good at getting me to come to my own conclusions without actually putting forward his own opinions, usually by just steering me in the right direction. He refolded his hands.
I continued, “April would throw me over for Benji in a heart beat. Hell, she’ll probably eat up Henry and spit him out soon enough. I guess she thinks Chelsea would do the same. But why would she give Chelsea a run at him first? April’s not like that.” I frowned.
“It’s not in her nature to be generous, that’s for sure,” Jamison agreed.
It didn’t make sense. April wanted revenge, she wanted to hurt Chelsea, not throw her in the path of a richer man. April's feelings for me weren't real enough to want to get Chelsea out of the way like that.
“Maybe April’s already met Benji and she wants to use him to get at Chelsea. You don’t think Benji would be influenced by April and make life hell for Chelsea, do you?” It was the only thing I could think of.
“No, Mr. B.’s not mean hearted.” He cocked his head and added, “Though we do know how he is.”
“He does have fangs. You did warn Chelsea, right? You know, about his womanizing?”
Jamison nodded. “Of course, I did.”
I smiled, imagining Chelsea’s reaction when Jamison had told her. She wouldn’t have appreciated the suggestion that she couldn’t handle her new employer’s advances. Then the next thought burned me. Benji was an old family friend, but if the old bastard so much as looked at Chelsea...I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat.
My mind jumped back to the dinner and the way he kept eyeing her, and smiling at her. Yeah, he had a reputation for flirting with any woman he admired, regardless of age, status, or relationship, but there'd been something different in the way he'd looked at Chelsea.
I clenched my fists.
There’d been something in my father’s eyes too, a look I knew well. These two were in on something together. No doubt, Henry was up to his old tricks. I could smell it from a mile away. I just didn’t know what it was–yet.
I rolled it over in my mind. Chelsea was April’s rival, that’s for sure, and if Henry was helping her get revenge it’d be done in a devious way. I jumped up out of my chair at the realization. Fucking Dad! Fucking Benji! I knew what they were planning now, and I knew exactly which vulnerability they’d use.
I pulled the knot on my towel tighter around my waist. “It’s all my fault, Jamison,” I said, and started for the kitchen door.
“What do you mean? How could any of this be your fault? Nothing’s happened,” Jamison said, following me inside.
“Nothing happened yet,” I said. “I’m the one that found Chelsea. I’m the one that hired her. Remember?”
Jamison stopped me in the hallway. “You did it as a lark. You didn’t spend more than five minutes scouring the website. You shouldn’t feel guilty for hiring Chelsea. In fact, it was lucky for both of you.”
“Exactly.”
“A silly prank that could have backfired on you, if Chelsea wasn’t who she is,” Jamison said.
“Yes, we know that, but Benji doesn’t,” I said.
Jamison let go of my arm as the realization sunk in. “Oh bloody hell, what do you think Henry told him about Chelsea?”
“Hell if I know, but I bet April had a shit load of juicy info to tell him about that website. God, why did I ever go on it?” I spun toward my office to call my father. I had to find out how much damage he’d done and figure out a way to fix this cluster fuck.
Jamison scrubbed his cheeks with both hands. “That could explain why he offered so much money. But on the other hand, Mr. B is successful enough. Why would he need to do that?”
I clutched my phone in a stranglehold as the last pieces fell into place. “He was complaining about his last mistress. She broke it off with him. My father told him to swear off society ladies for a while and have a little fun. Shit. Maybe Benji wants to make his ex jealous.”
Jamison ste
pped over to my desk and fished an ivory colored envelope out of my un-opened mail pile. He held it up in the air and then handed it to me. “And what do you bet the ex-mistress has been given this same invitation.”
I let go of the phone and sliced open the envelope. The Talbot family crest clued me in that he was definitely up to something. Sure enough, it was an invitation to Benji’s big party. The same party that Chelsea would be working, and the very reason I hadn’t been able to see her.
