by Callie Rose
Of course the hot asshole would have three hot friends. They always seem to move in packs.
Lincoln pauses for the barest second when he sees me, then his gaze slides right over me like I’m not even here. He sinks down onto one of the lounge chairs, leaning against the reclined back, and his buddies do the same.
Goddammit. Did he know I was in here? They didn’t come out here just to watch me work, did they?
That would be rude as fuck and would also make no sense. There couldn’t possibly be anything less interesting than scrubbing tiles—except maybe watching someone else do it.
Anyway, it doesn’t even matter. I need to finish this up before moving on to the next project on Mom’s task list. If I walk away thinking I’ll come back later, Mr. Black could come in here and see it half-done, and I don’t want him to think we’re slacking on our first week.
So I just ignore the guys and get back to work, dragging my bucket to a new section of the floor and kneeling on the cool tiles to scrub. I keep my back to them as much as I can, but it’s not always possible. And besides, curiosity goads me into stealing a few peeks at Lincoln’s friends—just to see if I can get a read on them too.
Two of them are definitely brothers. Twins, probably. They look eerily similar in the way identical twins do, although I can tell them apart. They both have coppery hair, but one’s leans more toward blond and the other’s more toward brown. I think their eyes are different colors too, but I can’t quite tell without openly staring, and I’m sure as fuck not gonna do that. The darker haired one is bigger, broader in the chest and shoulders, and seems a little more serious than his brother, although they both laugh boisterously and often.
The fourth guy is quieter, more deliberate. He has ash-brown hair that’s shorter on the sides and longer on top, held up by a little bit of gel. His jaw is square, and he’s got a straight nose and a broad forehead. I don’t know what color his eyes are either, but they’re light. Gray, maybe?
I want to look closer, to know more, but eventually, I stop peeking altogether, because every time I look up, one of them catches me staring.
For fuck’s sake.
I finish with the new section I was working on and move to the next, working my way down the length of the pool. The boys are talking in low murmurs, and as I get closer, I pick up more of their words.
“What, her chest? Eh, I’ve seen better.”
The dark-copper haired guy lifts his volume a little higher as he says it, and it suddenly dawns on me what they’ve been muttering about this whole time.
Me.
And apparently, at the moment, the subject of their conversation is my boobs.
A flush rises up my neck as a weird, sick feeling churns in my gut. Jesus. Have they really been talking about me this whole time? Analyzing my body, my face, my flaws?
I don’t really give a shit what these guys think of me. If they think my boobs are too big, too small, too whatever—it doesn’t matter to me. They can go fuck themselves.
But as I look up, my heart stutters in my chest, slamming hard against my ribcage.
The boy’s words were cool, his tone bored, but the heat in his eyes as he stares at me belies both of those things. He doesn’t look like he’s seen better.
He looks like he wants to eat me alive.
I yank my attention away from him, pretending I didn’t see that, pretending I didn’t feel it. Turning my back to all of them, I scrub harder at the tiles, giving myself a minute to gather my composure.
What the hell was that all about?
Even though I’m facing the other way, I can still feel his gaze on me, and my traitorous nipples harden, standing out against the soft fabric of my uniform. My skin feels electric, like someone hooked me up to a battery and is pumping low wattage volts through my entire body.
The only part of the pool house left for me to clean is the section at the east end that they’ve taken over, but I really don’t want to go over there. My body doesn’t seem to have gotten the message that I hate these guys, and I don’t want it to do something stupid and embarrassing.
I pick up the bucket and hesitate for a second, glancing over at them as I debate my options. That’s when I notice that the guy with the gray eyes—River, I think I heard Lincoln call him, which weirdly fits—left his cell phone on the tile floor next to his lounge chair.
Hmm. Well, if I have to go over there, maybe I can make it worth my while.
If they’re gonna eye-fuck the maid and talk shit about her body while she cleans, maybe they need a lesson in goddamn manners.
Their conversation has veered away from me, thank God. Now that they’ve made whatever point they seemed to be trying to prove, they’ve moved on. Ignoring the hard pounding of my heart, I carry my bucket over to the corner of the room behind them.
I made sure to accidentally-on-purpose leave a small cleaning towel by the section of the floor I was just working on. As I set down the bucket, I make a small noise of irritation, muttering something about needing my rag before cutting between their lounge chairs to get it. When I pass by River’s chair, I slide my foot along the smooth tile floor, keeping it low to the ground so it connects with his phone.
The small black rectangle slides forward with a clattering noise before slipping over the rim of the pool and into the clear blue water.
I freeze in place, my shock only partially an act.
Oh shit. I can’t believe I just did that.
Raising a hand to my mouth, I shake my head. “Shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t see your phone there!”
River’s head was turned away when I kicked his cell, and he didn’t seem to notice the sound at first, but the others certainly did. Lincoln sat forward with a jerk as the phone skittered across the floor, and River definitely turned in time to see it go underwater. It’s below the surface now, probably sitting like a rock at the bottom of the pool.
A lot like the rock that’s sitting in my stomach.
