Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
ANABELLE
The first three weeks pass in a blur and are filled with scrubbing, wiping, mopping, and every other sort of domestic labor. By the end of each day, I’m exhausted and want nothing more than the barren room and uncomfortable bed I’ve been assigned.
I always thought I was in decent shape, but it’s clear to me that jogging and the occasional gym visit haven’t prepared me for ten-to-twelve-hour days of hard, physical work.
The fatigue has been a blessing, though. It doesn’t give me much time at night to dwell on all I’m missing outside these walls. I’m not lying awake wondering if my mother is all right, thinking about how my brother is coping with running the estate on his own.
Every Saturday evening, though, as soon as I’m finished with work, I rush home to check on everyone. So far, nothing has changed with my mother. My grandmother is still as uneasy with the arrangement as she was in the first place, and my brother is keeping a good handle on things with the estate.
As of this week, I’ve been moved to work under Mrs. Potter, who is in charge of the kitchens and the serving staff.
She’s a delightful, no-nonsense Englishwoman I’m guessing is in her midfifties, and her husband works for the Voss family on the estate grounds.
Her hair is graying at the temples, and she’s round around the middle.
Though she can be stern at times, I take an immediate liking to her, the way I did with Marcel.
My first couple of days are spent in the kitchen, learning some of what they do and helping to prepare the meals. Mostly prep work, but I prefer it over the work I was doing for the past few weeks.
When I walk into the kitchen today, I head over to the hooks on one wall where the aprons hang and take one down, pulling the loop over my head. “Morning, everyone.”
“You won’t need that today, love,” Mrs. Potter says.
My forehead wrinkles. “Am I going back to work under Finn?”
She shakes her head and walks up to me, taking the apron from me when I pull it back over my head. “Mr. Voss has requested that you prepare his green drink for him this morning and serve it to him after his swim.”
I tense at the mention of Asher Voss. At least I’m assuming that’s the Mr. Voss she’s referring to. I’ve been lucky and only run into him a handful of times these past weeks. He does the same thing every single time—pretends I don’t exist. He doesn’t look my way nor address me.
I can’t help but watch him whenever he’s near. I tell myself it’s because anyone would keep an eye on an obvious threat, but I fear that it’s more than that.
“His swim?”
She hooks the apron back on the rack and motions for me to follow her. “Swims every morning. Then he has his smoothie out by the pool, comes in and showers, changes, and takes breakfast in the dining room with his brothers before he goes to his office. Creature of habit that one.”
“And he asked me to make it and deliver it to him?” I swallow back my nerves. I’m sure this is some kind of test.
Of course it is. The asshole probably waited until I’d grown somewhat comfortable in my new role here, then decided to spring this to put me off-kilter.
“He did.” She pats my arm as we reach the end of one of the long counters. “Now don’t look so worried—it’s just a drink. Let me teach you how to do it in case this becomes a daily thing.”
I swallow, hoping that won’t be the case. The last thing I want is to have to come into contact with him first thing every morning. Talk about a bad start to the day. I liked it a lot better when I did my thing without any interference from him.
Mrs. Potter shows me where all the ingredients are and measures how much of everything to put into the high-speed blender. When I’m done and pouring it into the tall glass, I can’t help but cringe. There’s no doubt it’s healthy, but it looks and smells disgusting.
Mrs. Potter passes me a small silver tray. “Now take this out with the glass on top and wait at the end of the pool until he’s finished. You don’t need to announce your presence. He knows you’ll be there and waiting.”
“I don’t know where the pool is,” I admit. I still haven’t gotten used to how big this place is, and I get easily turned around.
She gives me a patient smile and turns to one of the younger guys who acts as a sous chef in the kitchen. “Chris, can you show Anabelle to the pool please?”
He nods and sets down the onion he was about to chop before motioning for me to follow him.
I do so with the tray in one hand and the glass in the other.
No way am I risking walking through this manor with the drink on the tray.
I’m likely to dump it all over some priceless rug or piece of furniture.
“Just through those double doors.” He motions ahead. “Here, let me get it for you.” Chris opens one of the doors for me, and I walk through.
“Thanks.” I glance around when I get outside. I’ve never been on this side of the house before.
I’m standing under a large portico that looks out over a stone patio with some iron furnishings. Past that is the large pool, gleaming in the early morning sun.
I swallow hard and place the tall glass on the silver tray, saying a small prayer that I’m able to balance it so that it doesn’t slide right off. Carefully and slowly, I make my way over to the end of the pool, and Asher Voss comes into view.
He slices through the water like a ship gliding through the ocean, not stopping for a break as he reaches one end then turns and pushes off to continue back down the long length of the pool.
The muscles in his arms and back bunch and clench as he swims. It’s impossible not to appreciate the sheer strength and power of his body.
I stand still, balancing the drink on the tray, trying hard to not move.
He’s paying me no attention, but after a certain amount of time, it’s awkward.
The sun warms the back of my neck, and though it’s early in the day, I get warm under my uniform.
Sweat beads at my temple, and my hand shakes as I continue to hold the tray out in front of me.
Finally, after what seems like time moving through molasses, he stops at the edge of the pool in front of me. There’s no expression on his face as he pulls off the goggles and tosses them to the side, then uses his arms to hoist himself out of the pool.
Water slides down his body onto the stone. If drinking the disgusting concoction I prepared for him is doing that for his body, I can understand exactly why he forces it down his throat every morning.
Because his body is utter perfection.
Perfectly muscled and honed the way you’d expect from a swimmer, except he’s bigger. The wide expanse of his chest would swallow me up if I was ever tucked into it.
