Faking It as the Maid: A Fun and Sexy Romantic Comedy Read online

  Who am I to stand in the way of that kind of greatness?

  I shrug my shoulders and shake my head, careful to leave my expression questioning yet neutral.

  His lips purse with disappointment, then he looks me right in the eyes and smiles.

  “Trust me to pluck up the courage to come chat to the most beautiful girl in the room, only for her not to understand a single word I say.” He breathes out a laugh, and I catch sight again of his perfect teeth and the pink flesh of his tongue. He leans forward further, picks up the goblet of gin and holds it out for me to take. I don’t move an inch. I’m stunned into silence from his attractiveness, his close proximity, and his interest in me. “Here.” He removes my glass of water from my hand, placing it on the floor by his enormous feet, and gently, as though he might break it, he puts the new, fancy drink in my hand. My lips part and lift up at the corners with the stunned pleasure his touch conveys. “You’re smiling.” He grins, sending another delicious shiver up my spine and making my own smile widen. “You have a beautiful smile. Striking, in fact, and your eyes, they’re so expressive. You looked sad, and I wanted to come check you were okay, but I guess I won’t ever know now.” He shakes his head again, like he’s shaking away a notion. His tone becomes more serious and as though speaking only to himself, he says, “And I would probably never say these things aloud if you could understand me, but from over where I was standing, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I’m not sure it’s considered cool to tell the woman you’re trying to flirt with just how drawn to her you are, but I haven’t exactly tried to talk to a woman I liked for awhile. You see, I’m always working, some might say too much. It’s made me extremely out of practice in engaging with women, especially ones as beautiful as you are. And I’m rambling.” He chuckles, deep and throaty.

  He’s being so sweet and he’s so interesting to watch, I’m distracted from my problems. It’s not like he’s the first good-looking guy to hit on me. It happens occasionally, but this is the first time I’ve ever been speechless. He’s obviously wealthy, everyone in this bar is. It’s in the nice part of the city where the rents are sky high and so are the egos. I only came in here to rest and warm myself. I wasn’t expecting anyone to notice me.

  He chuckles again and takes a sip from his bottle of beer. My eyes are drawn to the fullness of his lower lip, and I can almost imagine its softness between my teeth. His eyes flick to mine as though reading my thoughts, and I bring my glass to my mouth to cover the wanton expression I’m surely conveying.

  The gin is sweet with a spiced blackcurrant tang. It slides down my throat, and the hit of alcohol quickly floods my veins. I let out an involuntary sigh. It’s moreish, which is exactly why I shouldn’t finish it, but I decide to throw caution to the wind and take another slug.

  “It’s good, huh?” he questions, leaning back and looking pleased with my expression.

  I put my thumb up in a universal gesture of, yes, this drink is good.

  He grins widely and my blood pressure soars. Despite the crooning of the singer and the hum of the crowd, surely, he can hear my heart?

  “Can I stay here with you for a minute? My cousin, over there”—he points back to the fair-haired guy in a suit—“he’s had quite a lot to drink. In fact, knowing Simon, he’s had more than just alcohol.” He shakes his head and pulls up his beer bottle, making a funny face. I laugh and he smiles. “We were meant to be celebrating a business deal we made today, but I think he peaked too soon and now he’s drunk and being incredibly annoying.” He rolls his eyes and I resist the urge to smile at him some more. Instead I shrug as though I have no idea what he’s saying and sip my gin.

  “I’m Ben.” He grins widely and gestures his hand to me.

  “Avery.” I’m committed to maintaining my act now, so I reply with a thick, stilted accent.

  “Do you live near here?” he says slowly and moves his long index fingers to air draw a house shape, to illustrate his question.

  I shake my head and he nods sullenly.

  “Then you must work near here?” he asks, typing on a pretend, invisible typewriter. I snort a laugh, because it’s funny to me that he didn’t assume I pour drinks and mop floors for a living. Like in this alternate universe I could be living a different path.

  I shake my head and his face turns more serious.

