by Sierra Rose
The
Pretend
Fiancé
Part 1
By
Sierra Rose
Copyright © 2016 by Sierra Rose
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Other books by Sierra Rose:
Rebecca is an aspiring actress. While at a fancy cocktail party, the socialites begin to pick on her. And that’s when she claims she’s dating the billionaire host of the party. When he goes along with it, Rebecca is in shock. And when this billionaire offers her a proposition she can’t say no to, she dives straight in.
Chapter 1
This room was trashed. Soda was all over the walls and pizza was on the ceiling. An empty bottle of wine lay on the bed. Cleaning up a room is such a state of disarray was going to take forever, making it difficult to keep me on schedule. Not to mention the gross factor!
So was the life of a housekeeper…
This wasn’t the most glamorous profession, that was for sure. Bella James was talking to herself again. More like muttering and letting out a few choice words. Sometimes, things needed to be said even if no one else was around. For instance, “How does a condom even get on top of a ceiling fan? Were they excitedly jumping on the bed afterward and it just flew off or did she throw it in disgust or what?” She groaned as she used her disposable glove to pick up the offending article that had been flung off a fan blade when she turned on the light switch.
She had been working as a housekeeper at the Golden Oaks Motel by the interstate for the last year and a half. The money wasn’t bad, considering the fact that she was paid for forty hours a week regardless of how many hours she worked. Now, initially, that might have been a bad deal when she started out and logged fifty or more hours cleaning the rooms and was still paid for forty and nothing more. But business had slowed down, and it gave her time to work on her night classes and to pick up a couple of cashier shifts at the convenience store to pay for extra luxuries like toothpaste and deodorant.
Bella had already been able to complete two semesters of a bachelor’s degree in business just doing night classes. She had no intention of cleaning motel rooms forever. It was just a good stepping stone until her real life started. She finished wiping off the room, sprayed some air freshener and loaded a fresh roll of toilet paper on the empty spool.
She finished cleaning the bathtub.
There.
There’s nothing like a sparkling clean tub. This job encouraged her to be a perfectionist.
It took roughly six minutes for her to peel off dirty sheets, stuff them in her cart, and fully remake the bed with clean sheets.
I mean, quality was not what this place was for. It was for tired OTR truckers and illicit hookups. Not a demographic deeply motivated by four-star accommodations. Bella kept notes on all of her methods and improvements to efficiency. Someday, she could incorporate similar strategies into a profession that didn’t require her to dispose of people’s used condoms. That was a legit career goal if there ever was one.
When she was done with the room, she smiled. She had turned the filthy room into a beautiful haven. It sparkled in shining glory.
She did her last three rooms for the day and went to the main office to clock out. Maybe she’d see if they put out any more Dum-Dum suckers in the bowl by check-in. Bella could totally go for a watermelon Dum-Dum after she washed her hands like Lady Macbeth about thirty times after the whole ceiling fan incident.
The manager was there. Bryan was usually at the video casino across the parking lot, but today he was there. She nodded to him and hoped that he’d get a phone call so he’d leave her alone. He was smarmy in the way that frustrated low-level manager guys tended to be, in her experience. Like, oh you are a subordinate, let me dazzle you with my majestic dollar store cologne and lick my lips in a way that suggests you’d be better off throwing yourself in a wood chipper than hanging out in my office.
“Bella, wait,” he said.
The creep had brushed up against her and groped her ass a few times too often to be trustworthy. She stood by the check in desk, her hand casually beside the ring-bell-for-service that would summon Mavis’ weekend replacement from the break room if needed.
“Yes, Mr. Donner,” she said.
He frowned. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“What is it?”
“My dad sold The Golden Oaks. After next week, we’re shutting down.”
Her jaw dropped. “What?”
“This joint is about to be converted to a truck stop with showers, a diner and adult entertainment on two stages,” he said far more blissfully than she would like.
“Doesn’t this mean we’re all out of a job?”
“Most of you, yeah. Me? I’ve got an application in to manage the all girls revue at the new joint.”
“Ah. Best of luck to you, then. What kind of severance is there, since we’re not even getting two weeks’ notice?”
“You’ll get your wages up until the day we close. Then you get our best wishes for your future success,” he said, seeming rather pleased with his turn of phrase as he stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Unless you can dance. We’ll be booking headliners from out of town, but you can show me what you got, and I bet you could star in the opening act with a body like that.”
“Thank you anyway, but no,” she said evenly, knowing that she needed the next week’s paycheck more than she needed to slap the douchebag into next month.
“If you change your mind, give me a call, babe.”
“Right,” she said, heading out the door quickly.
Shit!
