He looks at me, his eyebrows pulled together. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“It’s okay. I want to.”
He shrugs and looks at the laptop screen. “Whatever you want then, I guess.”
He’s obviously preoccupied with working, or whatever it is he’s doing, so I get off the couch and walk to the bathroom, remembering that I saw cleaning supplies in there on the day I arrived. I gather the supplies, then I get to work.
As I scrub the toilet wearing a pair of rubber gloves I found, I wonder how often Drake cleans the place. It looks like it’s been a while since he’s done a thorough cleaning. Then I remember that he doesn’t live here full-time. That, plus the fact that this house is kind of in the middle of nowhere makes me think that he just doesn’t care that much about it. Well, won’t he be pleased when he sees how clean I’ve gotten his bathrooms?
With nothing else to do, I do a thorough job in the downstairs bathroom, then carry the supplies toward the staircase so I can clean the upstairs bathrooms. When I pass the living room, Drake doesn’t acknowledge me, his focus completely on his laptop.
Well, he has a job to do—whatever it may be—so I can’t fault him for doing it. Especially since he’s doing me such a huge favor by staying here so that I have a place to stay.
Once upstairs, I scrub the bathroom I’ve been using until it sparkles. It’s only right that I do this one anyway since no one else is using it but me. When I’m done, I carry the supplies into Drake’s room.
I walk in and when I see his unmade bed, I stop and stare. This is where he and I shared some incredibly intimate moments, where he made me feel things I’d never felt before. As I stare at the sheets, my mind goes back to the night before last, and my body heats with desire.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I remind myself how once he got what he wanted, he’d been eager for me to leave. Yes, he came to check on me at the motel—just in time as it turned out. But I can’t shake the memory of the disappointment I felt the day before when he told me to get up and get ready because it was time for me to get my car and go.
I open my eyes, then deliberately turn away from his bed and walk into the bathroom. I get to work cleaning, and I’m halfway done when I think I hear voices coming from downstairs. I set the sponge on the bathroom counter and walk to the doorway of Drake’s room, listening.
Yes, I definitely hear voices. I know there’s no TV down there, so I can only assume Drake has a visitor. I go to his bedroom window and peer out, but it looks out over the back of the house so I can’t see if a car is out there. I remember that my bedroom looks over the front, so I hurry in there and take a look. Sure enough, there’s a black Escalade parked out front. I wonder who it belongs to.
I could go downstairs and see, but I’m afraid to interrupt Drake and his visitor, so instead I go into his bathroom and continue cleaning. A few minutes later I hear raised voices—Drake’s and a woman’s—and I wonder what’s going on. I feel like an intruder—I hardly know this man, and here he is arguing with a woman who probably doesn’t even know I’m there.
Trying to pretend the yelling I’m hearing is coming from some reality TV show, I focus on polishing the mirror, but when I hear the unmistakable sound of someone climbing the stairs, then walking down the hall, I freeze. My gaze goes to the mirror and my eyes are wide. I concentrate on the footsteps, and when I hear the sound of someone entering the bedroom, my heart starts to pound.
A moment later I hear a woman’s sigh, then the sound of the bed creaking. I listen hard and don’t hear any hint of Drake, and assume the woman came into his room by herself.
That thought gives me pause. For her to feel comfortable enough to go into his bedroom, she must know him pretty well. Could this be Rach? The woman he’d been talking to on the phone the night before? The woman he’d told “I love you”?
I glance at myself in the mirror and frown. It’s none of my business. Just because I slept with him doesn’t give me any right to know anything about him or his life. For all I know, he has an ex-wife with a house full of children. Even if he does, why should I care? After my car’s fixed, I’ll leave his house and never see him again.
I’m so focused on my line of thinking that I don’t realize the woman has risen from the bed and walked into the bathroom until I hear her exclaim, “Who the hell are you?”