  “Then what can you be doing here on this cold November evening if you don’t live or work near here?” He looks at me as though I am a puzzle to be solved. “Hit woman?” He holds his fingers in the shape of a gun, scanning the crowd. I snort a laugh and nod. His face lights up. His eyes are on mine, neither of us speak, but a conversation passes between us none the less. I can suddenly imagine myself taking his large hand in mine, grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair, and leading him to the door. His body looks so firm and muscular beneath his suit, anticipation zings through me with just the thought of him lifting me up so my lips can meet his. His bottom lip is fuller than his top, and I yearn to nip it between my teeth. There’s a mischief in his eyes. I’m sure my own eyes leave no question as to the level of my desire. I want him. I want to leave with this beautiful stranger and enjoy an evening giving into pleasure just for pleasure’s sake. I want to forget how shit my life has become and relish in how good my body can feel when it is not consumed and crushed by the bleakness of circumstance. I’ve never had a one-night stand before, but Ben makes me want one.

  “Do you want to get out of here? I could order us some supper? You’d be safe. If you even need some place safe?” His low tone breaks the silence, and he points towards the exit. His confident façade slips from his face and gives way to something else. Is he worried about me?

  His sweet concern has me finding it difficult to swallow. My incisors pinch the inside of my cheek as I make my decision. He may want to take care of me, but I want to forget my day. Hell, I want to forget my life as well as my own goddamned name, and this man looks entirely capable of bringing that on.

  I slide my jacket off the back of the chair onto my lap, sip the last of my gin, and put the empty glass on the table next to him. His grin lights up and his eyes burn into mine as he recognises what this must mean. I’m about to go have sex with a complete stranger because he’s spent ten minutes being kind to me. I’m unable to resist the draw of human contact and kindness. Does that make me easy? I’m not sure I even care anymore.

  He stands and holds out his hand. It’s now or never. His large, warm hand grips mine, and he pulls me up from the chair. He’s tall. Really tall. I’m tall for a girl, five-eight, but Ben is beyond six feet. His chin is above the top of my head and he has to angle his neck to maintain eye contact. As tall and manly as he is, I can’t help but feel reassured that I am in good hands because he has a face that looks as honest as it does handsome. He doesn’t let go of my hand even though I’m out of the chair; instead, his thumb rubs circles on my inner wrist.

  “You ready?” he checks.

  I give him a wry smile.

  Ben leads me out through the bar to the exit. He drops my hand for a moment while he holds the door open for me and then pulls his phone out of his pocket and tells me he’s texting his cousin to tell him he’s left. “My assistant, Jeff, is still in the bar with him. He’ll see that Simon gets home okay,” he says, forgetting I supposedly can’t understand him, and I watch his huge hands slide the phone back into his pocket, and then he envelopes my hand once again. The sensation of his warm hand back on mine sends sparks of electricity up my arm, and suddenly I want his hands on me more than I want to breathe air.

  Ben looks ahead as he slows his pace to match mine, and though only our arms and hands touch, he emits the warmth of a roasting fire.

  “I’m staying at a hotel at the end of this street until my new place is ready. We could go there? The bar might be noisy, but I could get us some coffees brought up to my room, or something stronger?”

  Oh Ben, I definitely want something strong.

  I angle my head up to his and his eyes lower to mine. He must read my mind because he stops, pulls his arm around me, and looks deeply in my eyes. His eyes are sparkling and the curve of his lip hints at his desire. It’s all the prompting I need, and I lift myself up on to my toes and brush my lips softly against his. He responds slowly, tenderly, but passion ignites from somewhere deep inside of me and my hands latch onto his thick, hard shoulders so that I can pull myself into him. Gluttonous craving is unleashed and my hands are suddenly in his hair, at his waist, on his shoulders, and I’m climbing him like a starving cat after a bird. When my back hits a wall, I’m pinned exactly where I want to be. He smells so good, his body is hard and strong, and every nerve in my body responds in pleasure. I’m ready to let him have me right here on the street; his hands feel so good squeezing my waist while he holds me in place. I can feel how much he wants me even through the thickness of the fabric of his coat, and I want him too. A need bordering on insanity. He feels so good. Too good. And it’s making me feel lighter, like I don’t have the weight of the world dragging me down, like someone turned up the pull of gravity.