“Get out my tux, Jamison. I’m going to Benji’s party. He’s going to try to make Chelsea the other woman,” I said. “And there's no way in hell I'm going to let that happen.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chelsea
As I struggled to pull the zipper to the top, I remembered the first day I’d met Alex, and how Jamison had purposely gave me the wrong size uniform. Jamison and Alex too, for that matter, had thought I'd taken the job for ulterior motives. I supposed Jamison was messing with me at first, giving me a hard time due to the nature of that awful website, but this uniform was worlds apart from that one, at least in looks. It was much more–how should I describe it? Elegant? No, sexy was more like it. And maybe the wrong size–yet again. I made a mental note to talk to the head housekeeper beforehand the next time I started a new job. Oh, wait. There wouldn't be a next time. Thank god! I was never taking a maid job again. Ever. Way too complicated and too full of handsome men and surprises…
I stopped and thought for a moment. It seemed like forever since I’d seen Alex, and I missed him terribly...along with his naked swim sessions at the pool.
I’d moved to Mr. B’s palatial home just a day after he'd made the the offer. The whole purpose had been to work for someone else so Alex and I could pursue our relationship, so I'd wanted to get started as quickly as possible. The only problem was, my new employer kept me too busy to see Alex at all. I frowned and tugged at the zipper again. Jamison had given me a uniform too big, now this one seemed too small.
If I could just get this zipper up… A light knock on the door startled me out my thoughts.
“Yes?” I called out.
Mr. B walked into my room and immediately came over to help me with the stubborn zipper, his dark blue eyes twinkling at me in the mirror. I was relieved to see him. I’d expected the housekeeper, a pinched-mouth woman who gave me nothing but sour looks. The other women on staff followed her lead and were far from friendly. It didn’t matter. I was here to work, not make friends, but it was nice to see Mr. B’s warm smile.
“What do you think of the uniform?” he asked, smoothing the wrinkles from the satin down my back.
“Well, it’s a little tight,” I said. “But the scoop neck is cute.”
“I agree,” Mr. B said, smoothing more wrinkles from my hips as he glanced over my shoulder at the plunging neckline. “I hope my guests don’t spill the drinks you give them.”
For a moment I held my breath as his hands slipped around my waist. What was he doing? Then I laughed at myself as he reached for the black lace apron that completed the outfit, on the chair next to me. Mr. B was a consummate flirt. Jamison had warned me, but I hadn't heard any rumors at all about him consorting with the hired help.
I stifled the urge to shake my head as he wrapped the apron around my waist and tied it. He reached around me again to pull up the bib portion of the apron and his hands brushed over the curve of my breasts. Okay, that was toeing the line between flirty and inappropriate. He caught my blushing gaze in the mirror and shook a finger at me.
“No bra, Ms. Chelsea? Are you trying to get my guests to spill more than drinks?”
Mr. B lowered the bib of the apron again to show me what he’d noticed. I followed his dark eyes to my protruding nipples. Oh, crap. They could be seen through the fabric. I grabbed the ties, quickly pulled the ruffled bib of the apron up, and tied the ribbons behind my neck.
“Well, the darn dress is too tight to wear one. There…” I’d finished tying the bow and smoothed the bib with my hand. “The apron covers it...them…” I blew out a breath in exasperation, flustered by his attention to detail. Shit.
Mr. B stepped back and waggled his eyebrows before he turned to go. “Too tight looks just right to me.”
I laughed, recovering my senses. Mr. B was a womanizer, but he had no real interest in me. If he had, he would’ve been all over me right now. He certainly had the opportunity more than once since I'd been here. No, he was just a blatant flirt, I decided, and he probably acted that way around all women. Besides, with a palace like this and an overflowing guest list of elegant ladies, he probably wouldn’t notice me again tonight.
I peered in the mirror and poked at my hair one last time, then turned to leave. If I wanted to keep this job, I’d better get downstairs.
As I stepped into the hallway the housekeeper, stopped me with one of her usual sour looks. “That’s your new uniform?”
“Yes,” I said, “Mr. B just approved it.”
She snorted, slicking her brown hair into a tight bun. “I’m sure he did. Well, I certainly hope you can work in that outfit, because I’m not going to be shorthanded, tonight of all nights.”
I followed her, stifling the urge to make rude gestures behind her back as she marched me to the kitchen. Four weeks. I'd spent years in the foster care system. I could put up with obnoxious people for four weeks.