Jesus, why am I even thinking like that?
But I know why. Because his olive skin glistens in the sun, and I want to lick every one of the water droplets off of him.
I want to run my fingers through the small patch of hair between his pecs.
I want to brush back the dark hair that falls to his forehead.
Examining the man standing before me makes me realize that I’ve only ever dated boys, and Asher Voss is all man.
The sound of his voice draws me from my thoughts, and I blink at him, not registering his words.
“I’m sorry?” My cheeks heat from having to ask him to repeat himself, knowing he’s not going to be pleased.
“I asked if you were going to offer me my drink or just stand there openly gawking at my body like you’re hoping I’ll sit you on the edge of the pool and feast between your thighs.”
All the air rushes from my lungs.
Was I that obvious? Oh, god. Even if I was, why is he saying that to me?
But I already know why. He does it to make me uncomfortable and embarrassed. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Raising my chin a touch, I hold the tray farther out from me, offering it to him. “I can assure you, that’s the last thing I’d want to happen.”
If only because I wouldn’t be satisfied by only his mouth. No, I’d want his hips grinding into me.
I manage to keep my face blank at my errant thought.
His eyes flash with anger, but he says nothing as he grabs the glass off the tray. I let my hand fall to my side, still holding the tray, and my muscles thank me for the relief.
He brings the glass to his lips as he turns to walk away from me, and I get my first look at his ass in his tight black Speedo.
I didn’t dare look below his waist when he was facing me.
Never in my life did I think I would find a Speedo attractive on a man, but I now see the error of my ways.
Because the fabric stretches perfectly over the tight globes of his ass.
There’s no time for the inappropriateness of that thought because he spins back around, scowling.
“This tastes like shit. Make it again.” He shoves the glass toward me, and I take it from him.
Then he walks over to a lounger, picks up the black towel, and dries himself.
“I’ll wait here. Don’t take long. I need to start my day. ”
Asher Voss sits and stretches his long legs out in front of him and leans back, eyes closed as though he hasn’t a care in the world.
I frown and make my way back to the house, biting back my irritation. Mrs. Potter oversaw everything I put in, and I made it exactly how she told me to. Did I do something wrong? Did she forget an ingredient?
Thankfully, I remember my way back to the kitchen, and I explain to Mrs. Potter what happened. She doesn’t look pleased, but she doesn’t say anything untoward against Mr. Voss, just sets about showing me how to make it again.
When it’s ready, I head back through the house to the doors that lead to the pool, shoving the tray under one arm and holding the glass in my hand so I can use my free hand to swing the door open.
Setting the drink back on the tray, I walk over to where Mr. Voss sits on the lounger in the same position as I left him. When he doesn’t react at all to my presence, I clear my throat. He opens his eyes, and his gaze finds mine. I refuse to wither under his intense stare.
“I remade it like you asked. Mrs. Potter once again oversaw everything, so you should find it meets your standards.” I give him a saccharine smile.
He doesn’t say a word as he pulls the glass off the tray, bringing it to his lips. After one swallow, he cringes and sets it back down on the tray with more force than necessary. So much so that I almost drop the tray.
“Do it again. Something is wrong.”
My jaw clenches, but I manage to keep myself in check as I turn and go back toward the house.
What an asshole. He’s doing this to get under my skin. And the worst part is that it’s working.
I stomp through the manor back to the kitchen and don’t bother to enlist the help of Mrs. Potter this time.
She has better things to do than to be involved in this power play.
Every ingredient is added methodically until I’m certain it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, then I head back out to the pool.
Asher is exactly where he was when I left, reclined on the lounger, eyes closed, the picture of relaxed sophistication. Jerk.
“Here you go, Goldilocks,” I mutter under my breath, not bothering with pleasantries this time. I stand beside him and shove the tray toward him.
His eyes open and narrow at my insolence. But screw him. The contract never said anything about having to be pleasant while I did his bidding. I’ve already lost the battle of pretending he’s not getting to me.
Rather than reaching for the glass, he nods at it as if I’m supposed to pass it to him. With a huff, I clench my teeth and do as he requests.
He eyes me up and down in a way that makes me feel as though he’s sizing me up somehow, and he brings the glass to his lips once more. I wish watching him swallow wasn’t so sexy. Since when is swallowing sexy?
I’m still pissed, but my nipples pebble at the same time. I bite my bottom lip until it hurts to distract myself. I don’t want to be attracted to this man. He’s a total asshole, and he’s way too old for me.
When he pulls the glass away from his lips, he licks them, gaze still on me. “If you keep looking at me like that, you won’t like the consequences.” His voice is clipped and restrained.
Irritation rises to the surface. “The contract didn’t stipulate that I had to perform all my duties with a smile on my face.”
“You’re not looking at me like you’re irritated, Miss Boudreaux.”
My forehead wrinkles. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re looking at me like you want me to fuck you.” He motions to his lap.
For the first time, I allow my gaze to drop below the front of his waist and suck in a breath. His hard, thick, rigid length is pointed in the direction of his hip and straining against the fabric.
“There are always consequences, Miss Boudreaux. I learned that early in life. It’s time you did too.”
I sputter for a moment, nothing intelligible coming out of my mouth.
“The next time you look at me like that, I might take you up on your offer. Remember that.” He sets the glass on the small table beside the lounger. “Now get back to work.”
I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I turn around and rush back inside the house, unsure what I’m more embarrassed about—the fact that he noticed what I was thinking or that I had those thoughts for a man like Asher Voss in the first place.