The Maid

8. Hush

I did not notice it at first. But I realized it when I tried to make some light, irrelevant conversation while cleaning his office.

Jace Leichhardt was ignoring me.

And it stung like a bitch.

I hadn't so much as heard a peep out of him from the moment I woke up, to the second I fell asleep. Every time I passed by him (which was not much, at all), I would awkwardly murmur, "Hey", only to be met with intentional silence. His home was large, making it all the more difficult for us to encounter each other. And after finishing cleaning his office, I did not bear any more excuses to visit him.

And so I angrily scrubbed at the kitchen counter, and I angrily swept the floors. Before I knew it, I angrily fell asleep. However, I woke up the next day, feeling as if I had not slept at all. I prayed that the silent treatment would not continue, but it did. And then there was only a month left until Abigail's return—which the thought of only served to fuel my anger.

I so deeply wanted to vent my frustrations out on Derrick and Amy, but unfortunately for me, there were certain legal implications regarding my employers and my silence, which had been—in not so many words—bought.

Eventually, I found myself sitting across from Derrick in a cafe, who was watching me expectantly. The waitress came by our table and served us our milkshakes with a cheerful smile. "One strawberry and one chocolate milkshake."

"Are you going to say anything?" Derrick asked, raising his brow as I tried to keep my lips busy with the straw.

"This milkshake is really good." He did not buy into my attempts of diverting the question.

"You've been avoiding Amy and I for quite a while. Did we do something wrong?"

"That's not true!" I barked, and ended up spluttering my strawberry milkshake all over the table. Attractive. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. "I told you, I've just been busy with my job."

"Ah, yes. Your supposed "job". Let me guess, you still can't tell us what it is?" He imitated air quotes with his fingers.

I went back to sipping the milkshake. "Like I said, it's confidential."

He groaned. "As much as I love you, I don't believe you. Friends are supposed to tell each other things."

I averted my gaze as I yielded to his very logical opinion. "I... I'm working under someone very important. As a cleaner. The reason you haven't been seeing me around is because I'm a live-in."

He furrowed his brows, confused. "You mean, like a maid?"

"No," I snapped. There was something inexplicably vulgar about the way he worded it. "Anyway, I can't tell you who exactly I'm working for, or I'll get fired and, possibly, a lawsuit."

"Well, that's just it, right? Your boss isn't making you do anything... weird?"

My gaze flickered away. For some reason, Derrick took that gesture as confirmation.

"Oh, my god. Emma, you need to tell someone. You can't let them exploit you like this! It's illegal," he gasped, outraged.

I hushed him, my eyes darting around, wary of eavesdroppers. "Shh! Keep your voice down. And no, he's not doing anything weird. Trust me, I'm perfectly fine!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? You know, you can tell me anything."

I knew that. I used to feel like I could tell him anything and everything—I used to. But not anymore. I clasped his hands, trying my hardest to look as earnest as possible. "I'm sure."

Frankly, I doubted that anything—as Derrick liked to put it—weird would happen ever again. It seemed like I had been used as a one-night stand, after all. Jace Leicchardt was the playboy the magazines had always made him out to be. And I was the latest notch on his belt.

The knowledge of that made my chest feel heavy.

When I returned "home", I found the place empty and dark. It was a Saturday night—surely, Jace must have been out, hunting for his next conquest while he and Abigail were asunder. But then again, maybe not. Maybe he could not afford to risk the scandal; and that was why he went after such an easy target like me.

It was not enlightening to view yourself as a respectable woman and realize that, actually, you're not.

I dropped my face into my hands, moaning. I needed to leave. This place was not good for me. Jace Leichhardt was not good for me. I was a good person, and perhaps, in his own way, Jace was a good person too. But we were not good people together.

I immediately dashed towards my room, packing all of my clothes and unnecessary things into my two suitcases. I pulled one along and left it at the door, returning to my room for the last bag. But as I walked towards the front door, every muscle in me froze. The scent of his cologne hit me long before his voice did.

"Where are you going?" asked Jace Leicchardt, softly. He stood by my suitcase, which idly sat next to a potted plant, in all his glory. He wore a black suit, indicating that he had, in fact, been out and about.

So now you'll talk to me? I swallowed my anger and guilt down nervously. It felt like a big lump stuck in my throat, a half-sob. "Home," I answered.

"You don't have a home. You gave it up when you came here." I did not like the way his cerulean eyes shimmered in the dark, reaching out for me with intangible thread, pulling me in.

I looked away, trying to avoid drowning in his allure. "I'll find one. I'm sure one of my friends will let me stay over until I find my own place."

Slowly, and deliberately, he kicked over the suitcase by the door. Was this his protest? My eyes latched onto the fallen suitcase, but not for long, as Jace began loosening his tie and sauntering over to me. "A man, or a woman? Who will you stay with?"

Before I knew it, my own hand let go of the handle. The second suitcase fell onto the floor. "What does it... matter?" I breathed, losing my words as Jace suddenly towered over me. I backed up against the kitchen counter, but he mirrored my every step, inching closer and closer.

"Oh, it matters alright."

I gazed up at him just as I felt my back collide with the surface. "Let me go," I ordered in a shaky voice. My hands trembled against the counter.

"I won't," he purred. His arm snaked around my waist, and I felt his fingers curling into my hair, yanking it back so that I was facing him, chin up. "You see, I don't think you want me to. And I think I'm tired of lying to myself."

His grip on my hair loosened, but his touch did not leave my body. Instead, his hands went trailing down my neck, unbuttoning my shirt quite meticulously. I let out a pleasurable sigh as he propped me up on the counter and laid me down.

"We shouldn't do this," I whispered, my eyes fluttering open and close as he traced his index finger over the skin of my stomach.

He pressed his lips under my belly-button, his mouth dangerously close to where I felt an aching. He nipped at the buttons of my jeans with his teeth. "Shouldn't we?"

Memories of that fateful night came abruptly flooding into my mind. The pleasure, the pain—all of it. My fingers curled into his tousled golden hair, entwining and entangling. I tried to remember the name of his wife, in order to regain my senses—but to no avail.

Jace stopped kissing me around my nether regions, and decided to press his lips against my own instead. "Shh," he hushed me, his mouth hovering over my own. "No more words."

He lips then crashed down on mine, kissing me again. But this time, he did not stop.