by Regina Wade
Maybe it’s because I am so damned tired, my eyes gritty, that I don’t notice anything until I’m already inside. I’ve already closed the front doors and set my things down before it really hits me that something is amiss.
The sound catches me first. A slow hissing— the unmistakable sound of running water against the natural stone tile of my shower.
I’m too angry to be scared. Too pissed to be rational. The invasion of privacy, the sheer audacity of someone to come into my home. My personal space, my one spot in the world, when I’ve had to live in a glass fishbowl my whole fucking life. Three strides later, nearly at the massive double doors that lead into the master suite, something stops me in my tracks.
I think I’m going to find college kids, maybe. Possibly a honeymooning couple, one bottle of champagne too deep, sneaking in from the fishing village down the road. The last thing I expect to see outside my bedroom door is the deep green uniform of the Pine Bluffs housekeeping uniform.
One of the maids is taking a shower in my bathroom at this hour?
The thought is out of place enough to cool the anger in my head and replace it with confusion. Another, much hotter, feeling rises in me at the sight of the full lace panties and black cotton bra piled beside the uniform. Whoever is in my shower, she couldn’t even wait to get into the bathroom before stripping herself naked.
Music pours out from the en-suite bathroom, muffled through two sets of closed doors and the steamy shower enclosure. When I open the bedroom doors, the room’s open acoustics carry the sound straight to me.
In my bathroom, someone is playing country music.
Loudly.
Over the roar of several shower jets and the gentle hum of my radiating floor heating, Garth Brook’s unmistakable growl is reverberating. Keeping perfect time with it is another voice, far more feminine, though with arguably equal amounts of twang per inch.
“Hello?” I call out as I make my way into the room.
There’s no response unless you count the impromptu mystery concert. I will give the singing shower maid credit— she does a hell of a job as her own vocals and backup. I’ve heard worse performances on The Voice.
I take another step closer. Her honey-sweet southern twang fills the space around me. It bounces off the tile and envelopes me with the cloud of steam that rushes out when I fully nudge the door open.
“Hello,” I try again. Louder this time as I step into the foggy space.
The sudden contrast is sudden.
Not just the temperature, though there’s no denying the sudden shift between the crisp air of my bedroom and the warm, scented air filling the bathroom. It’s more than that, though.
Time itself seems to slow down, torque irreversibly the moment I walk in. My gaze zeroes in on hers without even trying, eyes seeking out the wide bourbon stare of the stranger in my shower as though I’d done it a million times before.
“What the fuck?!” She whirls around, seemingly looking for answers or escape within the slick walls of her borrowed shower. Finding none, my beautiful break-and-enterer shoves a handful of rich chestnut hair back, sending ropes of water flying against the stone.
My sentiments exactly.
She shoves at the brushed nickel handle, turning the shower off. Without the distraction of the water, the glaring matter of her nudity is only amplified. Garth’s crooning fades to a buzz in the background as I try to focus my eyes on the tile behind the woman’s shoulder, the rail above her head. Anywhere but the perfect, full curve of her hip, the bountiful handfuls of her breasts, the generous swell of her ass. Inside the Armani slacks I’ve been trapped in all day, my cock swells.
“What the fuck?” she exclaims again. “Don’t just stand there like you own the place! Either hand me a towel or get out!”
It’s enough to snap me out of whatever fugue state seems to have gotten ahold of me. It’s damned near enough to make me laugh out loud.
In the end, I do both.
Reaching over to the rack, I grab one of the oversized bath towels and toss it to her before walking back out the way I came in to wait.
Shame she hadn’t thought to turn on the towel warmer on the rack. It really is one of the best amenities in the bathroom.
Chapter 3
Madison
She’s a lover, baby and a fighter. Should’ve seen it coming when I got a little brighter. Day was gonna come when I was gonna mourn ya — Red Hot Chili Peppers, ‘Dani California’
“Two weeks?” Mason Black’s blue eyes are an unreadable mix of emotions as he goes over my story with a fine-tooth comb for the third time in a row.
Nobody ever told me the big boss man looks like he just walked off the cover of GQ. And all the other letters, too. His hair is as dark as his surname, all inky and thick, with just a touch of curl down by the collar. That chin has a cleft deep enough to curl up and take a nap in.
He still hasn’t said whether or not he’s planning on pressing charges, but I figure the “you’re so fired” conversation is imminent. I haven’t mentioned Rosa or anyone else on the staff that helped me. For the most part, the staff at Pine Bluff is one big eclectic family, and I won’t risk that.
“Just about, yeah.” I narrow my own eyes up at him. “Listen, you can ask me the same questions as many times as you want, but if you think I’m giving up any of my friends, your cornbread’s not done in the middle. Just fire me now, because I told you—”
“Maddison,” Mason shakes his head at me. “I’m not asking you to tattle on your friends. And I’m not firing you.”
From my perch on the middle of the bed— well, technically I guess it’s Mason’s bed— I can hear the roar of the ocean outside the window. The big fluffy robe pooling around me is just one more thing I’m “borrowing” from Mason Black.
“You’re not? Wait. You’re not?” I’m not entirely sure I understand.
