A Bad Boy in my life

Four | Patience

I tried to avoid Maxon during this week; I did everything I could to stay away from his room.

It wasn't very difficult, mainly because the guy is never home; and God forbid I know what he does on the streets. But still, just the thought of seeing him ten meters away from me gives me goosebumps all over my body.

He must hate me for what I did.

I know slapping him wasn't a very rational move; I could have pushed him or done something that didn't involve physical aggression, but it was the first thing that came to my mind.

However, I have better things to worry about, like the word that every young person dreads: school.

The school days start tomorrow. I hope I'm lucky enough to be in a cool class and make cool friends here. It's not easy to start everything over again, but maybe school is the most interesting part of my day, the part where I don't have to be a housemaid in a mansion full of millionaires and I'm just a regular girl among regular people.

I leave the garbage bags in the huge trash bin outside the house, holding my breath to avoid inhaling the stench. From the outside, the house looks even bigger. I'll never forget my reaction when I first entered here.

Suddenly the gate opens, causing the security guards—or whoever those guys in suits near the gate are—to snap into position. Then a black Kawasaki motorcycle enters, revving the engine.

Maxon.

I watch as he passes through the gate, until his mysterious eyes behind the helmet meet mine, standing by the trash can. I quickly look away and go back to what I was doing, and he accelerates into the garage.

What a jerk.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Both," I greet the gardener as I walk back to the house.

"Good afternoon, Margo," he says with a smile. "Nice weather, isn't it?"

I look up. Dark clouds cover most of the sky, extending to the horizon, indicating that there will be a good storm tonight.

"Only if you're a flower," I jokingly reply. "Rainy days aren't for me, they just make everything gray."

"Rainy days are only gray for those who don't want to see the colors," he retorts.

I nod with a smile on my face, the wise words of that old man echoing in my head.

Maybe I'm already getting used to this environment; I'm even making friends with the other staff.

I enter the kitchen and lean on the counter as I watch Margaret cook.

Margaret is the cutest cook I've ever had the privilege of meeting in the world!

Sometimes, when there's nothing to do, I like to chat with her while she prepares lunch. The conversation always flows nicely, until my mother arrives and gives me something to do.

"You're Margo, right?" asks a woman wearing an apron who just arrived in the kitchen, apparently the maid or something.

I nod.

"Here's our little prince's dish," Margaret says, handing the tray with the food to the woman. "You can take it, Kate."

"Little prince?" I exclaim, looking at Margaret. "The only thing princely about him is the crown, because the rest is more like the most updated incarnation of Hitler," I mock, making both of them laugh.

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Margo," Kate intervenes. "It seems like Maxon wants you to bring his lunch today."

I stop laughing immediately.