Chapter 5 – Grant
S omebody’s been sleeping in my bed.
This is it, I have found it - Dating Hell.
It’s been fifteen abysmal first dates, as if I don’t have more important things to do, with fifteen different women, ranging from the extraordinarily tedious to the boldly grasping, and I cannot see myself married to a single one of them, not even for a year.
Tonight’s contestant is on the hazardous end of the spectrum. “I’d say my true passion is domestic chemistry.”
“Domestic chemistry?” I repeat, filled with equal parts dread and mild curiosity.
“Yes, I invented my own line of cleaning products for the home. I’ve started experimenting with health and beauty products, too. My toothpaste for example? It’s my own creation.”
Ah, it’s not the lighting in this restaurant after all. Her teeth are actually purple.
I’ve been back in San Francisco for less than three hours after spending nearly a week in Canada settling the last of my grandfather’s affairs. My great-great grandfather discovered oil up there over a century ago which turned a dwindling family fur-trapping fortune into some serious money. He bought the land in Napa Valley soon after, wanting to found his own vineyard. My particular branch of the family tree has continued on here while the bulk of the Barclays remain living further north.
While I was there, I went to see Lincoln, hoping to put our enmity to bed at last so that he might accept my offer to buy the estate from him instead of me marrying to inherit. It had been fourteen miserable dates by that point and I was ready to throw in the towel.
But, I’d run into Emilia first and, as soon as my second cousin discovered us together, any hopes of peace-talks were off the table. He’s got the jealous husband act down pat.
Bundling my date into a cab, I tell her I’ll call her but we both know she’ll get the obligatory bouquet of flowers instead of a second date. Strolling along the sidewalk, I pass a florist shop. May as well deal with that now rather than leaving it for my assistant to handle on Monday morning, especially as Hadley seems to relish ordering the most costly ones on my behalf.
Among the fall décor and hints of poinsettias creeping in, I spy a bouquet of daisies on the counter and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“May I help you, sir?”
I resist the smile and turn to business. The daisies aren’t what I wish to send my intrepid domestic chemist. They bring her to mind instead.
The commotion over Daisy, the cleaning girl and her pumpkin spice blunder had drawn Jameson Reynolds from his office on Monday. Golden Gate’s intimidating Chief Security Officer has a soft spot for the bagel thief, who he assured me was no thief, and I was urged to make sure she didn’t lose her job. Admittedly, those tears in her eyes as she’d fled had left me with an uncomfortable sensation in my gut.
Then, Callie Anderson, one of our up-and-coming executives, started in on me in the elevator when I mentioned the silly business and I had a growing sense of unease building in my chest. Might’ve been guilt. Might’ve been indigestion.
When I found Daisy on the sidewalk after she failed to answer my summons, she was spirited, outspoken and undeniably pretty in her white dress. More than pretty. Thick, golden blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes and full pink lips. I’d told Mrs. Keating I’d find her some help and the offer sprang out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
Her distress over being sent to the estate without me was oddly endearing and, when I’d touched her shoulders, her satiny, smooth skin had made my palms tingle with the urge to keep touching her, to touch more of her.
Of course, after what she’d shared about that custodial manager, I wouldn’t dare act. I saw to it that Rusty was fired before I left town. Men like him don’t belong at Golden Gate or anywhere near a girl like Daisy.
Daisy… such a common little name but, like the cheerful flowers, she may be hardier than she appears. And, it seems both varieties threaten to make me smile.
“I’ll take those, too,” I tell the clerk as I’m paying for an arrangement to be delivered to tonight’s unlucky bachelorette.
Climbing into my car, I lay the wrapped daisies on the passenger seat. My plan was to remain in town for the weekend but I mustn’t neglect the estate. Daisy was nervous. I should see how she’s getting on. Pulling out of the parking garage, I turn north.
It’s midnight when I reach the estate. No need to wake anyone. In the kitchen, I place the daisies in a vase – Jenna will be surprised in the morning – and head upstairs.
Tomorrow will be soon enough to see my new maid yet I can’t stop thinking of her. When I was a boy, this house kept a staff of thirty and, when my grandparents hosted parties, I’d watch from the stairs and the maids would sneak me treats. I’d take them up to share with my mother, hoping to lift her spirits.
The maids all wore matching black dresses with little white aprons back then. Might Daisy be dressed like that? Why the hell did that thought make my cock twitch? Such a cliché and what does that say of me?
The drapes are partially open when I enter my bedroom, streaks of moonlight painting the floor. In the bathroom, I flip on the nightlight, surprised to find it strangely humid in here. It’s almost as if someone has showered a short while ago. It smells of peaches, sweet and juicy. I caught a whiff of that same scent when I touched Daisy’s hair on Monday. My mind must be playing tricks on me.
Padding out to my bureau, I remove my wristwatch and wallet and find an empty bowl. There are popcorn kernels in the bottom of it. Did someone have a snack up here? The old tale of ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ comes to mind. Someone’s been eating in my room.
It’s sure to be Daisy. The new maid has much to learn about being a proper one, it seems. And, wouldn’t you enjoy teaching her things, both proper and improper, and correcting her when she misbehaves?
Christ, there’s my cock getting ideas again. Daisy is an employee, my servant, and completely off-limits.
After brushing my teeth with toothpaste that will not turn them purple, I strip down to my boxers and turn off the light. Pulling back the covers, I climb into fresh, cool sheets that smell of… peaches again?
I pat the pillow beside me and touch something other than a pillowcase. It’s silky-soft. It’s hair. Hair and someone’s head.
“Mmmph, night-night,” a feminine voice murmurs.
Adrenaline rockets through my veins. There is someone in my bed!
I flick the bedside lamp on its lowest setting and she rolls over, facing me though still asleep. It’s Daisy. What the fuck? A soft sigh escapes and her plump lips form a grin. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts. I can see pink cotton panties and the tops of her creamy thighs where she’s pushed the covers back. Fucking hell, this must be a dream.
But, my dream wiggles her hips, whimpering about being cold and moves closer, pressing her body against mine. My cock springs to a full-on salute, more than ready to serve in warming her. “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed and she’s still here,” I mutter as she snuggles closer.
“Mmm… better,” she sighs as her hand strokes my bare chest.
Every drop of blood has filled my dick and it is unbearable . “This cannot possibly be happening.”
It is though and Daisy proves it. Her hand drifts down my chest, along my abs and to my… Oh, fuck me. She tried to knee me in the balls the other day. Now, she’s holding me by them.
She makes a giggly noise in spite of snoozing on. “Woo, big boy.”
Woo, big boy? Breathe, Grant.
I’m not sure what con this little grifter is trying to pull by being here but I’ll admit I want her, something I haven’t been able to say about any of those fifteen abysmal first dates.
You can’t fuck your maid.
But, if she were my wife…
No, no, no.Not happening.
She’s entirely unsuitable to be a Barclay bride; unstyled, unpolished, and practically feral with her soiled sneakers, errant knee and pert mouth. No one would ever believe I’d marry this girl.
Except, I do need a wife and a baser part of me wants to claim her as mine.
If she’s invaded my bed with some plot in mind, she’s about to find out who holds the power in this household. Standing up, I give my boner a shove to make it less noticeable before I turn the lamp on its brightest setting. She doesn’t stir so I tear the blankets away from her and bark an order.
“Wake up, Goldilocks! I’ve got a new proposition for you.”