Chapter 32
“Baby?” Andrea shouts from the other room.
“Yes?”
“The maid is here. Can she come in?”
So, that’s what those three knocks moments ago were.
“Sure,” I say before returning my attention to my screen.
I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to find another way to gain access to Becker’s penthouse and get his laptop.
I’m good at hacking, not at cat burglaring.
Looking around the dark web, I found a few people who could be paid to do it for us, but I’m not sure who can be trusted.
And the penthouse’s security is so strong, they might fail regardless and ruin our chances for good.
There is potentially one way for us to get in without risking exposing ourselves.
Every year, Becker organizes a party at his penthouse to celebrate his birthday.
I went once with my father, and from what I remember, it involves over a hundred guests, overpriced wine, fine cuisine, mundane conversations …
If memory serves right, that day is coming up.
I’d need to check with my sister, but I think Becker still sends an invitation to my father every year, even though he never attends.
Whatever happened between them, it must have been a one-sided beef.
But even if I used that to get into his penthouse and remain unharmed, it’s not only ludicrous to enter our enemy’s territory like that, it’s also useless. How can we find the safe, crack it, and get whatever is in it in the span of one evening, with a hundred witnesses?
We seem to be at an impasse, and no matter how long and hard I think about it, I can’t find us a way in.
In the corner of my eye, I see the maid come in, wearing a blue-gray dress and a white apron.
I switch windows on my computer to browse through something a little more legal.
While the maid dusts the shelves, I answer a few emails.
I’ve neglected my assets for over half a year now, and they have taken a dip.
I don’t entirely mind, but I was too close to my goal not to reach it.
In about a year, I could own my family’s empire and teach my father a valuable lesson.
My trading algorithm is still doing its work, but it needs adjustments. I usually work on it every couple of weeks, but I’ve only done it once since Andrea broke me out of jail. I’m considering looking into it when the maid comes closer to swipe the wooden surface of the desk.
I don’t have time to be taken aback by her lack of respect for personal space, as she immediately focuses on the coffee table further in the room.
My nostrils catch a whiff of something familiar over the cleaning products, and it triggers some kind of chain reaction in my brain.
Why the hell does the maid smell of jasmine?
My eyes lock on her, even though she’s facing away from me, noticing her tight, sleek bun.
There’s too much hair there to be Andrea’s, but I know this silhouette.
And when she bends at the hips to swipe her cloth over the coffee table, I definitely know this ass.
“Andrea, what the hell are you doing?” I ask, wondering what kind of game she’s playing.
She freezes, straightens up, and slowly turns around. She’s got some kind of makeup on. Foundation that hides her freckles. I’m still trying to understand what’s going on when she pulls out her phone from her apron and looks at it.
“Seven minutes and forty-three seconds,” she says, showing me the screen and the stopwatch running on it. “That’s how long you took to recognize me.”
The short hair on the back of my head rises, some part of me already understanding what she’s doing. Still, I ask, “So what?”
“So I’ve proved my point.”
“What point?”
“That maids are invisible. You’re obsessed with me, yet you didn’t even recognize me. Can you imagine a perfect stranger? Someone who’s never met me before?”
“I recognized you. First your scent, then your ass.”
“We’ll talk about why you were watching the maid’s ass later,” she grits out before adding, “but I doubt anyone at Becker’s penthouse knows what I smell like. If that’s your only issue with it, I can wear a different perfume.”
I stare blankly at her, knowing that nothing I reply will make her see reason. Eventually, she sighs and comes around the desk. She looks ridiculous in her outfit and makeup, and despite whatever she says, she’s highly recognizable. I didn’t notice her sooner because I was busy.
“They’ll be away next week,” she reminds me, her voice soft rather than determined. Fuck, she’s about to wrap me around her little finger and make me break, isn’t she?
“I already spoke to Paola. The housekeeper is looking to hire a few extra maids for next week, since there’s a big event coming up next weekend.
Paola said she can vouch for me and introduce me as her cousin.
I’d be another random extra. They’ll never look at me twice.
I can do this, baby. I can be in and out without Becker even being there. ”
She hasn’t shared it with me, but I know something happened to her mother yesterday.
I got the report from the men in charge of her parents’ security.
Horvat threatened Isabella, scaring her to death.