The boy’s gray-blue gaze shoots up to meet mine, and I’m positive that, despite my Oscar-worthy innocent act, he knows I did this on purpose.
Fuck. Fuck! Dammit, Low, how could you be so fucking stupid?
These guys might be dicks, and they might be entitled assholes, but they became that way for a reason. Because their money gives them power. They act like they can have and do whatever they want because… they can.
And if Lincoln wants to get me and my mom fired, I have no doubt he could do it with a snap of his fingers.
If I messed this up for us on our first week on the job, I’ll never be able to live with myself.
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” My voice is lower now, a little throaty as I try to keep my emotions under control. That sick feeling I had earlier is spreading through my entire body, infecting my veins like sludge.
“Are you?” He narrows his gray-blue eyes at me, inspecting my face. The other three are as still as predators about to pounce, watching our interaction.
“Yes. I’m—”
I can’t bear the pressure of his stare anymore, and I don’t really feel like spitting out another lie he’ll see through immediately. So instead of finishing that sentence, I hurry over to the side of the room, where a net on a long pole rests against the wall.
The phone is sitting like an ugly black mark at the bottom of the pool when I return, and my hands shake slightly as I thrust the net in and try to scoop it up.
I can’t fucking grab it though. It’s heavy and slippery, and I can’t get it past the metal rim of the net. All four of the guys are watching me in silence now, and motherfucker, I really wish I’d just left the pool house the second they came in.
My panic is rising, and the net—isn’t—fucking—working.
So I toss it aside and jump into the pool myself, plunging to the bottom and scrabbling for the small cell phone. I grab it and shoot upward to break the surface. The pool is only about five feet deep at this end, so my feet almost touch the ground with my head above water. I kic
k toward the tiled edge and haul myself out, my black and white maid’s uniform dripping.
When I stand, my shoes squelch.
My damn nipples are like beacons now, made even more obvious by the way the wet fabric clings to me. My hair was pulled back in a loose bun, but it fell out when I jumped in the water.
“Um, here.”
I squish my way over to River, who’s looking at me like he can’t quite figure out what to make of me, and hold out the phone to him. The screen is black, just like the rest of it.
“It’s a brick,” he says flatly. “It became a brick the second you decided to kick it into the pool.”
His word choice isn’t lost on me, and panic flares again as I hold the phone out more emphatically. “You could dry it—”
“No.” He snorts. Then he leans back in his lounge chair, looking up at me. And even though I’m standing and he’s sitting, I know I’m not the one who has the power here. “It’s too late. Why don’t you keep it as a souvenir?”
Oh God, no. Don’t get us fired. Please, fuck, no.
“I’ll buy you a new one!” I blurt, although I’m sure the fucking thing cost at least six hundred dollars.
He doesn’t even give an answer to that though. Instead, he crosses his ankles on the lounge chair, and as if responding to some unspoken signal, the other three all sit back too. They start talking amongst themselves—some shit about school and cheerleaders and a guy named Trent—and completely ignore my existence.
I stand there for another several moments, holding his phone out, hoping he’ll take it, but he doesn’t even look at me.
Shit. He’s right. This thing is totally destroyed.
It shouldn’t be so goddamn easy to do, but there you have it—my impulsiveness mixed with fragility of expensive technology has just potentially sent me and my mom packing.
I can’t just stand here forever, and I’m still dripping on the bright tiles, so after another beat, I slip the phone into my apron pocket and make a beeline for the door. I need to at least change into some dry clothes before Mr. or Mrs. Black sees me.
The pool house is accessed by a hallway that curves around the breakfast room—which is different than the dining room, because rich people are crazy. I follow it around to the west wing stairs and am about to start up them when a hand grabs my elbow.
I yelp as I’m spun around to face Lincoln. The look on his face is so intense that I involuntarily take a few steps back before the wall stops me. He follows me though, maintaining the close proximity of our bodies until I’m trapped between him and the hard plane behind me. There’s only a foot of space between us, but it’s not enough room to allow me a full breath.
My shoes are still wet, probably leaving little puddles I’ll have to clean up as soon as I can, and the cool air of the house makes goose bumps erupt on my damp skin.
Lincoln’s gaze is fierce, and despite my fear, despite my worry about getting fired, I find annoyance rising inside me too. Why is he always like this? What the hell is his fucking problem?
Okay, yeah, the phone thing was stupid. But it’s not like I did it unprovoked. He’s been a dick to me since the minute I walked through the front door, and he and his buddies were being complete misogynistic douches.
“Look, I said I was sorry, okay?”
I puff up my chest, only realizing it was a mistake after the fact. I’m just putting my body closer to his this way, and I’m suddenly very conscious of the fact that all he’s wearing is a pair of dark blue board shorts and that my clothes are plastered to my wet body.
“Yeah. I heard you.” His lips press into a hard line. “Thing is, I just don’t fucking believe you, Pool Girl.”
