His Undercover Maid - Page 11

I reflect on the situation as I hurry through the drizzle towards work, realizing that I’m going to have to turn up in my now rumpled maid’s uniform, it’s a hot mess. The man I’m supposed to be investigating undercover, who thinks I’m simply a maid just kissed me. Hard. In public.

And I liked it. More than liked it. My skin where he touched me feels alive, and in spite of the craziness of the situation I’m also bursting with joy that he’s revealed, without a doubt, just how much he’s attracted to me. There was so much passion in that kiss. And the way he defended me from Mike…I have to face the facts, and so will Adrian. Sebastian is a nice guy, and there is no story.

Which means I have no job, but if my job is going to involve trying to dig up dirt on completely innocent people, I want no part of it.

I can’t tell Adrian that just yet, however, because I need this month’s paycheck at least. New York is an expensive city and I’m just about holding my head above water. Maybe I should try being a maid, the agency workers make as much per hour as I do, at least then I wouldn’t have to put up with Adrian.

I’m working out which is worse – putting up with Adrian on a daily basis or running the risk of encountering sleazeballs like Mike – when I finally walk into the office. My hair is frizzy from the rain, my bun falling out, and my uniform creased. Sally takes one look at me and bursts out laughing.

“Babe, you look terrible! Do you want me to get you a coffee? What are they doing to you at that place?”

I blush and she raises her eyebrows at me. “Ohhh,” she says conspiratorially. “What’s he like in the flesh? As sexy as his pictures?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” I say primly, tightening my mouth, and Sally laughs as she goes to make me some coffee. She just about makes work bearable.

“Adrian’s not in,” she calls back over her shoulder. “He had a tip-off about some banker and wanted to investigate it himself. Which means he’ll end up on some boozy lunch and be gone all day.”

I lean back in my chair and breathe a sigh of relief as I kick off my flats. At least it will spare me the haranguing about this non-existent story for one day.

“Hopefully he will check his sources this time,” I grumble as Sally brings my coffee over. “And not try and blame his incompetence on me.”

“He’s an idiot,” Sally agrees. “And you are too good for this place and he knows it. We’re not doing too well you know that’s why he’s desperate for this story on Mr. Adams. Have you got anything yet?”

“He takes two sugars in his cappuccino?”

Sally laughs.

“I can see it now, headline news…you will definitely win a Pulitzer for that one.”

I laugh as I turn on my laptop, but Sally has just reminded me of the absolute bind I’m in here. Once again, I think I need to cut my losses and walk away…but I want to see Sebastian again.

It’s not a story that I’m after anymore.

It’s him.

Chapter Eight

Sebastian

It’s nearly time to go home and for once, I don’t have a pile of work to take with me.

Which means I’m at a loose end. Of course, I start wondering what Rose is doing and how she spends her evenings. And if she, like me, can’t stop thinking about our kiss earlier.

Having her in my arms was even more delicious than I expected. Hearing her moan and feeling her lips yield to mine, damn, I’ve never been so horny. I could have taken her right there and then in the car if that idiot behind us hadn’t suddenly interrupted.

Mind you, I was parked in his way.

I do a Google search looking for Rose, though I don’t really know where to start. The housekeeping agency doesn’t list any information on their staff, and I can’t find her on Facebook. Of course, I only have a first name to go on. I really know so little about her. I want to know more.

I want to know everything.

I pick up the phone and then realize that I don’t even have a number for her. Instead I call the agency. The woman who answers the phone sounds suspicious, even when I tell her who I am, and it takes ten minutes for her to confirm that yes, they have a Rose on their books. But she won’t give me her phone number.

“Could you message her with mine and ask her to call me?”

The woman sniffs.

“We’re not a communications agency sir.”

“You charge as if you are,” I snap, then feel guilty as she immediately apologizes and promises to send the message. Of course, she won’t want to lose the agency one of their biggest playing clients, but for once I feel bad about throwing my weight around.


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