There are four bedrooms, though he has turned one into an office and I’d bet that’s the space Karl will use for his ax collection. We settled all of Pixel’s things and the playroom in another guest bedroom.
He also insisted on me taking the bigger guest room next to his. I haven’t been able to stop smiling since he insisted. He played it off as wanting to give me the bigger of the two guest rooms. But I know the truth.
He wants me close.
* * *
As I pushthe vacuum with too much force, “You Drive Me Wild” byThe Runawaysworks me up even further into my seething anger. I had an argument this morning with Karl when I left for work. Of course, he’d insisted I quit cleaning houses. For a moment, I thought he would be ashamed if it got out that he’s dating a housekeeper, but that’s not it. Even if I quit today, that information will inevitably get out.
He simply doesn’t see why I have to work.
Of all the entitled, jerk things to say. But what really rubbed salt on the wound was that he chose the day I clean my most difficult customer’s house to pick the fight.
Before I even had my morning coffee!
Worst morning ever.
I need to focus on my task, though. Mr. Sanders insists I vacuum in such a precise way that the visible track lines from the vacuum form a lattice of perfect, overlapping ‘Vs.’ What a douchebag. It’s not like he and his family won’t ruin the pattern within ten minutes as they walk all over the carpet.
When I’m done, I find Mr. Sanders in his office, and I knock softly on his open door. “Mr. Sanders?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a minute?” I’ve always hated that he makes me ask for my payment. All my clients leave my fee by the entrance so I can just grab it on my way out and I can stay out of their hair.
He looks up from his computer and gestures for me to sit in the second chair in his home office.
“I’m all done for today,” I say.
Mr. Sanders opens his desk drawer and pulls out a small stack of bills he slides over his desk. “Thank you, Dolores.”
“Of course.” I move to stand and take the bills in my hands to roll them up. I slide them in my back pocket, and I haven’t turned to leave when he speaks up again.
“You know, Dolores, I’ve never said anything because I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Then don’t say it now.
But he keeps talking. “I think you are very beautiful.”
I smile tightly, and fuck, why was my gut reaction to smile? “Uh—thanks.”
“I mean, you don’t look Mexican at all. If you hadn’t told me you were, I’d never have thought that.” He smiles at me. He actually fucking smiles.
My brows draw together, and I’m not sure how to handle this. “So when you say I’m pretty because I don’t look Mexican, that’s supposed to be a compliment?”
“Calm down, sweetheart. No offense intended. Just wanted to pay a pretty lady a compliment. That’s all.”
“By telling her she’s pretty because she doesn’t look Mexican?”
“Now wait just one second, that’s not what I said—”
“It’s not?” I arch a brow and take two big gulps of air and count to ten in under two seconds. I’m pretty sure that’s not how that calming technique is supposed to go. I don’t need to take this shit. I’ve saved up my goal. And I have a rock-star boyfriend. Who cares if it’s fake? I don’t need to clean thisviejo rabo-verde’s toilets one more day. “You know what, Mr. Sanders? I quit.”
I storm out of his office and can sense him hot on my heels. “Dolores, please wait. I meant no offense.”
“But you did offend, Mr. Sanders. I’m very proud to be Mexican. And if I’m beautiful, I happen to think a lot of that has to do with my Mexican roots. I take after my Dad. But my mom looked ‘Mexican,’” I say and pause to do air quotes for him, “and she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever set eyes on.” I’m clenching my jaw so tightly it hurts. “You have a month to find a housekeeper before you need your next cleaning. I’d start looking now, Mr. Sanders,” I spit out and shut his own front door on his face.
Asshole.