Shit.
I lifted a case in front of my crotch and hobbled up the stairs. I didn’t need anyone catching me with a boner in front of the clients.
‘Down boy,’ I whispered to myself as I lugged the case into the house and up the stairs. A task straining my muscles enough under the enormous weight of the bag, only further impeded by my current condition.
The eldest adult son, Raif, brushed past me when I eventually finished dragging the bags to each room as labelled, phone glued to his ear, and muttering something about the Wi-Fi. Amanda intercepted him like a heat-seeking missile. ‘You’ll find the password printed in the guest welcome pack I’ve left in each bedroom.’
He blinked. She gave a perfunctory smile before clipping away across the tiled floor.
I caught myself grinning.
‘Why are you smiling?’ Pru, the housekeeper, asked.
‘Amanda frightens me,’ I said. ‘It’s delightful.’
Pru snorted. ‘You’ve got odd taste, she looks like she’s sat on a bloody wasp.’
‘She’s like a cat who’d scratch you for thinking about petting her, but you’d still want to win her over anyway.’
Pru chuckled and headed off toward the kitchen, muttering something about idiots and hormones.
Left alone, I did my best to be useful. Every so often, I’d glance up and spot Amanda, phone in one hand, clipboard in the other.
Thriving on order and control.
And yet, when one of the younger staff brought in to help out with serving accidentally dropped a tray of champagne flutes, she didn’t shout at him. She just exhaled and said, ‘Sweep it up. Quickly. Before anyone sees.’
Then she got to her knees and helped.
And that spiked my blood pressure. Seeing a potential soft side of her. Seeing her there, on the floor…
Warding off another raising of the flagpole, I fetched the sweeping brush and helped. By the time the glass was cleaned, the clients had retired to bed, leaving most of the staff to drift home for the night.
I leaned on the kitchen doorway, arms folded. ‘You survived the first night.’
She jumped slightly, turning toward me. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Admiring you.’
‘You’re so odd,’ she said.
‘Just trying to see if your face ever cracks a genuine smile.’
Her eyes flicked over me briefly, dancing with something that could have been heat, and then dismissed me entirely. ‘If you’re not busy, you could resalt the paths. The weather app says we are due for a freezing night.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She paused. ‘Don’t call me ma’am.’
‘Right you are… boss.’
‘Not that either.’
‘Captain?’
She gave me a look that could’ve wilted my entire greenhouse. ‘Goodbye, Henry.’
And off she went again, dark ponytail swishing, my poor heart trying to follow along behind her.
