Option Three - an unexpected transition

Chapter 9: acceptance

Nikki looked at her nails. They were so much better - it was just a matter of being more careful.

She looked down at her bare feet and grinned, "Those toenails could use a bit more care as well."

She was sitting on her bed in her shortie pyjamas. She flopped back, stretching out on the length of the bed.

I should get some posters for my walls. I'm sure the boss will get me some if I ask him. Something pretty and sweet, like flowers, birds or puppies.

He is very pleased with me at the moment. He went away on a job and left me alone for three whole days; he came back to find that I'd been the perfect little maid.

"Keep him happy," Nikki smiled.

"I like this, it's good." It was the thought that seemed to have completely replaced the previous one of "How can I get away safely?"

. . . . . . . .

Bentley's response to her request for posters, was to buy her a new dressing table, curtains and bedspread along with a dozen posters - everything selected by Nikki from online catalogues.

She had fun.

He followed up by getting her little presents from time to time: a dressing table set, a small ballerina figurine, a pot plant and so on.

Nikki stood in the middle of her bedroom spinning around. "Oh, this is so lovely now. It's just terrific. I love it."

. . . . . . . .

"Mr Bentley," Nikki called out as she poked her head around the corner of the study doorway, "do you remember that curry dish with the nuts I made a few weeks ago? Yes . . . well, you said you liked it, but did you really?"

Bentley pulled a slight face.

"Ah, I thought so. You were just being polite, weren't you sir. Well, I won't make it again then."

A smile. "Thank you, Nikki. You're a good girl."

"You're a good girl," Nikki repeated his words to herself as she headed back to the kitchen. I am, she thought, I am a good girl, and you're a good boss, my dear Mr Bentley.

The kitchen: set up and organised exactly how she liked it. It was no longer as strictly utilitarian as it used to be; it now had a well-used, feminine feel about it. She was completely at home here. "I know, I'll make him his favourite chocolate fudge pudding tonight," she murmured, then began to sing softly to herself as she bustled about.

. . . . . . . .

"Sir, if you are looking at some new outfits for me, I prefer the ones with the shorter skirts, if that's alright."

The man pushed the laptop away from him and leaned back in his chair. He cast a critical eye over his pretty maid standing there before him. "Nikki, it's been ten months. How do you feel about it?"

The maid looked down at the carpet and whispered, "I like it, sir. I really do like it . . . I er, feel as though this is where I belong. It seems right somehow."

He was nodding, "Yes, it does seem right to me too."

A pause, then with a slightly twisted smile and a half shrug she added, "In a weird way, I feel indebted to Rocco Smyles, and to you of course."

"Maybe I feel a bit indebted to Rocco myself," Bentley responded, quietly returning her  smile.

"Oh, sir, thank you," (shyly).

There seemed to be a slight tension in the air, an expectation, and a silence, drawn out.

Bentley had resumed his careful study of his maid, then he spoke, "Nikki, do you want to go to a beauty salon to get your hair done and your ears pierced?"

"Oh, yes, sir," (eager).

"And would you like to go shopping for clothes, accessories, make-up and so on?"

"Oh, sir," (beaming).

"And would you like to see a doctor about a change, to make you more . . . ?"

"Yes, yes, yes," (breathless).