Krisa
When I made it to the house the next morning, the security gates were closed this time. I had to press a button on an intercom and wait a few moments. The security gates opened, and I drove down the road to the house in my beat up car, parking it next to a Lamborghini that I’m sure I would never own if I saved until I was ninety.
I was nervous. I don’t think I would have been as nervous if Courtney hadn’t filled me in on his rather interesting past. Sometimes not knowing was better than having to meet with a mysterious dude who was, much to my dismay, the most handsome man I’d ever met. I hated that the mystery had me intrigued because, well, he was a bad boy. And I don’t care if you’re a damn nun, a bad boy will always have your body feeling things your mind will hate you for.
I walked to the front door with my cleaning supplies in tow. The door opened before I could knock, and there he stood, tall and large in a red tight shirt and dark denim jeans. His short black hair was deliciously tousled, and his eyes remarkably bright. I stared at him stupidly, having not registered his hello until a few moments after he’d said it. I wasn’t used to men who looked like him. Plus I felt incredibly awkward thinking back at his pants undone and his shirt buttoned down, broadcasting his tattooed chest.
Licking my lips, I finally responded, “Hi, how are you?”
“Good. Follow me,” he said in his all commanding tone. I followed him with a frown. I hated tones like that. I was reading too much into it, I know, but it reminded me of Paul and his domineering ways. I’d relished doing this job because I don’t know how I’d have coped with people who bossed me around. And yet here Kale Brenner was doing it.
Well, looking down his back and to his two legs and shoes, I suddenly had doubts.
“It’s Kale, right?” I found myself asking as we climbed the stairs.
“Yeah,” he responded, but his voice sounded a little rough.
“Or should I call you Mr Brenner?” Some people were picky about the title of their name. Like his sister, who demanded I call her Miss Brenner.
“Just call me Kale.” He paused for a moment, shooting me a look over his shoulder. “And don’t get it confused with Cole.”
My brows bunched together. Why would I get it confused with Cole? “Um, okay.”
When we were at the top of the second level, he pointed to the living room. “That needs some serious cleaning. Couches smell a little, and give the machines a good clean.” After I nodded I then followed him down the corridor. He opened up two bedrooms. “I want the bedrooms done. There’s webs and shit all over the place. Spiders everywhere. You don’t do extermination, obviously.” He saw the shake of my head. “Alright, well, just dust the cobwebs, and the beds. I’ve also got a shitload of clothes that need to be washed. Do you dry-clean? I don’t know what the hell it is you guys do…” I shook my head again. “No dry-cleaning? Jesus, what the fuck do you do?”
I was pretty stupefied by his speedy rambling, trying to keep up with him. When I went to answer, he just continued on like he hadn’t asked me a question. “Downstairs needs some TLC, but you might be pressed with time, so just do the kitchen. How long are you here for, anyway?”
“Uh… from nine to one is my usual shift for an entire house. Could take longer, depending on the workload.”
He looked down at his impressive looking watch. “It’s five to nine now so I guess I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in my study room. I’m sure you know where that is.”
I looked away to hide my intense blush and nodded. Yeah, I totally knew where that was.
“Okay. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll, what, pay you on the spot? How does it go?”
“Yeah, on the spot.”
“Right, okay. How much do you get an hour?” When I told him, he laughed shortly. “No, for real, how much?” When he saw my serious expression, that perfect smile of his disappeared. “Oh, right. Okay then, Krista. Have fun.”
Krista?
Did he seriously forget my name already?
Even though I was itching to correct him, I kept my mouth closed as he disappeared into the study room. Then I began the cleaning process. I don’t know what he went on about with the rooms; there were hardly any cobwebs at all!
The bedrooms were huge, of course, and the king sized beds looked temptingly comfortable. I had half a mind to climb in and feel the firm mattress against my back to see, for just one second, what money could buy you. The bedroom next to the study room was obviously his. The covers were all over the show and the sheets were half off the mattress. His clothes lay all over the floor around his bed and dressers. His walk-in closet was wide open and packed with clothes and shoes for every occasion and season.
The guy had it all, but he was messy. Like, really, really messy.
As I cleaned, I thought about the fine structure of his face – just because I didn’t like the guy didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a fine specimen when I saw one. He had lovely high cheekbones, full lips that made me want to wet mine for a taste, straight as an arrow nose, square jaw, a smile to die for, and the loveliest flawless skin I’d ever seen.
Shame he was an asshole.
Standing suddenly in front of the mirror on his wide, mahogany dresser, I consciously looked about my own face. Not at all flawless like his, I had a splash of freckles around my nose and cheeks, and pale and colourless was my skin…
Don’t get me wrong. I knew I was very pretty if I tried. I had a tall, slim body with very wide hips that drew attention away from my small chest. It was a nice proportionate body, but the problem was, I was in an environment that required constant modesty. Marie had told me that to keep me on the straight and narrow I needed to keep the attention away from my body. So I always stuck with the basics: average fitting tops and a pair of jeans.
Back before what Courtney would call my “sentence to Marie’s prison”, I’d actively worn make up and dressed in whatever tight clothes I could get my hands on. To Marie’s defence, it did stir a lot of negative attention, but to my defence, it made me feel good about myself. Sometimes I missed parts of my old life, especially when it came to my appearance.