I was waiting for Andrea to tell me about it, suspecting that her mother told her what happened. I suppose this is her response to it.
I taste bile in the back of my throat, distressed by the idea of her walking straight into Becker’s den. “Maybe I can do it?” I suggest, out of arguments.
“Right. I’ll teach you Spanish overnight, you’ll call yourself Alejandro and offer your services as a handyman.”
Hmm … That can’t work. Not as well as her plan might.
But it could be so dangerous, and I have no way of protecting her.
She’d be in there, and the most I could do is watch the security feed in real time.
But then what? How do I warn her if there’s some kind of danger incoming?
I’ll be useless and helpless while she puts herself in danger yet again.
“I can do it, baby,” she promises, cupping my jaw. It’s like she can hear my barely contained worries. “In and out before anyone knows it,” she continues.
I rack my brain, desperately trying to find something, anything, that would be better than sending her into Becker’s home to look for the safe herself. When nothing comes, I look up at her, pleading.
“It will be fine, mi amor,” she whispers, bending over to kiss my forehead. “Let me do this for us, please.”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?”
She has the audacity to giggle at that. “I’ve done a lot, yeah. But I’m counting on you to do everything else for the rest of our lives.”
“I see … Well, if I let you do this, you’ll have to let me spoil you rotten. All the time. Without complaining. Ever.”
“Deal.” This time, she aims for my lips.
I’m still not okay with the trajectory things are taking, but this woman has the uncanny ability to not only win me over but also regulate my emotions. I’m not as distressed, even though I realize I should be.
My hands rise to her ribs, holding her petite frame as she kisses me in a way that is sweet and thankful. Upon feeling the worn-out fabric, I push her away and ask, “Where the hell did you get a maid uniform?”
“I asked the concierge to bring me one, and a few cleaning supplies.”
“And he agreed?”
She blushes slightly as she says, “He probably thought it was for a sex thing.”
“A sex thing?” I look at her, wondering how something ill-fitting, not revealing, and a boring shade of gray could be sexual.
“Yeah, you know … The fantasy of it. Roleplay.”
No, I definitely don’t get it. “Why would someone want to fuck the maid?”
Determined to make me understand, Andrea walks away to fetch the microfiber cloth she discarded and returns.
Her body language changes—it’s more languorous, more calculated, as she swipes the desk again.
After a few back and forths, she knocks a glass paperweight, which rolls to the edge of the desk and falls to the floor, breaking.
“Oh, no …” she lets out with a hand over her mouth. Her acting is unconvincing, but I’m curious to see where this leads. “I’m so sorry, sir, I broke your thing. Please don’t let my boss know, or else he’ll fire me.”
This wasn’t mine, but some cheap accessory that came with this place. I’m intrigued as she walks around the desk, then, after making sure there’s no glass there, she kneels before me. “I’ll do anything you want, sir. Please forgive me.”
She gives her face a pleading expression, but I know her too well not to notice the amusement that twinkles in her eyes. Then she brings her hands to my thighs, caressing them up and down before she repeats, “Anything you want, sir.”
I don’t answer, so she lets go of my thighs to open four buttons down her dress, revealing she isn’t wearing a bra.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” I say, not fooled by this abrupt change of mood.
“Not get fired because I broke your precious paperweight?”
“Distract me from the matter at hand.”
“Mh … Is it working?” she tries.
“Not entirely. I’m not agreeing to your plan quite yet, but if I were to, it would have to unfold in a single day, Andrea.”
“Just one day?! That’s not enough, and we both know it. A week.”
“Two days.”
“Five.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
My gaze hardens, unwavering. “Three.”
“Ugh, okay, three days! Now, can we go back to the other matter at hand?”
I frown, unsure of what she’s talking about. Her stance changes, and she goes from stubborn to sheepish. “I need this job to help my ill mother, sir,” she pretends. “Please let me repay you for breaking your valuable glass thing.”
She’s relentless. And as much as I hate to admit it, her little show is starting to work on me. “Is this why people are into maids? The power imbalance?”
My question breaks her out of character again, and she seems almost annoyed that I’m not playing my part. “I suppose,” she answers. “Don’t you find it a little hot? The idea that I’m so far below you and at your mercy?”