Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I glance over at the other girl, shrugging as she too looks over at the noise.
I stand and ask her to watch them so I can see what’s going on, and then I innocently go into the dining room and look to Delilah with a confused expression. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not okay,” she mutters, drinking a long sip of water. “They put salt in the cookies, what sort of moron puts salt in the cookies.”
“We didn’t, it was sugar I swear,” Shakira says, her cheeks red. “I can get the packet.”
“We don’t want the packet, Shakira,” Sammi hisses. “We want our morning tea.”
Shakira looks to the girl beside her. “Well, ah, we’re having a few problems with that.”
“Like what?” Sammi demands.
“The cakes ... they’re not rising and they’re heavy and gooey. Everything is ruined.”
“Oh my god,” one of the other ladies says, shaking her head. “Did you do this on purpose?”
“No, of course not,” Shakira says, eyes wide. “We’d never.”
“I did see them coming in this morning with extra bags, I thought it was ingredients but they insisted I didn’t come into the kitchen, because I’d be a gossip about what they were doing,” I say, all innocently.
“Is this true?” Sammi asks.
“Is this some sort of revenge because of the other day at my house?” Delilah scoffs. “I had a feeling you ladies were up to something.”
“Appalling.”
“It’s not,” Shakira says, her eyes trained on me. “She’s a liar. She’s lying. She probably did it.”
“I’ve been in the nursery all morning, Shakira. I’m not that good,” I say, shaking my head. “I knew you were pissed at me, but to do something that could have made everyone sick, that’s low.”
“Go home,” Sammi says, shaking her head. “I’ve had about enough of you and your games, Shakira. Clean that kitchen up. Go home. I don’t want to see you. If anything like this happens again, you’re fired.”
Shakira looks horrified and glares at me in a way that promises revenge.
Then, she turns and leaves.
“Let me go and order you some morning tea,” I say to Delilah. “Eve has a wonderful café, she’ll be happy to help.”
“Thank you, Maggie. You’re a god send.”
I turn and walk out with a big smile on my face.
Indeed I am.
Indeed. I. Am.
I HAVE TO PEE, AND this god damned morning tea has gone into afternoon tea and now they want to stay for a dinner event that is apparently really important. I want to take Star home—she’s tired and grumpy—but Delilah swears we’ll only be another hour. I just ate for the first time today, and drank far more water than I should have, and now I need to go.
Shakira and her group of minions are in the nursery now, too. She ended up staying when Sammi wanted to hang around. Looking after your child on your own must be hard work. So, we’ve all been stuck in the nursery and then out in the garden once it cooled down. I don’t know where there is a toilet down here, hell, I don’t know where there is a toilet anywhere.
“Where is the closest toilet?” I ask the girl who was with me in the nursery this morning.
“It’s three blocks down that way,” Shakira says, piping up.
I stare at her, and then place Star in the playpen we have on the grass and rush in the direction Shakira pointed. I can’t find a toilet, not anywhere, and instead I find an older lady and ask her where the closest one is.
“The nannies all use the same toilet,” she tells me, her voice all cold and bitchy, “in the nursery.”
Oh for crying out loud, that’s back upstairs.
Clenching, I run into the large building and up the stairs toward the nursery, passing a couple of nannies that have just come out of the toilet. They glare at me, but I don’t have time to stop and care about that. By the time I make it in, I’m that busting I just sit down and start peeing. It’s only after a few seconds that I stare down in absolute horror as pee comes out and starts tipping over the side of the toilet. Horrified, I leap up and look down to see the finest layer of cling film over the toilet bowl, pressed down by the lid.
Those bitches.
Those fucking bitches.
Pee flows over and tips over the floor, and even worse, my dress is soaked. The back of it must have fallen in when I stood up frantically. I stand, horrified, panties around my ankles, dress soaked in pee, the floor covered in pee, and shame washing up in my cheeks. Revenge, they got their revenge, and, of course, it was stronger and harder than mine.
It’s on.
It’s so fucking on I could rip their damned heads off.
But right now, I need to figure out what to do.