This wasn’t good at all! What was she going to do on such short notice? She knew panicking wouldn’t help. She’d pound the pavement until she got another job.
So that meant her main source of income would expire in about five working days. There were no openings at the convenience store beside part-time, and she needed full-time money for survival and college classes. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t give up on school just because money got tight.
Bella couldn’t ever give up on her degree. It was her dream to become a college graduate. No matter what happened, she wasn’t going to let go of her aspirations. No way was she going to throw in the towel. If anything, it made her want to fight even harder. Because one way or another, she was determined to get a college degree.
She’d take extra part-time jobs. She’d donate plasma for the fifty bucks. This wasn’t how she planned to live the rest of her life, and she’d have to fight her way out. A high school diploma didn’t go far. Her dad, the drunk with the gambling problem, hadn’t exactly socked away five figures for his daughters to have college educ
ations and a better life.
So it was up to her, and up to her sister Madison, to work hard and make it on their own. She told herself it was noble. It made her tenacious. She still wished that something could be easy for a change. That life could just freaking work out without having to think about nobility and tenacity to make up for the ramen noodles and off-brand hot dogs. She was pretty sure those hot dogs were made out pig toenails. Except pigs had hooves, so probably hooves and snouts. She grimaced. She could do this. She just had to look online for some jobs to apply for. Central Arkansas wasn’t exactly the land of milk and honey, so if she had to move for work, it wouldn’t suck.
She called her sister, Madison.
“I got canned,” Bella said.
“What? You finally did it, didn’t you? You slapped that pervert boss of yours? Girl, I am so proud of you!”
“I wish. No, the hotel is being sold. Now I have to find another job.”
“Don’t sweat it. We always land on our feet. And all this adversary in our lives, well, it teaches us character. Following our dreams may take unexpected turns, but we can’t give up. Great things take time.”
“I know. I’m far too stubborn to let this stop me.”
“And that’s why I love you. Taking every step forward takes courage. You got balls.”
“Yeah, but it’s going to take me forever to get my degree.”
“Dreams don’t have an expiration date on them.”
“I know, sis. Thanks for the pep talk. I’ll call you later when I get home, and we’ll talk more. Okay?”
“Okay. And remember, nothing worth having comes easy. So don’t give up.”
“I won’t. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
“That’s my girl. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Bella hung up the phone and pondered about her current predicament. No matter what, she’d triumph over chaos.
Chapter 2
She went back to the apartment she shared with two other girls and started searching for jobs. The possibilities locally were slim, since she couldn’t operate a bucket truck and she didn’t have a beautician’s license. She didn’t qualify for the four hundred clinical trial for constipation and being a dishwasher or carwash attendant didn’t pay enough. She did a quick Google search to see if she could learn how to install hardwood flooring by watching a YouTube video but it seemed too complicated, otherwise, she could have applied for ‘experienced floor installer hardwood’ and made twelve bucks an hour. She should have been training in tire and lube skills, she decided and cast a wider net on location for job openings.
The new search offered her not only jobs as a surrogate mother or an Uber driver (didn’t want to rent out her uterus and didn’t own a car), but also something low paying called an inventory control specialist. Probably someone who has to count the Milky Ways and Slim Jims at the checkout every night to make sure no one stole any. Some of the ads, which promised opportunity for massive wealth were obviously shady. Others, she wondered about. Like the one for the live-in maid. She read it over six times, trying to find the catch. Then she called her little sister Madison for input.
“Hey, I’m making salads. What’s up?”
“Why are you making salads? I thought you were a sous chef?”
“I am. That’s what we do. Sous is apparently French for loser, and that’s the kind of work I get to do at minimum wage. So much for learning to pan sear sea bass. It’s crouton duty for me.”
“Once you finish cooking school, it’ll be different. You’ll see. I wanted your opinion on something.”
“First I have to get into cooking school and be able to pay for it.”
“Right. Well, you know the motel is going out of business, and I need a new gig. So I was looking on Craig’s List—”
“Wait. No dating guys from there. You’ll end up on the damn news as ‘the body of an unidentified girl’.”
“Not dating, job ads.”
“Right. You’re still in Arkansas. So what is there? You can sell Avon or you can be a truck driver.”
“Not true. Tire and lube work, too.”
“You don’t know how to do that.”
“I know. Thing is, I’m not tied to Arkansas. I mean, you moved to Tulsa, and I can finish school anywhere. So I looked out west. And I found this ad for a maid.”
“A maid? Don’t you mean cleaning ladies?”
“Not when they live ‘on the estate.’”
“Estate? Or brothel? This could be one of those rich guys with the kinky dungeons or something.”
