Chapter Two
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Alessia
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Crap. Crap. Crap.
Dripping wet—it was a mega cup of coffee—I make sure the pearls are okay before I head to the laundry room. Ugh, what a waste of a good beverage.
I do this all the time. Every single time I'm scheduled to clean the three billionaires' apartment, I take the pearls from their case and hold them tight and drink my coffee on that sofa. It's literally my ritual.
But I think the cleaning lady from before—the one who actually did clean—must have moved the coffee table an inch out of place.
That might be it, but I'm also a little off my game. Nothing visible, just a peek of a dark cloud hanging over my head. Maybe I'm missing Clover.
Maybe I'm missing home a little extra hard this week. I also didn't sleep much these last few nights. Next week I'll be totally fine. It's a cycle. That's all it is.
I strip off the dress, which is so very cute I made it my official uniform. Orange checkered fabric, short sleeves, huge pockets trimmed with a little lace, and it all comes together with a line of buttons from the lapel collar down to just above my knees.
My bra is soaked through and needs to go in the wash too, so I remove my panties as well, and they might as well go into the washer with them.
I pop them into the machine then take ten minutes to figure out how to work the darn thing. That done, I walk through their apartment to one of the en suite bathrooms.
Luckily, there aren't any cameras inside the apartment seeing as how I'm butt naked. I know this because I asked their PA when she signed the contract, to make sure that if they claim we broke something, video footage can prove otherwise, if we're innocent of course.
The PA laughed, reminded me whose penthouse it was and how no one would dare try to break anything in there if they knew what was good for them. So, no cameras inside the apartment.
The tall, leggy model-like PA made them out to be the mafia. Whatever. No cameras served my purpose even better.
I eye the magnificent oval tub in the center of the bathroom and the ginormous shower cubicle on the other side of the room.
Hmm.... Decisions. Decisions.
I opt for a bubble bath. Why not? My clothes aren't going to be ready for another hour—I couldn't change the cycle and didn't know how to reset the thing—so I had time. Plenty of time.
Five minutes later I'm immersed in a tub full of bubbles. Not the floral fragrances I would have liked to scent the water with, but, oh, the mint and musk smell of the bubble bath I found is delicious, albeit very manly.
Is this what they'd smell like?
I close my eyes and sink down further into the silky water, their faces seeping into my thoughts and taking their usual place in my mind as I wiggle my toes.
I can't help it. Stalking them online—they have zero social accounts by the way—only gave me their pictures, how rich they are, and what they own.
It's unfair that they're that rich and that amazingly handsome at the same time. It's obscenely unfair.
But my gosh are they ridiculously good-looking. In fact, the word ‘good-looking’ doesn't even cover it. They're like gods sent from the Heaven of Beautiful People to grace earth with their staggering handsomeness, their perfect physiques, their dark and sensual auras.
Layton has these stunning gray eyes, like a forest in a snowstorm. He'll invite you in only to eat you alive in one go if you dare cross him.
Garrison's blue eyes are like the ocean, vast and depthless. He'll invite you in then drown you slowly if you cross him.
Jasper's hazel eyes, an amalgamation of mossy green, flecks of gold, and tinted grays, will draw you in to play, but if you cross him, he'll be the one playing with you.
Yes, I got all that from just hundreds and hundreds of hours of staring at them. So basically, each one of them can take the breath from your lungs if you cross them, and they're freakishly gorgeous as well.
I may have a problem. But it's an okay problem to have. A harmless one. I'm never going to, ever, in this lifetime and the next, meet them in person. They have no idea I exist, and I would like to keep it that way too.
As long as they have the pearls, and as long as I can satisfy my yearning just to hold them in my hand, I'll continue 'cleaning' their house and fantasize about them in private.
Not even Clover knows I do this. I don't want her to worry about me. I'm fine, obviously, but she might try to dig further into my psyche, and I'm not ready for that right now. But I'm fine. Totally fine.
Okay, I need to get off this maudlin train of thought and back into my sumptuous bubble bath. I don't even have a tub in my apartment, so I should be taking full advantage of my accidental slip into theirs due to a series of prior events.
I'm truly mellowed out by the time I wrap my body in a gigantic bath towel—my gosh, even I've never felt anything as soft before.
I still have twenty minutes before my clothes dry—it’s one of those washer and tumble dryer combos so everything happens automatically. And the bed looks so appetizing for a nap and suddenly I’m sleepy.
Who's going to know?
Given the number of times they've crept into my bed through my dreams about them, I think they deserve a little payback.
I pick up the pearls I’d set on the side table in the room then pull back the Egyptian cotton sheets and covers, with a thread count for days, and slip inside.
Immediately I'm elevated onto cloud nine, and I close my eyes and sink into a blissful sleep, the pearls in the palm of my hand.
Twenty minutes is all I need.