by Ylana MIlls
Contents
Chapter 1. The job interview
Chapter 2: The challenge
Chapter 3: Misreading signals?
Chapter 4: Not a good idea, but who cares?
Chapter 5: Give it your best shot
Chapter 6: Awake and sober
Chapter 7: Temptation Waits
Chapter 8: Only two more days
Chapter 9: Prelude to a Monday Night
Chapter 10: And Straight on 'Til Morning
Chapter 11: Maid to Love You
Chapter 1. The job interview
Devon Shaw looked at his watch and tapped his fingers on the table. He looked around the small café and took a long, calming breath before smoothing his T-shirt for the millionth time that morning, then proceeded to check his jeans and boots. Not the usual interview attire... at least not the one he was used to.
'Times have changed,' he reminded himself in silence. 'The only thing that doesn't seem to change… is your bad luck.'
He scoffed, and at that very same moment, a blond girl in a ponytail and glasses, wearing a flower-patterned dress and a jean jacket, entered the café. She took a look around the place with a frown, but there was not much to see apart from Devon, the only customer sipping a cup of coffee in the tiny little café. Devon saw her eyes fall on him for a second, and then she turned on her heels and made to leave.
"Excuse me," he said, standing up before the girl had the chance to walk away. There was absolutely no way he would risk missing the only interview he had managed to schedule through that job agency! "I'm sorry, but are you Eliza Clark?"
She looked at him, still frowning from behind her glasses.
"Yes," she replied, tilting her head slightly. "I'm sorry, but you are…"
"Devon Shaw," he replied with a friendly smile as he outstretched his hand. "We have an appointment at 10:30."
"On, I'm sorry," she said, shaking his hand but looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "There must have been some sort of mistake."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't have an appointment with any Devon Shaw," she answered, opening the folder she was carrying. "I'm supposed to meet a Devonne Shaw at 10:30."
'What the?' Devon thought, trying not to let his surprise show.
"Are you… are you sure?" he asked, blinking.
"Yes," Eliza replied, shrugging. "I'm sorry."
"Do you mind if I…" he muttered, pointing at the folder.
"Go ahead."
He picked up the piece of paper with the agency logo to check the contact information on it.
"Ah…" he whispered. "See, that is the problem… they spelled my name wrong."
Of course they did. If his job interview didn't start with something weird, like, him having a girl's name on his interviewer's file, then it just wouldn't be him.
"But the rest of the information is correct," he said, as his eyes ran over the other lines, "…including the gender."
Eliza took the paper back from his hands and her eyes went wide.
"You're… a man?" she muttered, still looking at his file.
"Busted," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling, trying to dissipate that awkward moment of awkwardness.
"Oh, I'm so sorry…" she whispered in response. "I just wasn't expecting it, I mean, are you sure? Are we really talking about the same job opening?" she asked, just to make sure they were on the same page after the little mishap with the man's name. "Because I am looking for a maid."
Devon swallowed, realizing that job interview was likely to be a fiasco.
"Uh, yeah," he said, smiling his most charming smile. "Housekeeper," he made sure to point out the correct term in his file. "It's me, I… I applied for that job, yes."
He saw her raise her eyebrows quickly, only to smile afterwards.
"Well, in that case…" she said, pulling a chair to sit at his table. "Then I think we should get started."
Devon returned to his seat, and his fingers dangled nervously around his cup of coffee. He had expected Eliza Clark to be somewhat older. Much older. He stole a glance towards her as she looked at his file. How old was she anyway? Eighteen, nineteen years old?
That was not going to work.
"Ok… Devon," she started, smiling again. "So, I take it you can cook, clean, iron…"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, trying to sound as confident as possible.
"Ok. Uh… You're divorced?"
He blinked and bit his lip. Of all the questions, she had to poke at that specific open wound.
"Yes," he replied, after swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, fumbling with the papers. "I shouldn't even be asking. I've never interviewed anyone before."
He nodded, trying to smile again to make her feel slightly better about her faux pas.
"So…" she continued, after clearing her throat. "Tell me about your last job."
He let out a sigh, and a rather bitter sneer.
"Tell you what," he said, trying to hide his discomfort as he cast a flirtatious look towards his interviewer. "Let me buy you a drink, and I'll tell you."
Eliza, however, was less than amused at his remark.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked quietly, after sliding her glasses further up her nose.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, quickly lowering his eyes to his cup of coffee, and he knew he was blushing. What an idiotic thing to say! That was a job interview, for Heaven's sake! "I'm so sorry, I… I tend to crack jokes when I get nervous."
She looked at him with the same unimpressed look as before.
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter," she said, getting the papers together and putting them back into the folder.
"No, please, Eliza," he muttered, and her eyes shot back to him. "I mean… Ms. Clark. I'm… I'm sorry."
She closed the folder and tapped her fingers over it, raising an eyebrow.
"My last job was at a law firm," he answered, looking at his own hands as he did so. "I am a… well, I worked as a lawyer."
