Maid for the Billionaire

by Emma St Clair

  Michelle’s voice lowered. “Hamilton, you know I don’t mind doing those things. For you.”

  “And that’s why you’re my m-most valued employee.” He thought he heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “This is what I’d like to do. Look into charities where we could donate m-most of it. There’s that one helping professional men find … new jobs and start fresh.”

  “That’s a lovely idea. If you’re set on this, that is.”

  Hamilton looked to Jane, who was smoothing her hands over a shirt, jacket, and tie she had set on the bed. She was singing softly, but he couldn’t quite make out the words or tune.

  “I am.”

  “I’ll begin immediately.” Michelle paused. “Hamilton, are you sure you don’t need me? I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Morgan. She completely understood and said she would be glad to get me a room.”

  Hamilton bristled. Usually he didn’t react this way to Michelle. But he didn’t like that she had spoken with the woman running La Vida about him. It only made him feel more helpless.

  Does Jane see me that way—helpless?

  The thought speared him. “That will be all,” Hamilton said. “Thank you.”

  After hanging up, he turned back to Jane. She looked up at him, smiling with a hint of nervousness.

  “I think you’re all set for tonight. This jacket is coal-black and matches your pants. The shirt is a pale blue, almost a robin’s egg. The tie is paisley, which obviously, you can see the pattern. It’s got various shades of blue and then a few hints of magenta.” Jane tilted her head as though searching for the right words. “It’s the color of raspberry ice cream. Did you ever try raspberry ice cream?”

  Hamilton shook his head. “No. But I can remember the c-color. More purple than real raspberries, which are bright … red. Right?”

  Jane clapped her hands together. “Yes! Exactly.” She looked so pleased.

  Hamilton’s heart warmed. Her simple descriptions to remind him of color meant far more than she could know. He couldn’t think of one other person who had ever done that for him. It was a strange thing to remember color, yet never to see it. Her words brought color to life in his mind.

  “Thank you, Jane.”

  “My pleasure. Now, before you get in trouble for monopolizing my very valuable time, do you need anything else?”

  Your last name. Your phone number. A promise that I can see you again.

  A kiss.

  His thoughts seemed to have mutinied, and Hamilton felt both thrilled and terrified by where they were taking him.

  “I just need to shave and d-dress. I might even make it to dinner on time, thanks to you.”

  “You’re welcome, Hamilton.”

  He loved the way his name sounded on her lips. A strand of her light hair fell across her cheek. Hamilton wanted to tuck it behind her ear or, better yet, to take out the pencil holding it in place, freeing it to fall over her shoulders. Hamilton wished he could see the color. Was it white blonde? Or more of a honey wheat? He wanted to run his hands through it, to twine his fingers loosely through it as he pulled her close.

  Blinking and dazed, Hamilton realized that Jane had reached the door. He wanted to call out to her, to invite her to stay. The words were on his lips, but he hesitated.

  He really was going to be late for dinner if he didn’t dress. He had paid to meet other women who would be waiting, even if he’d prefer the company of one woman who was supposed to be invisible. She probably only helped him because it was her job. And because she had caused the problem in the first place.

  “Oh!” Jane turned, halfway out the door. “One last bit of advice. Don’t shave. Women love that hint of stubble. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

  Before Hamilton could respond, the door closed behind Jane, and the one woman whose opinion about his facial hair mattered, was gone.

  2

  Jane

  “There’s a limit, you know. Two broken plates and you’re out.” Marisa smiled down at where Jane crouched on the floor, surrounded by broken pieces of a gold-rimmed dinner plate.

  Jane rolled her eyes, as though it were a joke. She hoped her best friend was joking. “Guess I’ll be living dangerously, then. One plate down, one left to go.”

  “You rebel. Hurry up. Dinner service is about to start.” Marisa tossed her dark ponytail over her shoulder and walked away, lost to the sounds of the bustling kitchen.