Twenty-Seven
ASHLEY
My head swivels in her direction and I drop the paper towel I’m holding. My gaze sweeps over her and I notice how her blond hair falls in a thick sheet to her shoulders, how her stylish slacks and cashmere sweater hug her perfect curves, how her head is tilted at a haughty angle like she’s the mistress of the house. Her piercing blue eyes bore into me with undisguised displeasure.
“Rach,” I hear Drake call as he enters the bedroom.
He doesn’t see me and probably has no clue that his female friend has discovered me in his bathroom.
“Rach,” he says. “There you are.”
I only see her, and she looks livid as she turns away from me to look at him.
“Who the hell is this?” she points to me, but her eyes are on Drake.
The blood drains from my face as I imagine the repercussions of my presence in Drake’s bathroom. Two seconds later Drake is standing in the doorway to the bathroom, staring at me.
“Who is she?” the woman asks, her voice beginning to take on a note of hysteria.
“I’m his housekeeper,” I blurt out.
Drake and the woman stare at me. I notice a slight smirk forming on Drake’s mouth, but the woman’s eyes narrow as she looks me up and down. “Did he sleep with you?”
Blood rushes to my face. Yes. And I liked it. I glance at Drake and see that a look of panic has replaced the smirk. My eyes meet the woman’s—Rach—and I shake my head in denial. “No. I’m just cleaning his house.”
She hesitates, like she isn’t sure if she should believe me or not, then she says, “You need to leave now.”
“I . . . I’m not done yet.” Where am I supposed to go? If she finds out I’m staying in one of the bedrooms, I don’t think she’ll be happy.
“Do I look like I care?” she says, her fury returning. “Get the hell out of here.”
I look at Drake, wanting direction from him.
“Why are you looking at him?” she demands. “Do what I tell you.”
Her superior tone is what does it, and all of a sudden I hate this woman. “I don’t work for you,” I say with derision, then point to Drake. “I work for him.” Of course I don’t, but that isn’t the point. I don’t like this witch ordering me around. I’ve gotten enough of that with Drake.
She turns to Drake, apparently expecting him to back her up.
“What?” he says, his panic gone. In fact he looks like he’s enjoying the show.
“Tell her to leave,” Rach nearly screeches.
I wait to see what Drake will do, and wonder what he sees in this woman.
“She’s not done,” he says, his voice calm.
“I. Don’t. Care.” The woman’s fists are tight at her sides and I wonder if she’s going to stomp her feet. Her voice lowers, but I can still clearly hear her. “How long has she been working for you?”
“This is my first day,” I say loudly. I know I shouldn’t interfere with Drake and his little friend, but I don’t like the way she’s treating me. As if I’m worthless.
She and Drake both look at me, and I try to ignore the anger I see beginning to grow in his eyes—most assuredly due to my meddling. The Witch faces Drake again. She grabs his hand and whispers, “Can I talk to you?”
He lets her drag him away. They are out of my sight, but I can hear urgent whispers coming from the bedroom. I strain to hear what they’re saying, but can’t make anything out. I take a few steps to get closer to the door, but I’m still not able to hear anything. The whispers stop, and I scurry back to the counter and begin cleaning the sink.
“Ashley?” Drake says.
I look in his direction and see that he’s alone.
“Where’s your friend?” I say softly, though I’m glad she’s not standing next to him glaring at me.
“She went downstairs.”
“Oh,” I say in a normal tone of voice.
“I’m afraid I have a problem.”
“You sure do. She’s a real witch.” Oops. Did I say that out loud?
Drake doesn’t look pleased with my assessment of his friend. Or is she his girlfriend? The one he’s not too serious about. I wonder if she knows he feels that way, because she seems pretty serious about him. Serious enough to order around the help.
“Sorry,” I mutter, though I’m not sorry at all. If that’s the kind of woman he likes—high strung, arrogant, bossy—well, then he’s not my type. Good thing I’ve decided not to sleep with him again.
He shakes his head. “Look, she’s not usually like that.”
