Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
I almost shrug until I recall how headstrong my baby sister is. She could be offered the world, and she’d turn her nose down at it. She doesn’t want to be handed the keys to the castle. She wants to build it from the ground up.
I can see Mara being just as determined.
The thought makes me hard and pisses me off.
She shouldn’t have to fight. It should be her God-given right to live without fear. But I know better than any man that that isn’t always possible. Sometimes you need to fight fire with fire.
The reminder sees me shifting my focus to Darius. “Run a background search on the supervisor of Mara’s building.”
He doesn’t seek clarification as to who Mara is, announcing she’s been discussed with him sometime over the past three days. The knowledge firms my jaw enough to be heard in my following sentence but not enough to stop it entirely. “Extend your search past the usual perimeters. Just because you don’t have a criminal record doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have one.”
The bottle of shampoo I stole out of Mara’s bathroom because I thought it would be the only way I could intermingle our scents announces this without fault.
8
MARA
My temples ache while taking in the number of rooms I am rostered to clean this morning. The Chrysler building only has a handful of permanent tenants. Most are fly-in and fly-out residents, so it was surprising to learn we were almost full occupancy when I arrived for my shift this morning.
The number of apartments I need to service is overwhelming because it took Tillie three full days to recover from the stomach bug an on-call doctor assured me wasn’t from eating out-of-date birthday cake.
I would have started fresh next week if I were entitled to sick leave.
Since I’m not, I must suck it up.
I can’t afford more time off.
I want to scream, or better yet, walk away from it all, but I can’t. The indecent length of the split in my skirt persuaded the bowling alley manager to a ten percent discount last week, but the on-call doctor who did a house visit was female and married.
The bill for her visit means I’ll have to salvage more than the remnants at the bottom of a burned pot to make it through the next month not hungry.
After stocking my cart with cleaning products and toilet paper that is too soft not to lint in the backside of anyone fortunate enough to use it, I rub my temples, trying to ease the tension headache forming there.
Not all the throb is compliments of staying up past midnight, handwashing my uniform and handbag for today. A lot of it belongs on the shoulders of the name at the top of my cleaning schedule, and wondering if he’s the reason my hair is pulled back into a tight, headache-producing, and highly unflattering bun.
I’d only recently replaced the product I use sparingly since it cost over thirty dollars a bottle, but when I went to wash Tillie’s vomit out of my hair Monday night, my shampoo was nowhere to be seen.
I couldn’t call Ark and accuse him of stealing my shampoo. That would be preposterous considering he’d spent four times that for a cab to drive us home, and don’t get me started on the food he left behind when I kicked him out. But I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t a bit peeved.
My cocoa butter and rose shampoo is the only luxury item I kept from my childhood. It reminds me of the innocence that was cruelly stripped from me and how keeping some memories of my past unlocked will ensure Tillie never faces the same hurt I did.
I shake off thoughts that will strengthen my headache before checking my cleaning cart is appropriately stocked. The more I try to keep my focus off Ark, the more my temples pound. The guests Ark is anticipating have requested things most men don’t use.
Makeup-removing wipes have numerous purposes, but sanitary pads are a little more telling of the gender of the people about to plump out Ark’s apartment from two bodies to six.
I can’t help but wonder when Ark’s invitation went out. Was it before or after we kissed?
My ego wants to say it was before, but considering I’ve not heard hide nor hair of Ark since we locked lips, I assume it is the latter.
After a quick shoulder roll and a prompt reminder that Ark is out of my league, I ensure I have everything in order before heading to the first apartment on my cleaning roster.
When I reach Ark’s apartment, I take a deep breath to clear my voice of nerves before gently knocking on the servants’ entrance door. “H-housekeeping.”
I wait a moment. Then, when no one answers, I use the master key to enter.