Once there, the cook glared at me over a steaming dish of clams and shot a glance at the housekeeper. “A lace apron?”
“Apparently, Mr. B approves,” the housekeeper said with another snort.
“Dress for the job you want, huh?” The cook said, throwing me another nasty look.
I looked down at my uniform. The black dress was tight, shiny satin, with a low scooping neckline, but the capped sleeves and knee-length hemline made it elegant. Okay, so, the black lace apron wasn’t very practical, but I thought it added class to the ensemble. It was sexy, sure, but respectable: exactly the image Mr. B wanted to project, and he was the boss, after all. So whatever he wanted he’d get. I was just here to do a good job. Plus, from the looks of the staff, I was the only one in good enough shape to wear something like this anyway, so it made sense that I was the one who'd gotten it.
“I’m serving drinks and appetizers. And Mr. B wants to make sure I look…” I noticed the housekeeper’s severe black dress with long sleeves, and the cuffs pulled tight with buttons. “Um…modern and elegant.”
The housekeeper pursed her lips, handing me a tray of champagne glasses and lead the way to the foyer.
Mr. B’s home was more than a palace, it was a showcase. The marbled foyer was the size of an amphitheater with a chandelier the size of a small car glittering overheard. I positioned myself, tray in hand, in the foyer where dark blue rugs, the color of Mr. B’s eyes, softened the echo as guests began to file in with sparkling smiles and blinding jewelry.
A short and stocky man noticed me and called out as he strode in through the front door, unaccompanied, “What’s this? A new maid, old man?”
Mr. B smiled and winked from across the foyer. He came forward to greet a beautiful couple, speaking perfect French as they entered the foyer after the man. I still hadn't figured out what his nationality was.
The short, stocky man took a glass of champagne from my tray, eyeing my new uniform. “I like what the old man’s done with the place.”
I could hear a knot of young woman start a hissing conversation behind him as they glanced at me. Obviously, his remark brought had brought me to their attention. My eyes darted to the women, and then quickly back to the tray I was holding. It was just a job.
“Don’t worry,” the man said to me, “a little jealousy never hurt anyone. Besides, at least half the guests here will be more than happy to see you.”
Before I could consider what the man meant, Mr. B beckoned for me to join him. I nodded to the short, stocky man and stepped over to Mr. B.
“Mr. Allister has requested a whiskey. Do you think you could go t
o the study and fill a few glasses?” Mr. B asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said, with a nod.
Mr. B smiled and put both hands on my waist to turn me in the right direction, as if I didn’t know where the study was. “The study is that way. Third door on the left.” He gave me a joking pat on the bottom and said, “Off you go. Thank you.”
I took a deep breath hoping to keep the blush from warming my cheeks. I knew he was showing off to his friends, but I’d hoped no one else saw the pat on the butt. No such luck. I noticed the two women directly in front of me raise their noses as I walked past.
“What is Mr. B playing at?” one asked.
“She’s not even remotely attractive. Honestly, black hair and thin? Electra will laugh when she gets here,” the other said.
Their rude remarks were countered when a man leaning against the stairs next to them chimed in, “She’s beautiful. Her hair’s as shiny as her dress. I bet it feels like silk.”
I wished his compliments made me feel better, but all it did was make me feel like running from the foyer. Grateful for a chance to escape, I hurried to the study, wondering who the hell was Electra, and why these women were so jealous of me. I wasn’t here to take anyone away from them. I was just here to work.
Once inside the library, I shut the door behind me, and took as deep of a breath as the dress would allow. Suddenly the reality of playing the sexy maid was beginning to feel too real. I knew I had to brush it off and not let these people get to me, but it was hard.
Mr. B’s guests were used to servants and considered them as a piece of property to be judged. Since I was a servant too, I realized I shouldn’t expect anything different. Luckily, all I needed to do was make it to the end of the summer, and then I could go back to Oregon, and forget all about what I was starting to think had been a giant mistake.
I let that thought steady my hands before I poured a few glasses of whiskey and placed them on my tray with the remaining champagne glasses. There was no reason I had to listen to any of the guests beyond their drink requests. I shouldn’t take anything they said to heart.