Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I’ve made it! And with time to spare. Let’s hope my early show earns me some brownie points with my new employer.
Okay, so how do I get in this place?
Glancing around, I notice an intercom and keypad on the opposite wall of the placard. I press the call button and wait, and then out of nowhere, I feel a sudden bout of nerves.
A minute later, I hear a crackle on the line, and then a deep male voice says, “Yes?”
My skin breaks out in goose bumps. I don’t know if it’s because of the sexy-sounding voice coming out of the speaker or because I’m nervous.
“Hi.” My voice is squeaky. I clear my throat and try again. I lean closer to the speaker. “My name is Daisy Smith. I’m, um, starting work here today as a maid.”
The line crackles again and then disconnects.
A few seconds later, I hear a loud clang, and the gates begin to slowly open.
When the gap is big enough for me to fit through, I slip in and head down the gravel driveway. Trees line my right side, and open fields are to my left with roped off paddocks surrounding scatterings of horses. The driveway is long and winding.
Finally, it opens out onto a paved courtyard with a manicured lawn to the left, and the house is straight across from me.
And what a house it is.
I’ve never seen a house this big in real life.
It’s beautiful. Brown sandstone bricks. Two-stories high with attic windows. Triple garage to my right.
It’s a house that people like me dream of living in but, in reality, will only ever get to clean.
Taking a deep breath, I walk up the two small steps and onto the covered porch, and I ring the doorbell.
I hear the chime as I take a step back and wait.
Heavy footsteps approach, and then the door swings open.
Oh, fuck.
Those are the first words that enter my head when I see the guy standing on the other side of the door because he is an oh-fuck kind of guy.
He’s tall. I’m five foot five, and this guy towers over me. He looks to be around my age, maybe a few years older. He’s wearing navy-blue trousers and a white shirt. The top button is open, the sleeves rolled up.
He’s built. Not bodybuilder bulky, but he clearly works out.
He has a deep scar on his chin and one cutting through his eyebrow, which is pulled toward the other in a frown. Roman nose. High cheekbones. Jaw like a razor. His hair is dark brown, collar-length, and swept back off his face. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. Everything about him shouldn’t work, but it does.
It really does.
There’s something strangely compelling about him.
Compelling enough to have me staring.
I’m staring.
Flushing, I push a few loose strands of hair behind my ear as my eyes sweep the floor.
“Hi.” I clear my throat as I lift my eyes back to him.
He’s staring at me blankly. No smile or friendly look. His brows are still drawn together, and that’s when I finally notice his eyes.
They’re black. Hard and cold.
I force a smile onto my face. “My name is Daisy Smith. I’m starting work here today as a maid.”
The frown deepens. “You said that already.” His voice is as hard as his eyes. It sounded much sexier on the intercom. Maybe he’s not the guy I spoke to.
“I did?”
“At the gate. On the intercom.”
He’s the guy.
“Oh, right. Of course.”
And I feel like a prize idiot.
Great first impression I’m making here.
Come on, Daisy, you can do better than this.
I hook my thumb under the strap of my bag and meet his eyes again, forcing another smile. “I was told to ask for Mr. Matis—”
“I’m Kastor Matis.”
Kastor.
Unusual name. Suits him.
“My friends call me Kas. My employees call me Mr. Matis.”
Guess I know which category I fall into.
He’s still staring right at me with those cold eyes of his. I decide that they remind me of coal. Hard and unyielding.
“Okay, Mr. Matis, it is. Matis…is that Greek?” I tip my head to the side in question.
A flash of surprise enters his eyes.
Yes, I’ve been in prison, and I might be a glorified cleaner, but I’m not completely thick.
He moistens his lips, and that’s when I notice his upper lip is fuller than his lower. The kind of lip you suck on. Not that I’m going to be sucking on his lips anytime ever.
“It is,” is his brittle answer.
And then an awkward silence envelops us.
I hate silences.
I’m scrambling for something to say but come up with nothing, wondering if he’s ever going to let me in the house.
As if reading my mind, he abruptly steps back and holds the door. I take that as my cue to go inside.
I step gingerly inside the huge entryway.
It’s ginormous. The whole of Cece’s and my apartment could probably fit in here.