*****NOVEMBER****
I was grateful to the Millars, and eagerly accepted the offer to house sit the small guest house on their huge estate.
My episode in Jesse Millar's office seemed like a dream. He was away on business, and when he was in the house he just glowered at me, wiping his mouth and swallowing thickly as his eyes roved my tight body.
Like a leashed wolf. As if he was waiting for a signal to devour me again.
All of this left me unsatisfied and frustrated, making me wonder what my future held.
Although the savings in bills was a godsend, I knew I couldn't live in their guest house forever.
I rose each morning, did some of the cleaning workload, went to class and came back to eat with the rest of the staff. Sometimes I was roped into being one of the wait staff for what seemed to be a never ending stream of light suppers and weekend luncheons.
Eileen seemed quite happy with my new arrangement, stopping by to spend more and more time here than at any other client.
Most of her visits were spent upstairs with Joan. 'Straightening out stuff' was the evasive response I got when I asked her about it.
But Mrs Millar seemed more settled. Happier. Until November.
OK, so first off, I absolutely hated this time of year. The falling leaves. The chillier nights. The stupid Halloween parties. The growing tension of present buying and Black Friday crazy shopping. I hated that crap.
But the Millars, the family whose dogs I walked and house I cleaned every Tuesday and Thursday absolutely loved it.
Or to be specific, Mr Jesse Templeton Millar IV, owner of the largest family run business in the town, Miller Trucking & Logistics Corp, loved this time of year.
Well, he would, wouldn't he.
The house in the burbs, surrounded by acres of well kept lawn and gardens.
A house that sat squarely on the right side of the tracks that ran through the small town where we all lived.
In a small nondescript but rapidly growing town. A town where he, and people like him seemed to own and run everything and everyone.
"We are to have the BEST Thanksgiving this year!" The voice of Joan, or rather, Mrs Joan Blanque Richards Goff Millar (she was on her third-time's-a-charm marriage) echoed through the lounge where she was seated for breakfast.
Well. Her breakfast. It was just gone eleven thirty and her breakfast was a large gin, no tonic.
"You. Yes you, the coloured girl!" she shouted out at the open doorway that faced the stairs. She waved the tumbler clutched in her bony diamond encrusted hand at me as I and the rest of the cleaning staff came down the sweeping curved staircase.
I sighed, knowing that I would need to use the mop and canister of cleaning products I had in my hands to clean up the mess she was leaving behind.
Most of the drink sloshed onto the couch, side table and Persian carpet as she moved towards me. "After the study you need to come in here and vacuum this area again. It's an absolute disgrace," she spat each word angrily. "It's filthy!"
"Joan!" The hard but sultry voice of my boss, Eileen, made the slim thirty something heiress pause mid rant. Eileen swayed into view, the scoop neck red dress and kitten heels making her look like she'd walked right out of a sixties fashion magazine. I always thought she had the statuesque body and no nonsense attitude of a black Christina Hendricks.
"You know what I said about your drinking. Put that glass down and get that bony white ass upstairs. Right now!"
I stared, open mouthed with shock as Mrs Millar immediately mumbled " Yes, ma'am," put the glass gown and trotted obediently up the stairs.
"Get into position!" Eileen tight voice chased after her retreating back. "I will so deal with your ass, later!"
Eileen turned and smirked over at me, slightly embarrassed.
"Well? What you lookin' at, child? Get to it!"
She smiled wider, looking up at the stairs, then strolled off to the kitchen to terrorise the staff over the plans for their upcoming Millar party.
"Yes, Miss Eileen." I said obediently.
I shivered knowing what was to come next as I slowly made my way across the marble entrance and down the hallway to the study.
"Fuck. Please be gone to work, just please be gone to work..." I muttered to myself as I dropped the mop bucket, taking only the canister of dusting supplies down the hall to the wood panelled study.
Being poor and going to college meant I needed every cleaning job I could get.
The need for discretion, however, did not fit into the plans of some rich people.
I loved, and hated working here. And most of this love/hate feeling happened in the room whose door I was quietly opening.
The book lined, wood panelled study always reeked of money and alpha male power.
Releasing a breath of relief when I saw only the back of the black leather swivel chair behind the cherry wood desk that dominated the room.
The swivel chair faced the wall of books.
"Thank fuck." I breathed out, turning to shut the door properly.
