Lana
A trip to Hawaii.
That’s where I told my roommates I would be going for my summer vacation.
Palm trees, a summer breeze, and an ocean stretched so far that it would take weeks to reach the other end. My dream vacation of pure relaxation.
Instead, I was pulling on thick rubber gloves and scrubbing a coffee stain out of the light-colored carpet.
While the other three women were probably having the time of their lives, I couldn’t exactly say the same. No, not while I had to spend a few months working my butt off to earn enough money to buy food throughout the next semester.
Even now, I felt my phone in my back pocket constantly buzzing from our group chat. Hands covered in disgusting filth, I wouldn’t dare touch my phone. I had a feeling about what the messages were about anyway.
Everyone had arrived at where they were going and were obviously having the time of their lives.
Well, I didn’t have the energy to lie and put up a show. For now, they could imagine I was getting a back massage by some irresistible man all while living the luscious life I once got to experience before I ran away to college.
Wiping the sweat beading on my forehead, I cursed at the blotched stain. Moving to sit back on my heels, I stared down at my pitiful progress. Despite having cleaned up plenty of paint stains on my skin and clothing in my time at the university, I was no match for the task.
It didn’t help that I despised cleaning. After going my entire life hardly having lifted a finger, I hadn’t gotten used to doing such laboring tasks.
If Mr. Pratt hadn’t dropped his cup in the first place, I wouldn’t be struggling so much. Even as an accident, he was surely causing such a hassle.
Pulling my gloves off, I rose to my feet. Knowing what would need to be done, I walked toward my boss’ office. For a man with his own set of riches, he owned a home too large for one person alone. It didn’t take long before I memorized the layout.
Approaching the door to his office, I tried to figure out what to say as I walked. From what I could tell, Mr. Pratt didn’t like excuses. I just needed to get straight to the point.
Hearing his muffled voice on the other side, I knew he was deep into a conversation. Already knowing he wouldn’t like a disturbance, I didn’t have much of a choice. I’d either get scolded later for the stain or the interruption. I had to pick one.
Tapping my knuckles against the wood, I hardly waited long enough for an answer before pushing the door open.
Mr. Pratt sat behind his fancy mahogany desk, a phone against his ear. From the frown warped on his lips, I didn’t need to hear his conversation to know he was in a foul mood. Matter of fact, I don’t think I ever recalled a moment where the older man didn’t look foul.
Not bothering to listen in, I approached his desk with the mindset of being confident. I didn’t have time to go acting nervous. Placing my hands flat against the top, he finally acknowledged my arrival and looked right at me.
Fierce forest green eyes with a fleck of brown here and there. I don’t think I have ever met a man who had such striking and intense eyes. Our matched gaze made my thoughts come to a halt and for a second, I forgot why I had come here in the first place.
No man should hold that sort of power.
Even in his home where he had hardly any audience, he dressed neatly. Cleanly shaven and gelled back hair, he looked like he could have been ready for anything. While I would have been walking around my home with pajamas on, he wore a suit and tie. So businesslike, I don’t think I had ever met someone like him.
The peppered hair and the beginning of age lines made him show experience. How in the world did such a powerful man hire someone like me?
“I’ll need a moment, Robert. I’m putting you on hold.” The moment the warning left his lips, he pressed a button on his phone before setting it down. Clasping his fingers together, his frown hadn’t lessened an inch. “What can I do for you, Miss Morrison?”
Despite the guy acting in a bad mood all of the time, I had to admit, I enjoyed hearing him address me in that deep gravelly voice of his.
“I need a carpet cleaner. Seeing that you don’t have one, I don’t have the tools to finish my job. I can’t get that stain out from this morning unless I can get my hands on one.” Not beating around the bush, I knew well enough that if I didn’t tell him straight away, he’d make an offhand comment about how I was wasting his time.
Two weeks working under him had taught me enough about Mr. Pratt. The man did not like to wait around for anyone. Needing the job, I couldn’t risk being tossed to the side like the previous person who held my title. It wasn’t like the other jobs I applied to offered me as much as the man sitting across the desk.
“If you need something, go get it. I am sure they rent those out somewhere.” Leaning back, his leather chair creaked beneath him. When I stared at him, he forced out a sigh. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out his wallet. Fishing out his card, he held it out to me carelessly.
Staring at the platinum card, I forced myself not to frown. Seeing him toss around money like it meant nothing left my stomach feeling heavy.
Taking the card from his grip, one brush of his fingers made that sensation grow a little lighter. Even the cold billionaire could feel warm.
“Now go, please avoid disturbing me when you can,” he instructed before breaking our gaze. With that, the lighthearted spell was broken.
Okay. His skin might be warm, but his heart was definitely cold. So cold that I would be a fool to think he could be anything but.
Leaving his office, I quietly shut the door behind me and heard his muffled voice return to the phone call I had interrupted him on. Letting out a sigh, I abandoned the door and made my way to the front to go grab what I needed to finish the job.
While I walked, something caught my eye. Coming to a stop, I turned toward the wall. Taking a deep breath, I was reminded of another reason why I had yet to abandon my awful cleaning job. Looking at the painting hung on the wall, I stopped for a moment to look at it appreciatively.
Mr. Pratt was an art collector. All throughout his home, there were pieces here and there he’d bought over his lifespan. I wasn’t sure how often he went out and brought pieces home with him, but the painting I currently stared at looked recent.
After studying art history for three years, I recognized many of them. I guess that was one good thing to come out of college.
My favorite ones to discover were the paintings.
Funny enough, my boss and I had at least one thing in common. We both loved art. While he liked buying it, I enjoyed creating it.
Eyes lingering on the painting for a few more passing seconds, I forced myself to turn around and continue walking toward the front. If I didn’t get that stain taken care of, I’d have to listen to a whole earful about it later.
To think I still had the rest of the house to clean as well.
I thought cleaning up after one man would be an easy task. How wrong I was.