“Well, too bad, because—”
“I know what you’re after. I know what you want.” His eyes narrow as he leans even closer, looming over me. “You think I haven’t played this game before?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
My heart is beating so hard it’s about to crash out of my chest, and I’m pretty sure my soaked uniform is leaving a wet stain on the wall behind me. I need to escape the confined, claustrophobic space he’s creating. So I do something that’s probably pretty stupid. I put my hands on his chest and push.
He doesn’t budge. But his pecs contract at my touch, and his bare skin is warm and smooth under my palms. He presses against me, forcing my elbows to bend even more as he inches closer.
“Play innocent all you want, Harlow. Just know that not everyone here buys it.”
“There’s nothing I want to sell you, ass—”
I cut myself off. Goddammit. I really am going to get us fired.
Lincoln smirks, as if he knows exactly what I was about to call him. Then he steps away, leaving my hands suspended in empty air in front of me, touching nothing.
“Just remember your place, Pool Girl, and we’ll get along fine.” He jerks his chin toward the stairs. “Better go clean up before anybody sees you.”
When he turns and walks off down the hall, it takes all my self-control not to slide down the wall and plant my ass on the floor. I rest against the hard surface for another second, letting it keep me upright, then I shake my head and glance quickly around. I still don’t see anyone else, thank fuck.
I dart up the stairs and hightail it to my bedroom. In the attached bathroom, I strip off my wet uniform, shoes, and underwear and replace them with dry clothes. The bricked phone sits uselessly on the counter. I towel dry my hair and throw it back up in a bun, then wipe away the little smudges of mascara under my eyes. I still smell like chlorine, but I don’t have time to shower. I need to mop up my path from the pool house before somebody sees it—or worse, slips on it.
After grabbing several rags from the linen closet, I methodically wipe up every puddle.
I don’t go back into the pool house though.
My nerves can’t take it.
4
I’m on edge for the rest of the day, waiting for Mr. Black to summon my mom into his study and fire her.
But nothing happens.
Maybe Lincoln didn’t actually say anything to his dad. I don’t understand quite why he didn’t, but I decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He didn’t rat me out. My mom still has a job. Win-win.
I can’t help thinking that he’s going to try to get back at me for this somehow though. If not by getting me fired, than by some other means. He doesn’t seem like the type to let things go easily, if the few encounters I’ve had with him so far have been any indication.
And what the fuck did he mean by all that “I know what you want” talk? What does he think I’m after?
I keep my head down and work my ass off for the next three days, avoiding Lincoln as much as possible. I see all three of his friends at the house several more times, but I avoid them too.
On one of those occasions, River pointedly holds up his new cell phone, and I’m torn between relief and disgust. I don’t exactly have an extra six hundred bucks lying around; I could’ve taken the money from Mom’s account to pay for it if I needed to, but I usually only try to put money into the account.
I’m sure the annoyingly gorgeous boy can afford it anyway.
On Monday, for the first time all week, I don’t put on my black and white uniform first thing in the morning. Instead, I slip into a pair of faded jeans and a soft, long-sleeved shirt. Mom got it for me for my birthday last spring, and even though it wasn’t all that expensive, it looks like it could be. And it covers up my port scar, which matters, even though I try not to let it.
I eat breakfast with Mom in her little apartment, and she tells me I look beautiful and kisses my hair before I leave.
“Have fun at school!” she gushes. “Don’t hurry back if you make new friends or something. I’ll hold down the fort here.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I shrug on my backpack, deciding not to tell her that’s not really how high school works—especially not if you’re the new senior-year transfer st
udent in a school of overprivileged trust fund babies.
But then again, maybe for my mom, it would be. She’s the kind of person most people like immediately.
She lets me take the Nissan to school, and as I chug up the drive into the student parking lot at Linwood Academy, my mouth forms a silent O. The shittiest car in the lot is a Mustang, and they only get fancier from there. They all shine like diamonds in the morning sunlight, and I’m half tempted to scratch a few paint jobs as I park.
Okay, maybe I’m a little bit bitter. But after watching my mom struggle under crushing debt for years—debt she acquired through no fault of her own—it’s hard not to be. The contents of this parking lot alone could put us in the clear with thousands of dollars left over.
I pull the key from the ignition and drum my fingers against the steering wheel thoughtfully, staring out the windshield at the large, posh-looking, red brick building in front of me.
Huh. I still have no idea what game Lincoln was referring to, but maybe there’s a game I should be playing.
Even with the income from the housekeeping position, it’ll take my mom years to pay off what she owes. Maybe I can do more to help with that. These rich kids must get bored. And gambling is a classic way to stave off boredom, especially when you’ve got money to burn.
I just need to find out who plays poker around here, and when.
A little bubble of excitement springs up in my belly at the thought, and I jump out of the car with more pep in my step than I had before. A steady stream of students is walking from the parking lot toward the front of the building, and I fall in with them, blending with the crowd without really becoming part of it. Others around me are talking or joking with their friends or hurrying to catch up to someone, but I just keep my head down and plow forward alone.
My class schedule and locker assignment got emailed to me, so I head down a side hallway toward my first class. Before I reach it though, there’s a sort of… wave in the hallway around me, like a ripple of energy passing through the crowd. When I glance up, I see the cause immediately.
