Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
It wasn’t a French maid Halloween costume getup.
But, still.
“Oh, that bastard,” I grumbled as I pulled it out and saw its utter lack of pants.
I didn’t wear skirts.
Ever.
I wore fucking slacks to the weddings of my loved ones.
And this asshole was having me not only work as a maid, but doing so wearing a skirt.
Granted, it wasn’t short. It would fall right below my knees. But still.
How sexist was society that we still expected women to wear dresses when they did housework? I mean, in what way would it ever be appropriate for me to bend down to sweep or mop in a skirt?
Walking back to the bathroom, I held it up against myself to try to adjust to my fate.
It wasn’t that bad.
It was a simple black affair with buttons that went fully down the front, and made of a sort of thick, non-stretchy material.
With a grimace, I shucked off my usual clothes and climbed into the dress, buttoning it all the way up.
I was fully clothed.
But I felt so naked with a breeze blowing up my skirt.
Muttering to myself about it, I tied my hair back, then folded up my clothes, grabbed one of my knives, and shoved it into one of the surprisingly deep pockets of the dress, then made my way downstairs.
Hearing the sounds of male voices, I headed in that direction.
A’s gaze landed on me, then did a slow appraisal of me that did not make my belly wobble a bit, before jerking his chin at me.
“This is the new maid,” he said, waving casually to me, making all their gazes move in my direction.
I pretended to ignore the way all their eyes roamed over me before landing on my face.
“Don’t bother talking to her,” he said, shaking his head. “She don’t speak much English.”
“What happened to Marta?” one of his men asked.
Raul, if my research was correct. He was short and a little stocky, but with a handsome face.
In the crowd was also Luis and Marco, higher-ups in his organization, and two more men who I had pictures of, but no names to go on yet.
I guess I could ask A for clarification.
“What she speak? Chinese?” Raul asked.
“It’s Mandarin. But no, Dutch,” A said, surprising me.
“Dutch?” Luis asked, frowning.
“Yeah,” A said, not explaining any further. And it was such a boss move that I almost respected him for it.
But then the asshole did a little dismissive wave at me, and I felt my hackles rise for poor Marta, if that was actually how he treated his staff.
It was a job, I reminded myself. A role I had to play.
So I turned and made my way back out, slipping back into the kitchen, but pressing my face up against the wall, listening, wanting to get used to the sound of everyone’s voices in case I overheard something being said, but didn’t see faces.
When I heard footsteps, I was quick to move away, busying myself with wiping the counter with a rag I found.
“Usually helps if the rag is wet,” A said, smirking at me.
I pointed toward the front, but he shrugged. “They’re gone,” he said.
“Dutch? Seriously?” I asked.
“What? You don’t speak any?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Might want to pick up a few words, in case someone says something to you. At least you could respond in a convincing way.” Then, for some reason, his gaze moved over me again. “Got the right size, I see.”
“Yeah, congrats. It’s so hard to figure out a size small,” I said, rolling my eyes. “This is completely impractical, by the way,” I said, waving down at it.
“You’re just pissed ‘cause I got you in a dress,” he said, that smile spreading. Because he knew he was right. Then, as he was walking away, thrown casually over his shoulder, he called, “It looks good on you.”
I was not prepared for the way my belly fluttered and my sex clenched at those stupid, casual, meaningless words.
They weren’t meaningless, though.
They meant that A thought I looked good.
Which shouldn’t have mattered. If anything, it should have pissed me off.
Why then, did it feel like his words made my shoulders pull back, my chin lift?
“Ugh,” I grumbled to myself as I continued to dry wipe the damn counters.
The rest of the day was a lot of nothing.
Pretending to dust, to sweep, to polish. All the while I just listened to the men talking, as I observed them outside of the windows.
I saw very little of A, who seemed to disappear once he went outside.
I had no idea if he ever came back inside when night fell, and I was bored enough to actually start to do real housework.
I collected a bunch of fresh towels and washcloths, and headed upstairs, filling the mostly-filled guest rooms.
Then, too curious not to, turning in the direction of the primary bedroom.