Yeah, right.
He sighs. “I guess she was a little . . . surprised . . . to see you here.”
I’ll bet. “So you didn’t know she was coming?”
He smiles. “No.”
“Is she your . . . girlfriend?” I don’t know why it’s hard to say that out loud. Maybe because I would prefer if he didn’t have a girlfriend.
He opens his mouth to speak, then frowns. “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always,” I mutter under my breath.
“The point is, having you here upsets her.”
I wonder how that’s my problem. Then I realize it is my problem, because now I’m going to have to leave. “Okay,” I say, not about to help Drake out by suggesting he take me back to the motel with the flimsy doors.
He stares at me and clenches his jaw. I stare back.
“I’m almost done in here,” I say, “so if you’ll excuse me . . .” I let the words trail off and turn back to the sink, hoping that if I pretend I don’t know where the conversation is going, he’ll just let me stay.
I can feel him staring at me, but he doesn’t say anything, and after a moment he leaves. Victory sweeps over me and I scrub his sink with renewed vigor.
DRAKE
That was awkward.
I walk out of the bedroom, but hesitate at the top of the stairs. I’m not eager to face Rachel. Clearly, she’s pissed and wants Ashley gone, but I’m not comfortable with kicking Ashley out either. The only place she can go is back to that motel, and I’m not about to put her in danger because Rachel’s upset.
Then I get an idea.
Twenty-Eight
ASHLEY
I take my time completing Drake’s bathroom, but as I work I begin to wonder what will happen when I’m done. Will he make me leave? Am I just putting off the inevitable? If he’s just going to kick me out, why am I getting all sweaty cleaning his bathrooms? I hate sweating.
Scowling, I finish cleaning, then collect the supplies and head for the stairs. As I approach the head of the staircase I pause, listening, but I hear nothing. Is The Witch still here? Hope blooms inside me that she’s left, and as I descend the stairs my gaze goes to Drake, who is in his recliner, his computer open on his lap.
He seems immersed in whatever it is he’s doing, so I don’t say anything, but just carry the supplies to the downstairs bathroom and put them away. I look out the window and see the black Escalade. What the heck? Why is that still here?
I stare at the car, my thoughts tumbling around in my head. If The Witch is still here, where is she? I didn’t see her upstairs. Will Drake make me leave? What will I do then? I really don’t want to stay at that motel. The thought makes me shudder with fear. There’s no way I’d be able to sleep knowing any psycho could break the door down and attack me.
Gathering my courage, I walk out of the bathroom and into the living room. “I’m done,” I say as I stand in front of Drake, ready to face my reality.
He chuckles. “You know, you’re not really my housekeeper.”
I glance around, expecting The Witch to jump out and scream at him—or me—at his words. “I know. I just wanted to help out. You know, since you’re letting me stay here.” I hope the message that I want to continue staying here isn’t too subtle.
“I get that,” he says as he looks at me over the top of his open laptop. “And I truly appreciate the effort.”
But. I brace myself for what will inevitably come next.
“But like I said before, having you here makes Rach uncomfortable.”
I knew there was a but. “Where is The Wit . . . Where is she?”
He frowns, like he knows what I almost said. “She’s in the jacuzzi.”
Our jacuzzi? Feeling possessive, I frown in return. Then it occurs to me that it might not just be The Witch who is uncomfortable having me here. If the two of them have . . . plans . . . then it would certainly be awkward for Drake if I was in the next room. Or even just in the house. Now I understand. “So, now what? You take me to town and drop me off like so much . . .” I fling my arms outward. “Used goods?”
I don’t know why I’m getting upset. He doesn’t owe me anything. He was only doing me a favor by letting me stay here—I’d even resisted the idea of staying here while my car was fixed at first. Why should I expect him to keep me around when it’s no longer convenient? I’m a stranger to him, but this woman—Rach, Rachel, whatever—they have some sort of relationship going. Of course he’s going to put her desires over mine. My shoulders slump in defeat. “I’ll get my stuff and we can go.”