  “Get a room!” A passer-by calls, followed by a giggle from the group of friends as they are forced to veer around us on the pavement.

  Ben breaks our kiss, letting out a light laugh that creates a puff of air that is deliciously minty, tinged with the faint scent of beer. My legs are jelly and my tongue wants back in his mouth, observers be damned.

  “That kiss was... unexpected but incredible. We’re almost at my hotel.” He kisses my forehead and grips my hand once again, pulling me down the street. I’m tempted to respond that yes, that was a great kiss, earth-shattering even, but I’m too breathless and my heart is thumping inside my chest with the force of a battering ram. I don’t think I could form words even if I tried. So, I let Ben lead me along the street, and when we are outside the hotel, he stops shy of the revolving door and turns to me. “I’m in the penthouse, but just because you came here with me, it doesn’t mean that I expect....” He shakes his head. “You’re gorgeous, but you looked like you were upset earlier. I’m trying to say that I’m a gentleman, and if you just want to hang out, then that’s fine too—”

  I cut him off by throwing myself at him and initiate another kiss that borders on desperation. I can tell he is a gentleman, he’s been too sweet for me not to make that assumption, but at the mention of me being sad when he first saw me, my mood crashes and I’m reminded of my earlier despair. I’m not ready to feel so low so soon after the soaring high of my kiss with him, so I kiss him hard and dirty to leave him with no doubt that I want him. Need would be more accurate.

  Ben wastes no time kissing me back, matching my enthusiasm by throwing his hands into my hair, cupping my cheeks, then lowering his hands to grip me in place by my ass. I’ve been known to poke a guy in the eye for touching my ass without permission before, but no matter how hard he grips me, I only want him to do it harder.

  “Ahem, Mr Michaels?” An older guy wearing the green Four Seasons hotel uniform says. His top hat is old-fashioned, as is his beard and moustache. Next to him is a homeless guy I recognise vaguely from my street. From the scowls on both their faces, they look to have been having a fairly heated discussion.

  Ben pulls my frame behind his protectively. “Jones, isn’t it? We’re just about to go inside.”

  The homeless guy I now definitely recognise as someone I’ve chatted with on occasion while at the community centre, studies me, then says, “You. You’re from Waterville estate, like me. I’ve seen you walking up and down the street. You got any change? This guy keeps trying to move me on, heartless bastard. He doesn’t care that we depend on the rich folk coming in and out of here when we’re begging.”

  Ben’s head lurches back at me and my cheeks flood with heat as though they are warmed directly by Ben’s stare. I don’t dare look at Ben, or the homeless guy, or the hotel security guard, but I can feel them all looking me up and down.

  The hotel worker nods his head at me. “Um... Sir, it’s hotel policy that we don’t let... them inside, even if it is... um... just for a few hours.”

  Ben’s eyes remain on my face while he pulls a note from his wallet and hands it to the homeless guy. “Here you go, mate. Can you get yourself in at the shelter, or somewhere? Too cold to be out here.”

  The homeless guy rushes him, like he just won the lottery. Shaking his hand profusely and thanking him, and then he says goodbye to me and walks away.

  I’m so floored by the hotel security’s assumption of me, I allow Ben to lead me closer to the rotating door, but the security guard puts out his hand to stop me.

  “I’m sorry, sir. She can’t go inside.”

  Ben stops abruptly and I pull my hand out of his grip. A frigid chill has replaced the heat between us and now water threatens to gush from my eyes.

  “What on earth do you mean?” Ben looks from the security guard back to me.

  “The... um... lady. Her type of company isn’t permissible at the Four Seasons, I’m afraid, sir.”

  “Her sort of...” As though a light has come on, Ben’s eyes widen and he looks me up and down as though seeing me for the first time. His eyes pause on the tiny rip on the collar of my jacket that only slightly reveals the wadding inside. “She’s not a....” He doesn’t say the word prostitute but both men think it.