"A lawyer?" she repeated, barely bothering to hide her surprise. "Why in-"
"I went through a very complicated divorce, and lost everything I had to my ex-wife," he whispered, still avoiding her eyes. "Including my suits. All of them. So, I figured," he finally raised his eyes to hers, with his carelessly charming façade ready to go. "Maybe it's time to find a job where wearing jeans and sweatpants won't be a problem!"
By that time, Eliza Clark looked slightly more sympathetic.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.
Devon nodded in response. He was sorry, too. Mostly, he was sorry for having gotten married, in the first place.
"But, uh, sorry to be inconvenient, but you are… or were a lawyer, right? How did you get ripped off?"
He had to concede it was a fair question, although it was one he really wouldn't like to answer. But she did look genuinely interested, so… whatever.
"Divorce litigation, Ms. Clark, as well as pretty much every kind of litigation…" he said, and his fingers danced around the cup of coffee as he spoke, "is a lot like an arena full of hungry lions. And, as a lawyer, sometimes you have to choose between what will make you win, and what is right."
He took a sip of his coffee, studying her face.
"That explains why I am unemployed, too," he muttered.
"So you're saying you're a man of principles?" she asked, tilting her head with a friendly smile.
"I try my best to be," Devon responded, smiling as well. What a strange thing. He had just met Eliza Clark, and yet he was now realizing that talking to her about his biggest failures in life was, in a way, rather comforting: she made him feel strangely in peace with himself. "But I must say I'm starting to miss hot meals," he completed. "A life
of honesty sometimes doesn't exactly grant you many benefits."
"Oh, it does," she said. "Maybe not material ones… but I suppose that being able to sleep well at night, knowing you did the right thing… I guess that is a big benefit."
He forced himself not to sneer. If there was one thing he had no idea what it felt like, it was "sleeping well at night". But he chose to remain silent not to let his bitterness sour the conversation.
"Well," Eliza said at last, closing the folder and looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Your references are great, so is your resume… I won't make any promises, but… what do you say we meet tomorrow morning at my place?"
He smiled. At last, a ray of sunshine amidst the dark clouds above his head!
"I will give you a challenge, and if you pass…" she said, taking off her glasses to clean them with a napkin. "The job is yours."
She had nice eyes. And a nice mouth too. All of a sudden, he found himself wishing the challenge was something rather kinky.
'Keep it in your pants, will you?' said a voice inside his mind, slapping him back to reality.
The two of them stood up and shook hands after she wrote down her address. For now, he should focus on getting that job, and nothing but that.
Chapter 2: The challenge
Eliza Clark lived in a helluva nice place, Devon remarked, after he walked past the main gate of the luxury condo and found her waiting next to the door to her apartment.
"You're early," she said, with a smile.
He smiled back, still wearing his sunglasses as he looked around the place. The truth was that, when you lived in a car, you could hardly wait until the sun rose. Sleeping in was not a viable option.
"Wow," he whistled, nodding at her with an impressed grin. "You don't get those in Manhattan, I'll tell you this."
"Is that where you used to live?" she asked, welcoming him into her home.
"Yup," he replied, not really willing to go deeper into that topic.
"By the way, I'm sorry, but I totally forgot to ask," she said. "Where exactly are you living here, in Tallahassee?"
Now that was another topic he was not really willing to address.
"Uh… Just around the corner," he said, and it was not necessarily a lie. That was where he had parked his car.
"Really?" she asked, with a frown. She lived in quite a posh neighborhood, and if he really was her neighbor, something was slightly off.
"Temporarily," he added.
"Living with a friend?" she asked, tilting her head.
He smiled, finally taking off his sunglasses to look into her eyes.
"I guess you could say that."
'Sounds more like a girlfriend to me…' Eliza thought, as her gaze shifted from his eyes to his chest. She liked his T-shirt. Not too loose, not too tight. Her eyes drifted downward, spent a moment looking at his belt, and then went on to his jeans. Then up again to his chest, to his arms… He had nice arms. And hands…
"Please don't be offended by my question…"
She liked his voice too.
"… but how old are you?" he asked.
'Old enough,' her mind quickly replied.
"Why do you wanna know?" she asked, shaking her head to wake up from her trance. Damn those hormones! Of course he had noticed her staring, and now he had gotten the wrong idea! Now he wanted to know if she was legal, obviously because he now thought she wanted to… do things with him! Which was clearly not the case! She was not thinking about it. Not at all!
"I just find it remarkable that you live here all by yourself. You look rather young."
“I get that a lot. People still think I’m on my teens even though that ship sailed a while ago,” she replied, with a snicker. "Trust me, I'm old enough to live by myself."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Devon was quick to add. "That is not what I meant. It's just…" he stopped, and pondered for a moment. Maybe it was too soon to ask such personal questions, about family and all. "Oh, never mind."
She felt she was blushing.
"Well, let's go in, shall we?" she said, looking at her own shoes as she opened the door to her apartment and urged him in.
