Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“What did you just say to that customer, Saskia?”
I blink, pressing a hand to my chest. “Me? Nothing. I’d never ...”
“Last week you told a lady someone once found a hair in their milkshake and choked on it ...”
“To be fair,” I point out, “she was insulting my hair, telling me it was too long and smelled funny. My hair does not smell funny, and it’s always tied back. She was rude.”
He sighs. “You’re going to get me shut down.”
I snort. “It’s their word against yours.”
He exhales. “Stop telling my customers horror stories or you won’t have a job.”
I huff. “Fair enough, but that man was staring at my breasts. He deserved it.”
Hertez raises his brows.
“Your blonde friend is still bouncing around out there with a newspaper in her hand. Pour that coffee and go stop her from distracting the customers. Her tits look like they’re about to drop out. I don’t need any more drama today.”
“On it.”
I take the coffee over, pouring it into the man’s mug very seductively, making sure to lean right over and give him a good show. Glancing at Hertez, he’s glaring at me again and shaking his head. I grin at him and turn, walking over to Chantelle and placing the pot down on an empty table and throwing a hand on my hip.
“Your breasts are offending people.”
She glances down at her low-cut top and the bulge hanging out of it. “These old things? Never. I’m fairly certain, by the look on that customer’s face, your bosom is offending people.”
I snort. “Dirty old men. Ugh. Anyway, what’s the newspaper for? You’ve been waving it around for the last ten minutes.”
“Well.” She claps. “You know how you’ve been looking for a new job? To get out of here? I found one.”
I raise my brows. “Do share.”
“A maid.”
I blink. “Ew.”
She laughs. “There is nothing wrong with being a maid; you’ve done it before.”
“Yeah, that’s why I said ew. Do you have any idea what we maids have to endure? Have you ever cleaned a blocked toilet? Or washed sex sheets? It’s not pleasant. Seriously.”
“Anyway.” She grins, waving the paper again. “This job is a live-in maid in some fancy ass house, and it pays well!”
I snatch the newspaper from her hand and open it, glancing at the ad. Full-time. Good pay. Live-in. Owner isn’t there often. Full benefits. All you have to do is clean the house, do his shopping, and basically be an all-round housewife without actually having to marry anyone.
It doesn’t sound bad.
The pay is excellent.
“And,” Chantelle continues, “he’s rich.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I mutter.
“We both know it has everything to do with everything. This job might just help you out in more ways than one.”
I know what she’s talking about.
Enzo.
My sweet, pain in the ass, awful boyfriend, Enzo.
Who is sitting in prison because I may, or may not, have shared some information with the cops that got him locked up. Because he may, or may not, have slept with my sister. Whatever. Old news. But, fact of the matter is, he’s getting out soon, but some bad people found out he got locked up and are scared he’s going to talk, so they want their money or his head.
Considering I got him put in there ...
It’s the very least I can do to get his money for him.
Good pay will earn that quickly. Maybe the owner of the house is up for some tips, extra cash for extra jobs.
Things like that.
I shake the thoughts from my head because finding your man balls deep in another woman ... Harsh.
But finding him balls deep in your sister?
Ugh.
The worst pain ever.
It hurt like hell.
It still hurts like hell.
I should leave him there to rot.
But, for whatever twisted reason, my stupid heart still loves him.
I know. I know. I have problems. I don’t deny this.
I’ve given him six years of my life; I can’t just forget that. Even though I really, really, really wish I could.
“There are going to be a thousand applicants for this job,” I point out.
“Yes, which is why I already set up an interview for you.”
I blink at her, gaping. “You what?”
“You’ll thank me when you’re living in some fancy house, earning loads of money, and not working for nothing.”
I throw my hands up. “I’m not even that qualified. I hate freaking cleaning. I only worked as a maid out of desperation!”
“You’ll thank me,” she says, snatching the newspaper. “This afternoon. Three. Be there or I’ll be pissed.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she turns on her heel and practically skips out of the café.
Well.
I guess I’m going then.
God dammit.
~*~*~*~
MASON
“You’re hirin’ a maid?” Malakai asks, lighting a cigarette and inhaling as we sit around the table after Church, talking about fucking crap that has nothing to do with the club.