Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Milk and sugar is perfect, thank you,” I said, giving him a tight smile as I reached behind me to absentmindedly rub at my sore lower back.
“As you can see, I clearly need a little help around here, even if my mother had been the one to set this all up,” he said with a head shake that said he hadn’t been in on the discussion about it.
“Sometimes it takes an outsider to tell us how fucked up we’ve let everything get. Damnit,” I hissed, closing my eyes. Could I just, for one interview, watch my mouth?
Emilio, though, just let out a chuckle as he poured milk into my coffee. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, the occasional ‘fuck’ isn’t going to offend my sensibilities.”
“And if it isn’t… occasional?” I asked, wincing.
“That’s okay too. Say when,” he said as he started to scoop sugar into my coffee. One, two, three teaspoons. “Not when?” he asked as he reached for a fourth.
“It’s been… a morning,” I said as an explanation even if, technically, my sweet tooth knew no bounds.
I cut him off with the sugar, and he handed me the mug.
Have you ever smelled coffee and immediately thought Oh, this is rich people coffee? Because that was my initial thought as I took a deep breath before tasting it.
I may have even let out a little moan before I remembered myself.
Emilio cleared his throat, gesturing toward the fold-up chairs, and I was grateful to sit down with my throbbing back and stomach.
“I’m going to assume your paperwork got ruined with the run-in,” he said, nodding his chin toward the file on the counter.
“It’s unreadable,” I confirmed. “But I can tell you anything that was in it.”
“How old are you?” he asked, making me stiffen.
“That was… not in there,” I said, a bit of a stalling tactic. Were people allowed to ask you that anymore in job interviews? But, I guess, for men as wealthy and, therefore, powerful as Emilio Costa, you could probably do anything you wanted, ask anything you wanted, no matter how inappropriate.
“You don’t have to answer. You just look young. Gotta keep shit legal,” he said.
“Oh, well, I’m not that young,” I said. “Baby face,” I said, gesturing toward my full cheeks. “I’m twenty-six.”
“Okay. And you have experience with housekeeping?”
“Yes,” I answered. I mean, technically, anyone who had ever cleaned their house has done housekeeping, right?
“And cooking?”
“Of course,” I agreed. If ramen counted. I mean, I fancied it up with extras. So, you know, it kinda counted.
“How about… decorating?” he asked, gesturing around.
“Well, I mean, this place had great bones. It doesn’t need much,” I said.
“It needs furniture,” he said with a laugh.
“I think I could gather some options that you could choose from,” I said. How hard could that be?
“And your schedule is open?” he asked. “My days start around six, but I wouldn’t expect you to be here… what?” he asked as I purposely made my face and shoulders fall.
I had to put on a good show with this part.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said, pretending to try to brush it off.
“No. What’s the matter?” he asked, brows pinching.
“It’s just… I could have sworn this was a live-in position,” I said. “I mean, I could have totally been mistaken about that. It was probably just something in the, you know, wording. But it’s totally fine. I can…”
“It could be a live-in situation,” he said, and something about the way his eyes widened, then went small that made me think he couldn’t believe what he’d just said.
“I mean, it would make keeping a house this large clean easier. And, you know, allow for some flexibility with the meal schedule,” I said, trying to keep him intrigued by the idea.
Single men with large homes, they didn’t want to think about things like if the dishes were washed and the toilet paper was in stock, right? They just wanted everything to run smoothly.
“That makes sense,” he agreed, still looking confused.
“I’m sure I was mistaken,” I said, going to stand, playing the embarrassed part well now that it wasn’t real. “No wonder the offer was so generous,” I added, shaking my head at myself. “I wasn’t thinking. It’s okay if you want to… renegotiate.”
“No,” he said, holding up a hand. To stop me? To say he needed a second? Both, it seemed like both. “No, it’s okay,” he said, nodding. “The offer is the same. And I do have a spare room,” he said, gesturing upstairs. “You’re right. This is a big house for one person to keep up. Whatever makes it easier is the best scenario.”
“Are you… are you considering me for the job?” I asked, voice small, hopeful. I would say it was all acting, but, honestly, the wonder in my voice was all real. Because I’d fucked up so royally. Then deliberately changed the arrangement. And he was… going along with it? It seemed too good to be true.