“Maddison, where were you from, before you started stowing away in every nook and cranny in the hotel?”
Mason might be beautiful, but he’s also infuriating. Why is it that only the super-rich can get away with answering questions with more questions?
“Atlanta. Well, a little red dirt road close enough to it anyway. Why?”
“Because, Maddie, I have a proposition for you.” He gets up from the armchair, settling down on the very edge of the bed instead.
Instinctively, I pull the edges of the robe closer together. Mason’s cobalt gaze catches the motion. I have a feeling there isn’t much they miss. There’s an almost imperceptible tick of his midnight black brow, but he doesn’t tease.
“I’m only in town for a few days, but I have a lot of big projects to take care of in that time.” He says instead. “I just promoted my last personal assistant, so I have an opening for that position. I want to hire you while I’m here.”
It’s a miracle I can even hear the last word over the roar of blood in my ears. Every one of daddy’s bad relationships, all of my own personal insecurities, a lifetime of terrible advice and bad made-for-TV movies all bubble to the surface at once.
Beneath it all, the tiniest little wellspring of hope is trying it’s very hardest to be heard.
It isn’t easy to sniff indignantly in someone else’s robe after being caught breaking into their shower, but by golly, I manage.
“Oh, I just bet you promoted her. Is that what they call it out here? Personal assistant, hmph. I suppose the only requirement is that the position be filled on my back?”
Mason’s mouth hardens into a flat line, a flash of something bright and electric firing behind his eyes.
“First of all, my last private assistant had an MBA from Columbia. He has been with the company for years.”
Heat flares in my cheeks, deepens to a full blush as Mason leans closer to me. I can smell him, a combination of expensive aftershave and the crisp salt of ocean air, as he invades my personal space.
“Trust me, Maddie. I don’t have to pay someone to fuck me.”
My
sharp inhalation is audible in the stillness of the room. My throat goes dry. Other parts of my anatomy have no such qualms.
“Now,” Mason goes on nonchalantly. “From what I can tell, you’re a loyal employee who isn’t making enough to cover both rent and a sudden emergency like, say, your car breaking down. You’re also pretty damn clever,” he waves his hand as if to encompass my scheming, the breaking in, and any number of other things he may have missed.
It’s almost dizzying, the speed with which he can switch from calculating business tycoon to movie star good looks on the body of a surfing god.
“Plus you’re a southern belle,” he adds with that big screen smile. “That’s just fortuitous. You’ve got all the qualities I’m looking for in an assistant.”
“I’m from the south, doesn’t mean I’m a southern belle.” I roll my eyes at him. “The whole trailer I grew up in is smaller than your bathroom, Black. Besides, what does that have to do with making someone a better personal assistant, anyway?”
“You’re southern, at least. It already gives you an advantage.” Mason gives me a wink. The butterflies it sends fluttering have no business being there. “Use every dirty trick you can in business. My father taught me that before he ever read me a goodnight story. Now it’s your first lesson as my assistant.”
“I never said I’d take the job,” I cock my head in his direction. Part of me is already playing Mason’s game.
“But you will,” he laughs, clearly onto me. “Because the salary is a million, cash. Plus a travel stipend— so you can get your car fixed, or buy a new one.”
My heart is hammering away in my chest again. The offer is amazing; too good to be true. I’ve never been one to believe money can fix all my problems, but a million dollars is one hell of a band-aid, especially given my current situation. Plus, working alongside the actual owner of the company gives me something else, too: the chance to change things for more than just me.
“I get to stay here, too.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Mason looks confused for a second, his dark eyebrows knitting together before realization dawns on him.
“In my room?” He looks around the opulent space.
“I don’t have a place right now. Besides,” I shrug one shoulder. “You don’t want your personal assistant sleeping in her broken car in the parking lot, do you?”
Mason barks a laugh at that. It’s such a full, rich sound. It reminds me of the sound of the waves crashing into the rocks beneath the bluffs.
“Our first big meeting is with Callahan Resort Properties. I’ll get you caught up on everything first thing in the morning. Get some rest, Maddison. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.”
With that, Mason closes the double doors to his own bedroom, leaving me alone to contemplate my new job, and my future.
Chapter 4
Mason
We can pack up tomorrow. Tonight let’s flip a coin. Heads Carolina, tails California. Somewhere greener, somewhere warmer. Up in the mountains, down by the ocean. Where, it don’t matter, as long as we’re going somewhere together. — Jo Dee Messina, ‘Heads, Carolina, Tails, California’
I manage to get some sleep, but only barely.
The sun peaks in through the drapes far too soon. Of course, only my bedroom has the nice heavy blackout curtains. Not to mention the sleek sofa is a good foot too small for my six and a half foot frame.
Worst of all, behind the double doors of my room, I can feel Maddie sleeping soundly in my bed all night. I can picture it, too — her smooth skin kissing my sheets, swaddled in thousand-thread count Egyptian cotton and nothing else. After catching her in my shower, the image is painfully easy to conjure with perfect clarity.