“You loved that movie. And besides, it’s room and board plus salary, and I already know how to clean. For the kind of money it pays, I’d even do windows and polish silver.”
“Read me the ad.”
“Do you have time?” Bella asked.
“Yes. Just read. I can sprinkle shredded cheese without total concentration.”
“Okay, it says, ‘live-in maid needed for Phoenix estate, cleaning and laundry tasks as assigned, under direct supervision of the head housekeeper. $48,000/yr plus room and board.’”
“Hell, I’ll go clean his house for that. Anyway, it’s probably not legit. Probably some dude who wants to chase you around while you both wear French maid uniforms.”
“I checked it out, and it’s legit. The woman running it also works for some charity. I Googled the charity and it does a lot of good things for kids. And I saw lots of pictures of her. So she’s real.”
“Well, I don’t think she’d work for a creepy old man.”
“Me either.”
“If you checked it out, then go for it.”
“I couldn’t get much on the guy who owns the mansion, though. Because she never mentions his name in the ad.”
“Just be careful.”
“I always am.”
“And think about this. If it doesn’t work out, you have to catch a plane back. And plane tickets are expensive.”
“There’s another maid job that’s closer. I’ll call about that one first.”
“Okay,” Madison said, “Keep me posted.”
Bella hung up on her sister and responded to the maid ad in Bentonville. She got an almost immediate cell phone call in response.
“Miss James?” a man’s voice said.
“Yes? I inquired about your housekeeping position. What can you tell me about the job description and hours?”
“I need someone to cook and clean. It’s a three bedroom house and it has a big basement.”
“How many people in the family?”
“Just one. Just myself.”
“I see. What do you want me to cook?”
“I like mac and cheese. You could eat, too, but not at the table.”
“Okay, like in the kitchen? As in, you’d eat in the dining room?”
“No, I prefer you to eat in the kitchen out of a cat dish on the floor.”
“What?”
“And there’s a uniform. That is, I prefer you to wear a black cat suit with a tail.”
“Are you joking?”
“Can you purr? Or hiss? You’ll need to practice that.”
“What is your name?” Bella asked.
“Bruce Wayne. But you can call me Batman.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No. What are your measurements? The vinyl cat suit I got on clearance is 36-26-36. It says on the tab that it’s for women 5’6-5’9. Will you fit in that?”
“No. I will not fit in that. That is the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard and I’m reporting your ad,” she said, hanging up and immediately blocking his number.
Bella put her shoes back on and went down to the Hog N Tater on the corner for a sandwich, and to see if they were hiring. Fifteen minutes later, she had a job as a dishwasher, starting immediately. She put on the apron and the plastic gloves, ready to learn how to load and unload the industrial dishwashing machine.
“No, there’s no machine. It’s you. Washing them,” the manager said, gesturing to
a double sink heaping with greasy pans and dishes. Wrinkling her nose, she reminded herself if she wasn’t too good to pick up someone’s used condoms, she wasn’t too good to wash dishes. No job is beneath me, she told herself sternly, if it will get me to my goal.
She worked six hours, trying to keep pans and plates and forks washed fast enough to supply the busy kitchen. Her clothes got soaked from all the water spraying in her face from the huge pans. Hog n Taters did a brisk business, and she stank of grease and mesquite when she finally went home. She took a shower that did nothing but make her smell like wet mesquite and went to bed.
Her alarm went off early, and she started her cashier shift at the quick pick. She sold cigarettes and vape refills and six for three dollar donut deals and gas fill-ups. It was boring, and the loud country music that appealed to the customers grated on her nerves, but the hours would help her bridge the gap between jobs.
As soon as her shift ended there, she went back to Hog n Taters for another evening of dish duty. She had already worked out a system to make the washing more efficient by snagging a plastic dishpan from a shelf and filling it with soapy water, sorting all utensils to soak in there while she washed plates first, then pans, then silverware last. It eliminated a lot of searching in the grimy water for all the forks and made things seem more orderly to her efficiency-oriented brain.
After another six hours of scrubbing, she was given her wages for the week. Twelve hours of dishwashing by hand got her thirty-six dollars. She gaped at the manager and asked why it wasn’t minimum wage. He gave her a routine about how they pay less because they pay in cash and also that she’s in a tip-intensive occupation, so the base pay is lower.
“No one gave me a tip. No one gave me a cut from a nightly tip jar. I just got three bucks and hour for scrubbing congealed pig fat off of pans. This is ridiculous!” she said.
“Okay, you’re done here. Turn in your apron,” the manager said, “I don’t see why it’s so hard to keep a decent dishwasher around here.”