  As she swept the broken pieces into a dustpan, Jane tried not to feel depressed about the fact that this plate probably cost as much as she’d make in her shift today. Which reminded her how far she still was from paying off her student loans.

  Nowhere close. Some days it seemed like the debt increased, while her bank account kept going down. Most days, it felt like the loans were a mountain, and she was living in its shadow. It seemed to grow, which only made the darkness around her harder to escape.

  College was such a rip-off. Too bad she couldn’t go back in time and tell herself that. She’d been so excited to get accepted into Stanford that she told herself to worry about the loans later. It was Stanford.

  The foster family she’d been living with at the time didn’t give her any advice or warning about the interest in student loans, the way she was sure real parents would have. The Smiths weren’t ever cruel; they just didn’t care. They were too busy worrying about picking up another foster child for the monthly check to worry about Jane’s unrealistic college plans.

  Now, Jane was flitting from job to job and drowning in debt. With half of a business degree from a very good university to show for it.

  Jane dumped the pieces into the trash can at the end of the long, silver counter. The noise, the movement, the heat of the kitchen—all were a far cry from the quiet, upscale dining room outside. Couples would sit at intimate, candlelit tables as the sun set over the Pacific, enjoying quiet conversations over the sound of a string quartet. All while sizing each other up, maybe letting romance bloom.

  Would Hamilton make a connection with one of the women?

  The thought bothered her way more than it should, especially considering the strict no-fraternization rule for the employees. The guests were wealthy men who paid a huge sum for privacy and to meet hand-selected women of independent means. As in, women who weren’t just looking for a big bank account, because they already had their own.

  Basically, the opposite of Jane. So, why couldn’t she stop thinking about the man she’d basically barged in on earlier that day?

  Jane belonged back here in the kitchen with the staff. Latin music blaring, the sound of directions being shouted, and food sizzling in pans. Messy. Loud. Chaotic. That was more her speed.

  Refined? Elegant? Demure? Delicate?

  Not on her best day. She needed to remember that the next time Hamilton Brevard came to mind with his warm honey-brown eyes. He would have his own date tonight, and Jane would be invisible. The way she was supposed to be.

  If only she could ignore the flames of jealousy licking at her heart, distracting her to the point that she knocked expensive dinner plates off tables.

  Jane peeked through one of the windows in the swinging doors at the far end of the kitchen. The distance ensured that the sounds from the kitchen wouldn’t invade the ambiance outside every time they opened.

  Her gaze landed on Hamilton almost immediately, as though drawn to him like a magnet. She smiled. He had taken her advice to skip shaving. Earlier, it had taken all of her minimal self-control not to grasp his rough cheeks between both her palms and press a soft kiss to his lips. An impulse that shocked her.

  Jane wasn’t that kind of girl. And yet, in the brief time she spent with Hamilton earlier, reason and good sense seemed to flee. She had been impulsive, outspoken, and much braver than she typically was.

  What was it about him?

  He was at least ten years older than Jane, not that age particularly mattered to her. His face was dangerously handsome, but she had seen handsome men before. When she had walked into his ro
om, he had seemed like a man standing on the edge of something: a cliff, a knife, a decision. His eyes had looked haunted and desperate. The moment she made him smile, it felt like the sun had broken through a bank of clouds.

  Now, he looked like he could use a reassuring touch. Jane chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, watching him. Not like a creepy stalker. Like a concerned friend. Or an overly involved employee.

  That’s all I am. He asked for my help because that’s my job. But she couldn’t tamp down her excitement at getting to go back in his room later to organize his clothing choices as he’d requested.

  Hamilton’s hands twisted the napkin in his lap. He kept scooting forward and back in his chair, glancing toward the main dining room doors. Any minute now, the women would come through the door in a sea of shimmering fabrics.

  Too bad Jane couldn’t go refill his water glass now, crack a few jokes. The longer she stayed in his room earlier and the more she teased him, the more the stiffness in his shoulders eased. He seemed less self-conscious over his stutter, that tightness around his eyes disappearing.