Before I know it my alarm is going off. I’m up and in the guest bathroom even before the first sound emerges from the master suite. I’m eager to be presentable for my new assistant. It might not be our first meeting, but it is the first day on the job, and I want to set a good example. I don’t even want to know what Father would think if he found out I’m bringing in a last-minute replacement for Tuck.
There’s something refreshing about picturing Lars Black’s reaction to being told I hired a trespassing maid to be my personal assistant for the week. But my spur of the moment decision to hire Maddie is about more than just an ever-present need to rebel against the old man.
Nah, that’s just a nice bonus.
The truth is Madison has valuable insight for exactly the direction I want to take The Pine Bluff in the future. She knows the employee culture better than anyone. Plus she really does have insight into the types of locations I want to grow my hotel. It’s a win-win.
The fact that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on just makes spending every minute together even nicer.
“Alright, boss, what’s first up on our agenda?” Madison appears in the door of the sitting room, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Tennis with the Smiths? Caviar with the Johnsons?” There’s a lilting tease to her tone, though I notice she’s found a notepad and pen somewhere.
Maddie arches an eyebrow at me, the ghost of a smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. Her mouth is almost as smart as she is, but she’s very good at hiding her obvious amusement. She doesn’t seem to know what’s in store.
If I were the petty sort, I might like that. I might even enjoy the fact that I am able to keep her on her toes before the day’s even gotten started.
“Oh, did you want to play a few sets with my balls?” I ask cheekily. She rolls her eyes at me, crossing her arms and shifting her weight. The stance does wonders for her already gorgeous cleavage.
Maybe I’m pettier than I thought.
“Alright, well, the first order of business is updating your wardrobe.” I gesture at her outfit. “Our housekeeping uniforms are…” I trail off, trying to find the right word.
“Scratchy? Uncomfortable? Made of the harshest fabrics known to man?” Maddie leaps in helpfully.
“I was going to say nowhere near good enough for the boardroom, but sure.” I frown at the harsh criticism. “Are the uniforms really that bad?”
“Have you ever worn one?” She fires back.
“Well, no,” I blink.
She shrugs. “I have. Take my word for it.”
“Why hasn’t anyone else ever said anything?” I lean in, taking a bit of the deep green material between two fingers. This is definitely not how I’d planned on starting the day, but I have a feeling it’s the most important meeting I’ve ever had.
“Because they want to keep their job? Because there are things a lot worse than scratchy, stiff clothing? Because they don't have any way to?” Maddie starts ticking things off on her fingers. “Who would the average employee complain about this to anyway, someone else wearing the exact same thing?”
It takes a moment for her words to strike home, but I nod in agreement.
“You’re absolutely right. See, there’s plenty of things you can do with this opportunity.”
The genuine smile she beams at me makes my heart swell in my chest.
“Alright, so what, are we driving down to Beverly Hills? Is Rodeo Drive calling our name?” She asks.
“Oh no, hon. That’s just movie stuff.” I wave a hand dismissively. Madison is trying her best to stifle the beginning of another smile. I’m not sure when it became a moral imperative to make her laugh, but I suddenly know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to see her happy. “I’m not just rich, Mads. I’m loaded. That means they come to us.”
“I’ve got a few local boutiques that should be here within an hour.” I grin across from her before checking my watch.
Instead of lighting up like I expect, Madison’s face pales, something cracking that smooth exterior.
“Mason,” she wrings her hands together nervously. “I have no idea how to shop for the kind of clothing you want. I don’t even know what that kind of clothing is.” She chuckles, but there’s a nervous ene
rgy to it.
“Well, that’s alright. I can give you some tips,” I try to reassure her.
“No, you don’t understand,” She shakes her head, eyes wide. “Most of what I own that isn’t this uniform is flannel or camo or both. I grew up with my dad and six brothers. I can catch and clean a fish, no problem. Need someone to go four-wheeling with? I’m your girl. But I couldn’t pick bronzer out of a lineup. I —” She snaps her mouth shut, her face twisting as if she’d just confessed something unthinkable. For a moment, I think she might burst into tears. Instead, she carefully schools her face into a mask.
“I’m not who you want for this, Mason. I’m sorry. Please find another girl. Some doll who plays dress-up better than I do.”
“If I wanted a doll, I’d have one. But I don’t. I want you, Madison.” The words tumble off my lips before I can stop them. Her head snaps up, eyes wide in shock and alarm. “To be my assistant, of course.” I play it off with a teasing grin, gripping her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. Even this far apart, the tension between us is a physical thing.
“Right. Okay.” She dabs at the corner of one eye, before straightening up.
The front is completely back in place now. Somehow, I don’t think it’s a side of Maddie many people get to see.
She grins up at me, putting on as haughty an air as she can manage, before clapping once.
“Bring forth the dresses!”
I sketch her a mock bow and hastily walk backward toward the door.
“As you wish, your highness.”
In the end, it takes both of us, three designers, five racks of clothes, and the better part of the morning to find clothes that work.
Not that Maddie looks bad in anything, but I quickly learn she’s far too self-conscious. Even trying on something that remotely shows off her generous assets sends her into a flutter of complaints and petulant body language.