Devon's jaw dropped slightly, and not so much because of how big the place was, nor because of the tasteful furniture and decoration… What had immediately caught his eye was the fact the whole apartment seemed to have been swallowed by a giant wave, than spit back onto the shore in a pile of destruction. There were bags, clothes and papers everywhere he looked at.
"And that is your challenge," Eliza said, with a feline grin.
Devon turned to look at her with a frown. So much for the kinky, sexy options he had thought of.
"The thing is," she continued, crossing her arms as she walked around him. "I have been very busy at work lately, so my stuff has been piling up, as you can see," she saw him raise an eyebrow as she spoke, and had to bite back a chuckle. "I need someone who can clean up this mess, and also… Somewhere in here, there is a bank statement that I really, really need," she handed him a paper with a short description of the document she was looking for. "If you find it, you will be rewarded generously…"
Devon looked up from the paper to her face. He could be wrong - and he generally was, about a lot of things – but he had the clear impression Eliza Clark, his potential employer, was casting rather unholy looks towards him, and not for the first time that morning. She was lucky she hadn't yet showed him the guidelines about sexual harassment; if she had, she would be in deep trouble. That is… if Devon himself hadn't been casting his own share of unholy looks towards her as well.
"…with two hundred dollars, cash."
"Oh," he muttered. He had thought of another reward – he really had to get his head out of the gutter! – but Heaven knew how much he could do with some money. And not just some money. She was offering him the equivalent of almost one week of work!
"Think you can do it?" she asked, with a defiant smirk.
"Ms. Clark, if I were you," he said, wrinkling his forehead as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I would call the agency to say this job opening has been filled."
"Confidence, nice. You sure can talk the talk…" she said, tilting her head. "Now let's see if you walk the walk."
Devon looked away as the girl in front of him said those last words, biting his tongue not to return the taunt. He needed the job. He would deal with his other… urges later.
"I'm heading to work now," she continued, looking thoroughly entertained with herself. "I wrote my phone number in the board near the fridge. I'll be back at the end of the day, so that gives you some eight to nine hours."
He saw her fling a bag over her shoulder, as she picked up the keys to her car from a bowl near the door.
"Use them well."
She smiled, eyeing him for a last time before walking out.
----
At the end of the day, Devon let himself fall onto one of the chairs in the solarium, feeling absolutely exhausted, and that was because he hadn't done any laundry, ironing or cooking yet. Whoever said housekeeping was an easy job had no idea whatsoever what they were talking about.
After spending the last seven hours of his day vacuuming, dusting, sorting out papers, folding clothes and putting garbage away, he realized how stupid he had been to think he was remotely qualified for that job. The organizational part of the deal, so far, had worked out fine: the apartment was looking good, and clean. It was the other tasks that haunted him. Laundry, as far as he was concerned, was all about shoving clothes in a washing machine, waiting for half an hour or so, and then shoving them in the dryer and waiting a little more. However, after one quick glance at the variety of washing detergents, softeners and bleach on the shelves of the laundry room, he was sure he was headed to disaster.
To make matters worse, Eliza Clark had nothing but four closets full of clothes of the most varied materials, which obviously meant that there had to be some sort of specific procedure for every single one of them. Oh, dear. That thought inevitably led to
its subsequent event: ironing. He had never been good at ironing, he had never even bothered getting better at it over the years. He considered it one of the dullest and most stupid chores humanity had ever known.
And then there was cooking. He knew enough not to starve: eggs, rice, pasta, the eventual beef stir fry… His repertoire, however, was less than impressive: what if Eliza expected a different meal every day? What it she was used to some sort of Cordon Bleu chef dancing around her kitchen with scallops and shallots?
He stopped thinking about what could go wrong, and concentrated on what he knew would go right.
Apparently, his future boss had the hots for him.
He frowned. Now that he thought about it, that was just another thing that could go wrong. Very wrong, as a matter of fact.
"Devon?"
Downstairs, Eliza had just arrived back home, and called out for him, after opening the door.
When he finally arrived at the living room, he realized she was looking around the spotless tables, chairs and shelves with nothing but awe in her eyes.
"This is wonderful!" she said with a wide grin, and he had to smile as well – there was something contagious about her happiness, something that rubbed off on him even when he was not looking. "Great job!"
When he stood in front of her, she paused, with a frown. She sniffed once, and then twice.
"Is this cherry blossom that I smell?" she asked.
"Oh, it is, yes," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck with a guilty expression in his eyes. "When I was done, I decided to take a shower… but I forgot I had no soap with me, so I had to use your shower gel. I'm sorry."
She stared at his puppy eyes with a mixture of amusement and anger. When he was done, he decided to take a shower. The audacity! He had taken a shower in her bathroom, after he was done! With her shower gel! And she had missed it!
"I take it you used one of my towels as well?" she muttered.
"I did," he replied, and his face showed no sign of concern this time. "But I washed it and dried it right after that."
"Oh."
She took off her glasses, trying to buy some time as she rubbed her eyes. It had to be the hormones. There was no other explanation as to why she lost focus every time he smiled, or why she got those fuzzy feelings every time her eyes rested upon his.