After I was done with the upper floor, there was still plenty of time to do the kitchen. I went downstairs, contentedly aware that my job was especially easy today. Maybe Kale was OCD to think his home was filthy the way he went on. Some people were like that, and some days were pretty damn cruisy—
“What the hell!” The words escaped me before any thought filled my head. I was standing at the entrance of the kitchen with the most horrified look on my face. My whole body shuddered at the sight before me.
The kitchen was in absolute shambles.
Oh, my God.
There were bottles of alcohol smashed everywhere. Everywhere. I’m talking every surface of the kitchen had glass and liquid oozing everywhere. All the cupboards were opened, but every kitchen utensil was still perfectly in place. Except for the bottles.
I couldn’t even take a step in without my shoe crackling of glass beneath it. This wasn’t a mess. This was pandemonium.
Oh, hell no.
Hell. No.
“Mr Brenner!” I hollered, losing all cool now. I felt so disrespected all of a sudden. Like I was being made out to be some kind of inferior to this asshole of a man. I hollered his name even louder now, knowing for sure it had to reach his precious study room.
It wasn’t long before he appeared in front of me, hands in the pockets of his jeans. The ass looked inconvenienced! As if I had dragged him away from something so bloody important!
“What is it, Krista?” Krista. Ugh.
I waved my hand in the general direction of the chaotic kitchen, trying to hold what little patience I had together, but I was well aware I must have looked like a downright madman. He walked over until he was beside me and looked into the kitchen.
“What is it?” he repeated, sterner than before.
I lifted a brow. He had to be kidding me. “Look at this kitchen, Mr Brenner.”
“It’s Kale, and I’m looking at it.”
“Look a little harder,” I retorted pointedly.
“Cut to the chase.”
“You expect me to clean this up?”
“I do.”
“Are you crazy?”
He furrowed his perfectly thick brows and looked down at me. “Why would I be crazy, Krista?”
“What happened here, exactly? Before I even begin to explain I just have to know.”
“A little accident.” The way he said it sounded so casual, like it was an everyday occurrence.
“Little? I dread to think what a big accident is to you.”
He raked a hand through his thick, messy hair. “Look, I’ve got things to do, Krista—”
“It’s Krisa,” I interrupted loudly. I’d just about lost it. “Krisa. Krisa. There’s no ta in Krisa.”
His bright eyes widened, and although he looked quickly apologetic, I swear I saw a fleeting moment of amusement in that finely structured face of his.
“I didn’t know,” he said softly. “If I’ve offended you –”
“You said my name perfectly on the phone yesterday,” I cut in sharply. I eyed him suspiciously. “If this is some kind of way you wind people up, Mr Brenner, I’m really not in the mood to be targeted.”
He eyed my face for several moments. I felt his eyes on my own, on my cheeks and chin, and then they lingered around my mouth. His face turned serious, his lips forming a thin line as he took me in with such strange fierceness I felt practically naked. And conscious. Very, very self-conscious.
As the awkward moments continued to pass by, my anger disintegrated into nothing, and I suddenly felt embarrassed for lashing out the way I did. I cleared my throat and turned away from his intense eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “That was very unprofessional of me –”
“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupted, even more softly than before. “I understand why you’re shitty. The kitchen’s a mess.”
Yeah, yeah, call it a mess – probably the biggest understatement of the century.
“I uh… I got a little upset…” he muttered, looking into the kitchen now with a thoughtful look on his face.
No, scratch that; upset was the biggest understatement of the century.
I sighed. “Look, I’m not a slave. There’s a difference between a slave and a housekeeper, and I know that they may share the same job description to you, but this is, like, overboard, Cole.”
“Kale,” he suddenly corrected me again, firmly.
I blinked. “That’s what I said.”
“You said Cole.” His lips flinched upwards for a moment.
Did I? “Well,” I cleared my throat, feeling like a jackass for correcting him with my name when I’d just stuffed up his. “That’s what I meant. Kale.”
He nodded, another strange look crossing his features before he returned to the mess. “I didn’t mean to demean you with this mess. I just… can’t do it on my own.”
“So you thought about passing the responsibility onto me?”
“No, but I guess I need your help to clean it up.”
“Couldn’t find someone else to help you?” My eyebrow rose sceptically at him.
“Actually, no,” he answered in a seriousness I hadn’t expected. I actually thought he looked… sad. But he shook the look away in a split second and cleared his throat. “I’ll pay you extra. I’m talking way extra if you help me out on this one. I would understand if you didn’t want to. No pressure. You can move along to the rest of the house if you don’t want to.”
I tried to ignore how my heart squeezed at the way he was looking at me. He’s just sexy, I thought to myself. You’re disarmed by his beauty, that’s all. Just a shallow little wench, aren’t you? He’s still an asshole to initially think you would clean this up without a problem.
“Alright,” I finally said. “I’ll clean this up with you, but… it’s going to take a long time.”
The corners of his lips flinched upwards as if… he liked the sound of that.
“Then let’s get started, shall we?” he said, eyeing my lips once more. I swear, it was like he was fascinated by them.
But that was silly, wasn’t it?