7

Joel finishes. It wasn’t great, but hey, I climaxed, and that’s unusual with us. I have only myself to blame that I’m not often satisfied, because nobody’s forcing me to stay in this relationship. I thought I could make it work, and I was wrong.

I can’t do this anymore, I think as I straighten my maid’s uniform. I need to tell him. Break things off.

Because thinking about his father while I’m fucking him? That’s all shades of wrong, isn’t it? Why can’t I stop?

Joel grins at me. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Do it now. Break up with him. No job is worth feeling like crap all the time.

But I need to afford food, rent.

Find another job.

I open my mouth to speak.

“Well, I gotta get back to work,” Joel says, zipping up. “Oh hey, you’re my plus-one for the gala, okay?”

The words on my lips, the ones where I tell him it’s over and I hope we can still be friends, refuse to leave my mouth. I swallow them down and stutter, “The—the gala?”

“Yeah. The company gala. It’s in two weeks. Are you in?”

Ella

Joel is barely looking at me, like he already knows my answer will be yes. Because of course it will be. The annual Tyler Analytics Charity Gala, usually just called the Tyler Gala, is the most exclusive event in San Esteban. It takes place every January. Guests come from all over the state, and there are usually more than a handful of A-list celebrities.

I didn’t think I was important enough to Joel to warrant an invitation.

“Ella?” he prompts.

“Sure,” I say, stunned. “I’m in. Um, what do I wear?”

“Something nice.” He’s already sitting at his desk again, the computer monitor lighting up his features. “Evening wear, you know. A dress.”

Great. Real helpful. But the thought of dolling myself up, of looking glamorous and walking in on Joel’s arm, out in the open, not hidden away like a secret? It appeals to me, not gonna deny it. Maybe it could even fix what’s wrong with us.

It won’t, but right now, in the moment, I like the thought.

“Yeah,” I say, grinning like an idiot. “It’s a date.”

But still, a date. Sex isn’t the end-all, be-all of a relationship. I can work with Joel on that, and I can work on myself, with being more outspoken about what I want, what I need.

If he’s willing to take me to this gala, and be out with me in the open, then maybe our relationship isn’t doomed.

I don’t have to break up with him. I don’t have to worry about losing my job and being unable to pay the debt I’ve been saddled with.

Maybe…maybe Joel really likes me. That would certainly change my attitude about this relationship.

“Look, really,” he says, waving a hand at me, “I need to work, sorry.”

“Oh! Right.” I’m standing in the middle of his office, in the place where we just fucked, like a statue. “I’ll…just get going then. Talk to you later?”

“Sure thing.” He flashes a smile at me.

“Thank you,” I say, “for inviting me to the gala.”

“Of course.” He doesn’t look up, already intent on the important something-or-other on the screen.

I leave his office and retrieve my cleaning cart. My heart’s soaring, because I will be going to the Tyler Gala! Assuming I can get that night off work. Mentally, I go through my schedules for Maids in Heaven and the pub, Bartleby’s. Normally I would be working here on a Saturday night, when the gala is taking place, but I’m supposed to have that night off, because of course they don’t want random maids wandering around when they’re having a fancy party.

Under other circumstances, I’d be asking my boss at Bartleby’s whether I can pick up an extra shift.

But now I have plans. A real freaking date. With my boyfriend.

I do a little skip as I move my cleaning cart down the hall toward the next office.

A date to the gala is awesome, but seriously, what am I going to wear? A dress, he said. Something nice. Like I have ballgowns stowed in my closet, right next to my spare maid uniform. Ha!

I shake my head at the ridiculousness of the idea, but at the same time, I’m smiling.

Because little Cinderella is going to the motherfucking ball.

Kingston

How sick is it that I know the maid is going into Joel’s office, and they’re probably fucking right now?

How sick is it that I wish I was the one fucking her, instead of my son?

Does she know he left Vice with another woman last night?

It’s not my business. It is not my fucking business.

The lights in my office are low, with only my desk lamp on. I should get out of here. It’s not like I’m doing any real work, anyway. It’s Friday night and I’m only obsessing about that maid and my son.

No, there’s still some work to do, and I’d rather be here than go home to my empty penthouse. I get up to pour a shot of whiskey from the minibar across the room. This section of my office is in complete shadow. It would explain why she doesn’t see me.

The door bumps open and the current woman of my fantasies steps inside, ass first as she pulls in a cart of cleaning supplies after her. She’s humming to herself, and the melody is familiar.

“Is that Jimi Hendrix?” I ask.

She jumps and gives a tiny squeak of a scream, then spins around, her eyes widening as she spots me by the bar. “I’m sorry, I thought your office was empty, Mr. Tyler.”

“No problem,” I say, smiling to show I mean it. And her little squeal was fucking adorable. I wonder if she’d make that sound when getting a spanking. “I’m just finishing up a few last things, having a drink. Feel free to do your work—it won’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Sure. Thanks, Mr. Tyler.”