  Not that it bothered her. She hated how he seemed so aware of it, so ashamed. Jane wanted to march out, straighten his tie, and tell him that he was a catch. Any woman here would be lucky to be at his side.

  Any woman from the selection of women at La Vida, of course. Not Jane. She was trusty sidekick material. The quirky best friend. Never the leading lady.

  “See anything you like?” Marisa teased, coming up beside her.

  “The sunset is particularly lovely tonight,” Jane said.

  Marisa snorted. “So … you don’t want to call dibs on anyone?”

  “Marisa,” Jane hissed. “You know my normal track record with guys is terrible under normal circumstances.”

  “You do seem to pick the worst guys.”

  “Thanks. Plus, I’ve told you. I can’t lose this job. No dibs. No guests. Just no.”

  Jane tugged at the collar of the white button-down shirt she had changed into before the dinner service. The thought of breaking the rules like that made her start sweating. But Marisa was her opposite and had been since they became friends while waitressing in a karaoke bar. Somehow, the friendship worked. They shared a tiny apartment where now, thanks to the cushy job at the resort, they only spent a few nights a month.

  “You’re no fun.” Marisa bumped her hip before she walked away. “Let me know if you change your mind!”

  Jane watched for a moment as the women entered the room. With perfectly coiffed hair and expertly made-up faces, they looked like a parade of beauty queens. Their dresses were in various styles and fabrics, most of them gauzy and silky, with a few golds, a silver, and one woman in what looked like a poufy, white wedding dress.

  “Subliminal messages, much?” Jane muttered.

  Before Jane could see which woman had been paired with him for dinner, she turned away. Soon enough, she would see. The thought curdled her stomach. At least she knew that the table she would be serving was across the room.

  When she brought out the first plates a few minutes later, she did her best to keep her eyes away from Hamilton’s table. But it was almost like she could feel his presence from across the room. Which was ridiculous, obviously. It was probably more of that reverse psychology where you want the thing you can’t have. The more she reminded herself not to look, the harder she had to focus to keep her eyes away.

  Just one look won’t kill you.

  Before she reached her table, where the woman in wedding-dress-white sat with a silver-haired man, Jane glanced at Hamilton. His date for the night was a brunette beauty in a hot pink, layered chiffon dress that made her look like cotton candy. Of course, Hamilton wouldn’t be able to see how garish the color was.

  Despite her dress, she had a wide, beautiful smile. One that looked genuine. Jane wished that it looked less so. Jealousy felt like a poison, throbbing in her veins.

  “Hey! Careful!”

  The sharp comment snapped Jane’s attention back to what she was doing. She had pushed the woman’s plate too far, almost spilling a glass of red wine on the woman’s faux wedding dress.

  “I’m so sorry. Forgive my clumsiness,” Jane murmured, keeping her eyes down. She could feel the heat of the woman’s glare.

  “Maybe we should request another server,” he said.

  Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.

  Hands dropped onto Jane’s shoulders, tightening like talons. Which meant that Jane had attracted Mrs. Morgan’s attention. She had the ability to appear seemingly out of thin air. Jane read a lot of fantasy novels, and sometimes, Mrs. Morgan seemed far too much like one of the supernatural creatures. A ghoul or a banshee, maybe.

  “It’s no trouble,” Mrs. Morgan said, her voice smooth and low, like the soothing notes of a cello. The sound belied the way her fingers dug into Jane’s shoulders. “I’ll reassign Marisa to your section. Jane here is still in training. You’ll have to excuse her.”

  Mrs. Morgan steered Jane away from the table and back toward the kitchen. “A broken plate and a near-miss with that wineglass. I’m beginning to think that you don’t need this job as much as you told me you did when I hired you last month.”

  Jane’s stomach rolled. “I’m so sorry. I really do need this job. I just got distracted.”

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Morgan pushed through the kitchen doors. “Marisa. Switch your table with Jane’s.”

  “Of course.” Marisa shot Jane a concerned look.

  “It’s almost time for the salad course, ladies.”