  Shame consumes me. Can they see inside of me? Do they know I’m the product of my mother’s profession, not the next generation of it? Though the truth doesn’t matter, it may as well be written all over my face. Ben starts to protest.

  I shake my head and then lift my fingers to his lips to quiet him and save us both further embarrassment, and, remembering some of the Romanian I have learned from my best friend, I whisper, “La revedere suflet frumos. Multumesc.”

  Goodbye, beautiful soul. Thank you.

  His mouth turns down but he nods, seeming to understand the moment has passed. Then I turn away from him, and force my legs to stride in the opposite direction.

  “Avery, wait—”

  I don’t stop and I don’t turn back, even though a part of me wants to turn back and tell him he’s got it all wrong. I’m not who he thinks I am. But what would be the point? He and I are not destined to breathe the same air.

  Chapter 2

  Ben

  LA REVEDERE SUFLET frumos. Multumesc.

  I typed every possible spelling into Google last night, determined to unveil Avery’s parting words to me as though they were somehow symbolic. As if they might lead me to her.

  Goodbye, beautiful soul. Thank you.

  She was gorgeous, with long dark, almost black hair, shiny like silk, falling halfway down her back, past her slender arms. Her face was perfectly proportioned, showcasing big, innocent looking, electric blue eyes, a full mouth, and a subtly pointed jaw that made her face heart-shaped.

  It’s the next day and I’m still thinking about her, which is crazy since we don’t even speak the same language. Romanian. According to Google, she speaks Romanian.

  I failed French at school and was dropped from my Spanish class. Foreign languages are not subjects that come naturally to me. Still, back then, I never had an incentive like her. She was fascinating. Confidently sitting alone with her thoughts. Easily the most beautiful girl in the room by a straight mile, yet obviously not interested in any of the men in the room—including me. I watched her for a long while, staring at her glass of water, the flames of the fire, and then scanning the room. She looked so sad, yet strong and determined all at the same time. Intrigue was my undoing, and I bought her a drink. The barman poured it in a ridiculously large glass that swamped her tiny hand. She’s the first woman to catch my eye in over a year and even though we didn’t speak the same language, I’m sure there was a connection. I’d only had two beers, but my face ached with smiling as though I’d drank ten. She wore a smile I swore was genuine and her eyes barely left mine. Wide and expressive, I could’ve sat there all night looking into them.

  The things I said to her. Gushing about how beautiful she was. It’s a good job she didn’t understand me or she’d probably have told me to get lost. Talk about oversharing on a first meeting. What did I think I was doing inviting her to leave with me?

  I wanted her, but not as much as I wanted to know she was okay. I saw every guy in the bar look her way, almost as intrigued as I was. The more they looked at her, the more I knew I had to act fast or watch some other bozo try and ask her out. Of course, I wasn’t expecting her to leave with me. I’ve replayed last night over in my head a hundred times. I’ve even asked Siri how to find a girl in a city, whose first name and potential nationality is all I know about her. Turns out Siri doesn’t know shit.

  When she left, I wanted to explain. Chase after her and tell her I didn’t for one second think she was a hooker. Was she a hooker? She didn’t look how I imagine one might. Down on her luck? Sure. But a prostitute? No way. Hell, what do I know about prostitutes? I’ve been so busy with work I haven’t gotten laid in over a year, but man I wanted her bad. I harden just from the memory of her cherry scent, and the way her curves pressed up against me like she was clinging onto me for dear life.

  When the security guy suggested she was planning on charging me for our time together, I was floored. No way—she wanted me just as much as I wanted her, I was sure she did. So, I grabbed Jones by his collar, and I swear I was ready to knock his teeth down his throat for the mere suggestion that she was a hooker and then run after her, that was until I noticed that my jacket pocket felt a lot lighter than it did on the walk to the hotel. My phone and wallet were gone, and fuck did I feel a tool for being taken in by the mysterious, foreign beauty. When I looked back, she was gone, no doubt running away with the few hundred pounds sitting in my wallet.