My nostrils catch a whiff of something familiar over the cleaning products, and it triggers some kind of chain reaction in my brain. Why the hell does the maid smell of jasmine? My eyes lock on her, even though she’s facing away from me, noticing her tight, sleek bun. There’s too much hair there to be Andrea’s, but I know this silhouette. And when she bends at the hips to swipe her cloth over the coffee table, I definitely know this ass.
“Andrea, what the hell are you doing?” I ask, wondering what kind of game she’s playing.
She freezes, straightens up, and slowly turns around. She’s got some kind of makeup on. Foundation that hides her freckles. I’m still trying to understand what’s going on when she pulls out her phone from her apron and looks at it.
“Seven minutes and forty-three seconds,” she says, showing me the screen and the stopwatch running on it. “That’s how long you took to recognize me.”
The short hair on the back of my head rises, some part of me already understanding what she’s doing. Still, I ask, “So what?”
“So I’ve proved my point.”
“What point?”
“That maids are invisible. You’re obsessed with me, yet you didn’t even recognize me. Can you imagine a perfect stranger? Someone who’s never met me before?”
“I recognized you. First your scent, then your ass.”
“We’ll talk about why you were watching the maid’s ass later,” she grits out before adding, “but I doubt anyone at Becker’s penthouse knows what I smell like. If that’s your only issue with it, I can wear a different perfume.”
I stare blankly at her, knowing that nothing I reply will make her see reason. Eventually, she sighs and comes around the desk. She looks ridiculous in her outfit and makeup, and despite whatever she says, she’s highly recognizable. I didn’t notice her sooner because I was busy.
“They’ll be away next week,” she reminds me, her voice soft rather than determined. Fuck, she’s about to wrap me around her little finger and make me break, isn’t she?
“I already spoke to Paola. The housekeeper is looking to hire a few extra maids for next week, since there’s a big event coming up next weekend. Paola said she can vouch for me and introduce me as her cousin. I’d be another random extra. They’ll never look at me twice. I can do this, baby. I can be in and out without Becker even being there.”
She hasn’t shared it with me, but I know something happened to her mother yesterday. I got the report from the men in charge of her parents’ security. Horvat threatened Isabella, scaring her to death. I was waiting for Andrea to tell me about it, suspecting that her mother told her what happened. I suppose this is her response to it.
I taste bile in the back of my throat, distressed by the idea of her walking straight into Becker’s den. “Maybe I can do it?” I suggest, out of arguments.
“Right. I’ll teach you Spanish overnight, you’ll call yourself Alejandro and offer your services as a handyman.”
Hmm… That can’t work. Not as well as her plan might. But it could be so dangerous, and I have no way of protecting her. She’d be in there, and the most I could do is watch the security feed in real time. But then what? How do I warn her if there’s some kind of danger incoming? I’ll be useless and helpless while she puts herself in danger yet again.
“I can do it, baby,” she promises, cupping my jaw. It’s like she can hear my barely contained worries. “In and out before anyone knows it,” she continues.
I rack my brain, desperately trying to find something, anything, that would be better than sending her into Becker’s home to look for the safe herself. When nothing comes, I look up at her, pleading.
“It will be fine,mi amor,” she whispers, bending over to kiss my forehead. “Let me do this for us, please.”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?”
She has the audacity to giggle at that. “I’ve done a lot, yeah. But I’m counting on you to do everything else for the rest of our lives.”
“I see… Well, if I let you do this, you’ll have to let me spoil you rotten. All the time. Without complaining. Ever.”
“Deal.” This time, she aims for my lips.
I’m still not okay with the trajectory things are taking, but this woman has the uncanny ability to not only win me over but also regulate my emotions. I’m not as distressed, even though I realize I should be.
My hands rise to her ribs, holding her petite frame as she kisses me in a way that is sweet and thankful. Upon feeling the worn-out fabric, I push her away and ask, “Where the hell did you get a maid uniform?”
“I asked the concierge to bring me one, and a few cleaning supplies.”
“And he agreed?”
She blushes slightly as she says, “He probably thought it was for a sex thing.”
“A sex thing?” I look at her, wondering how something ill-fitting, not revealing, and a boring shade of gray could be sexual.