“Hey, wait,” he says. “That’s not what we’re going to do here.” His forehead lines in a frown. “What kind of a man do you think I am? You think I’d put you out? Just like that?”
Confused, I stare at him. “I don’t understand.”
He sighs. “Clearly.”
“So, if your . . . girlfriend?”
He doesn’t reply, just waits for me to go on.
“If she’s uncomfortable with me being here,” I say, “what am I supposed to do about it?”
He chuckles with what I can only describe as unease. “Well,” he pauses. “It was you . . .” He points at me. “You were the one who told her that you’re my housekeeper.”
Uh-oh. Where’s he going with this? “Yeah.”
“So, you can continue to play the part. She’s going home tomorrow, so it would just be until then.”
“Oh.” Not sure how I feel about this, I chew on my lip for a moment. “What if I don’t want to play this game?”
His eyebrows rise. “It’s completely up to you, of course, but if you tell her the truth, then I have no choice but to ask you to leave.”
My heart drops. The jerk would put me out like yesterday’s garbage. “What about what you just said? You know, how you’re not that kind of man?”
“I’m not. Like I said, this is your choice.”
I don’t like the way he’s putting it all on me. My choice is to lie—and actually do the job of being a housekeeper. Or be on my own. Not much of a choice, really. “What would I have to do?”
“Keep the house clean, make the beds, cook the meals.” He hesitates. “And when you’re not working, you’d have to stay in your room.”
Feeling sullen, I say, “How will I know if you want anything?”
“What do you think I should do?”
I fold my arms across my chest and feel a sulk coming on. “I don’t know. Ring a bell? Yell up the stairs? Then I’ll come running to see what my master and mistress want.”
He has the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Ashley.”
I kind of doubt he means that, but to test him, I say, “Then why don’t you just send The Witch on her way? That would solve all of our problems.”
His expression hardens. “Don’t call her that.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
Any show of kindness vanishes. “Look, I know this is inconvenient for you, but you will treat Rachel with respect.”
What the heck? Now he’s treating me like I
am his housekeeper, or some lowly employee. Instead of saying something rude—but only because I’m afraid he’ll toss me out if I do—I turn and walk away.
Just as I reach the stairs, he calls after me. “Ashley. We’d like lunch at one, out in the jacuzzi.”
I pause at the base of the stairs, but don’t look at him, then, as rage roars through me, I continue up. Once in my room I gently close the door, even though I would prefer to show my displeasure by slamming it, then sink onto the bed.
I stare out the window, my mind racing. How dare he treat me like this? Before The Witch showed up, I was his guest. But now? I’m his freaking housekeeper. How did this happen?
But I know exactly how it happened. He doesn’t want his lady friend to know he cheated on her, so now I have to play the part of housekeeper. I wonder what dear little Rach would think if she knew he slept with me two nights ago.
Twenty-Nine
ASHLEY
I take a quick shower to wash off the sweat from all my hard work as the World’s Best Housekeeper, then I dress in a pair of tight jeans and a flowy, low-cut blouse. After putting my hair up in a loose bun, I head to the kitchen to make lunch for Drake and The Witch.
When I don’t see Drake in the living room, I assume he’s in the jacuzzi. A pang of jealousy jabs me at the thought, but I push it aside and focus on my “job”. I dig through the fridge and manage to put together a yummy chicken salad. I fill two plates with salad, place a pair of napkins and forks alongside them on a tray, and carry the tray toward the kitchen door.
I hear their laughter before I see them, and as I step onto the back patio, I look in their direction. Drake is facing me, sitting on a bench in the jacuzzi, and The Witch is sitting across from him, her back to me. Steam billows from the bubbling water. Holding back a frown, I carry the tray toward them. “Where would you like this, Mr. Drake?” I nearly choke on the “mister”.
Drake and Ashley: The Complete Story Page 10