  Mrs. Morgan slunk away down the hall, probably to watch the dining room footage in her office through the security system. When she wasn’t terrifying employees, Mrs. Morgan spent all her time observing the men and their dates. It was creepy.

  Jane loaded up with her second set. “Which table do you have?”

  “It’s your lucky day,” Marisa said, grinning. “Total hottie right by the window. Big upgrade, plus a better view of the sunset. If you can see past the garish pink concoction the woman is wearing. It’s enough to set your teeth on edge.”

  Oh no. That had to be Hamilton’s table and the woman in the cotton candy dress. Jane drew in a breath. She could serve them. It would be fine. She wouldn’t give in to this strange, fiery jealousy burning in her gut. She wouldn’t accidentally spill red wine on the woman’s dress.

  As she pushed through the doors carrying two plates with delicately dressed arugula and spinach salad, Jane tried to steady her racing heart. Would Hamilton acknowledge her? Would he pretend like their whole exchange earlier in his hotel room never happened?

  Jane crossed the dining room, focusing on taking steady steps. She felt oddly like she was preparing herself for battle. Which was ridiculous. Their brief conversation earlier had been nothing but—

  “Jane!” Hamilton said, his voice sounding warm and surprised.

  How was it possible for her heart to both sink and take flight at the same time?

  Hamilton stood, his eyes bright as she reached their table. He dropped his napkin to the floor and tried to reach for the plates.

  This was that moment. The one where she lost her job.

  “Mr. Brevard,” she hissed, giving him a pointed look. “Please, sit. I’ll be your server for the rest of the evening.”

  He blinked, then quickly sat down, putting his napkin back in his lap. “Sure. Of course. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I j-just …”

  Jane glanced at the woman in pink just in time to see a pitying look cross her face as she watched Hamilton. Jane’s throat burned. She knew that look. Jane had received it numerous times in her life. That’s what happened when you were a poor, little orphan girl, bouncing from foster family to foster family.

  She hated pity. And she was willing to bet Hamilton did too.

  Setting down their plates smoothly, Jane gave a soft laugh. “What a gentleman. You’re quite lucky to spend your evening with someone so thoughtful,” Jane said, meeting the eyes of
the woman in pink, trying to smile. “Please, enjoy your salad.”

  Jane slipped away, feeling her pulse jump around beneath her skin as she tried to distance herself before she said or did anything else. Maybe she imagined it, but she felt Hamilton’s eyes on her back as she went. Wishful thinking.

  Just inside the swinging doors, Jane darted back toward the hallway and slumped against the wall.

  “That bad?” Marisa asked, joining her.

  Jane groaned. “You have no idea. None.”

  Marisa touched her arm. “Hey, seriously. Are you okay? What’s going on with you tonight?”

  Jane opened her eyes and turned so that she rested one shoulder on the wall, facing Marisa. “I want to call dibs.”

  3

  Hamilton

  “Do you care to explain why you keep staring at our server?”

  The woman across the table glared at Hamilton. Though she was objectively beautiful, he realized that he couldn’t even remember her name.

  Hamilton rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s n-nothing to explain. Jane simply—”

  “That’s another thing. Why are you already on a first-name basis with her?”

  “Please l-l-lower your voice. I w-would rather avoid a … scene.”

  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have created one,” the woman said. “Goodnight.”

  She stood from the table, tossing her napkin over the untouched chocolate cake. She stormed away, her puffy dress swishing as she moved. Hamilton should have called out to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Sighing, Hamilton let his gaze drift to the big windows. The sun had just finished setting over the Pacific, leaving a glow that rested above the horizon. He watched it fade, wondering again why he was here. Between the meet-and-greet when he arrived and tonight’s dinner, Hamilton was not winning over any women.

  Why couldn’t Jane be the one sitting across from him?

  He’d never felt so comfortable so quickly with anyone. Their banter in his room earlier had been easy and light. Unlike tonight’s dinner conversation, which felt stilted and forced. Zero chemistry.