Disgusted, I grabbed my cell and called Cat. Anything to get my mind off how I'd ruined things.
"Hey, Maddie! How's the new job going?"
"It's okay."
The phone fell silent and then she asked, "Is something wrong? You sound strange, like that time when you called me after you and that guy broke up."
Jesus, now even people who couldn't see my expression knew something bad had happened.
"No, nothing's wrong. I'm fine. The job's fine. It's only been a couple days, but things are…"
I couldn't think of another word to describe the lie I was trying to push on Cat, so I just let my sentence fade away. She knew me too well to just let it drop, though.
"Okay, so now that we’ve established that everything’s fine, tell me the truth. You aren't in trouble, are you? I thought something strange might be going on with that job. I mean, it's not that I didn't think you could be a personal chef, or whatever they're calling it, but it does seem odd that you'd be hired right on the spot."
I didn't answer her because everything she said was right. Maybe Eric had told the man at DeVille Staffing that he wanted an in-house sex slave but they'd decided that personal cook sounded better and more legal. Or maybe Mr. DeVille had given me more credit than I deserved.
"Not in trouble. Just feeling a little weird and wanted to talk."
"So tell me what your new boss is like. I'm imagining he's like a hundred years old and a recluse who never leaves his house and makes you spoon-feed him soft foods because he's ancient. Am I right? He's got like three long grey hairs the nurse combs over his bald head, doesn't he? And liver spots," she said with a giggle.
Cat always knew how to make me laugh. I chuckled out loud and rolled my eyes at her description of Eric. If only he was like she thought I wouldn't be in the jam I was in.
"Not exactly. Where do you get this stuff from anyway?"
She laughed at my question. "I was watching a show on that Anna Nicole woman last night. Sorry. So what's the new boss like? How do you like living in his house? Are we talking mansion here or what?"
I thought about how to answer her questions and figured honestly was the best way to go. "He's nice. He doesn't seem to eat at home much, so I don't do much cooking. He does like me to make desserts, though."
Okay, so that wasn't entirely truthful. I had no idea how Eric felt about my interest in sweets. He seemed to tolerate it so far, but I shouldn't have said he liked it. What he liked was me dressed up to fuck him and feeding him sugar cookies.
"That sounds weird since your job is personal cook, but if he's still paying you, I say good for you. The less you have to actually work, the better, right?"
Suddenly, what Eric and I had been up to felt wrong. I had a feeling if I told Cat that what I'd primarily been doing since I entered the house was sleeping with my boss that she'd tell me how wrong it was. The thought had already crossed my mind, but every time I considered telling him no, I remembered how incredible it felt when we were together.
How incredible every moment felt with him.
"Maddie, you still there? Did I say something wrong?"
"No. I was just thinking. Can I ask you a question, Cat?"
"Sure! Ask away!"
I thought about how I could phrase what I wanted to ask her and realized no matter how I said it, what I'd been doing sounded bad. Nobody was getting hurt, so why did it feel so wrong?
"Is it ever okay to do something just because it feels good? I mean, is it a bad thing to do something just because you like it?"
She didn't say anything for a few seconds, but then she finally answered, "I don't think so. Unless you're selling your body, of course. Then the lines get a little blurred. You're not selling your body, are you?"
Her question was meant as a joke, but I didn't think it was funny because it felt like that was exactly what I was doing. I'd been hired to cook for Eric Pierce, but he no more needed a cook than he needed someone to fly him to Mars. So instead of actually working at cooking meals for him, what I'd basically done in the time since I arrived at his house was have sex with him.
God, I was selling my body for four grand a month!
My mind drifted off to thoughts of how much prostitutes made a year. How much did they charge per hour, I wondered. Or maybe they charged by the act. I had a vague sense that I'd seen that happen in a movie one time. Was four grand a month good for a hooker?
Oh, God! That made me feel even worse.
"Maddie, it sounds like something's wrong. What's going on?"