Chapter 1
Chapter 1
“I don’t understand how you can be this bad at cleaning.”
Sammie’s eyes swept over the counter. The kitchen was spotless, not a crumb in sight.
She’d spent most of the morning cleaning it—from its marble flooring to its tall glass windows. She’d been scrubbing, wiping, and shining until her hands couldn’t take it anymore.
“This is unacceptable,” Mrs. Kensington snapped, dragging a long, elegant finger across the bench. “It’s covered in grease. Disgusting.”
Sammie said nothing—but she wanted to.
“You also missed a spot on the stove,” Mrs. Kensington sighed.
“I’ll fix it,” Sammie replied quietly.
Mrs. Kensington laughed. “Of course you will. I don’t pay you to make my kitchen look like shit.”
Sammie took a deep breath. She couldn’t react. She needed to just let her finish her rant.
“I shouldn’t have to check your work,” Mrs. Kensington continued. “You are meant to make my life easier, not add things to my to-do list.”
Sammie swallowed and took a deep breath.
“You’re right,” she finally said with a polite smile. “It won’t happen again.”
“Just redo it,” she said, already turning away. “I need to check on the guests.”
Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked off.
Sammie sighed. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. She was a twenty-year-old single woman raising her ten-year-old sister. After her parents died in a sudden accident, Sammie had to drop out of law school and take guardianship of her sibling.
She wanted to go back to law school next semester but needed more time to save before she could work out how to juggle the finances.
On the bright side, she would start a new job in three months—a receptionist at a law firm. The sort of job that would start steering her back towards her career goals.
Laughter drifted into the kitchen from the windows leading outside, the sound of glasses clinking and voices blending together. It pulled her away from her thoughts.
The Kensingtons were in the middle of a party.
Mrs. Kensington had asked her to come in late tonight to make sure the kitchen was cleaned after the dinner guests were done eating. It wasn’t the best shift, but she got double pay—and she usually snuck home a few plates of leftovers.
“Still working?” a voice said.
Sammie jumped slightly and then turned to look behind her.
He was standing in the doorway.
Mr. Kensington.
He was leaning against the frame, looking incredibly sexy, watching her intently. His eyes travelled over the kitchen briefly, then back to her.
“You missed a spot?” he asked.
God, he looked good. He always did. Even at forty years old, he looked like a model. Thick black hair, green eyes, tan skin. As for his body? Mr. Kensington cared about his health. He was a rock climber, a surfer, and a total gym rat.
He owned half the businesses in Los Angeles and was filthy rich. The house she cleaned—his house—was a multi-million-dollar mansion that had once been featured on a reality TV show that showcased the lives of the rich.
Mr. Kensington stepped further into the kitchen. His suit jacket was no longer on—neither was his tie. The first three buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing his tan skin below.
“Hello, Mr. Kensington,” she said politely. Then she turned back to the counter and began wiping it again.
From the corner of her vision, she could see his eyes travelling up and down her body slowly. They always did. Mr. Kensington checked her out every chance he got. He probably thought she never noticed—but she did.
He moved closer to her, reaching for a glass from the cabinet above her head.
“Sorry,” she said politely as she took a few steps to the side.
“Would you like one?” he said, pulling down two whiskey glasses.
“It’s against the rules,” she said politely. “But please enjoy.”
“Rules don’t mean much in this house,” he said, a smile tugging at his perfect mouth.
Sammie had to admit—a whiskey sounded perfect right now. And to be honest, his wife had really pissed her off, and she deserved to have a break. She set the cloth down.
“Okay, sure,” she said. “But I have to be quick.”
He smiled, and damn, he looked good when he did. Sammie could feel her core tightening at the idea of—
Ugh. Do not think those thoughts, Sammie!
He took a bottle of whiskey from the nearby bar and poured them both a glass of whiskey with ice. As he was cutting lemons to put on the rims, he turned to her.
“Why don’t you go home? The place looks great,” he said.
Sammie shook her head. “I can’t. Mrs. Kensington’s rule is that I can’t leave until it’s perfect.”
He snorted. “It looks perfect to me. That rule is total bullshit.”
He held a whiskey glass out to her, and she took it from him, their fingers brushing against one another for a brief second.
She looked up at him. Neither of them pulled away. Then she took the glass, their eyes still locked. She lifted it to her lips and took a small sip.
“Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes on her mouth.
Sammie nodded. “Yes.”
He inched forward—just slightly. Then he lifted his hand and dragged his thumb across her bottom lip.
“Missed a drop,” he said.
Her heart slammed into her chest.
After all the stolen glances, all the times he had suddenly appeared when she was all alone, Sammie had never thought that it was more than a bit of flirtation.
Then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Sammie’s eyes widened.
“Shit!” she hissed.
Mr. Kensington moved fast, the glass gone from her hand before she could even think. She watched as he slid it behind a toaster.
“Turn around,” he said quietly.
She quickly swivelled around as he pressed the cloth back into her hand. Then he opened the fridge, like that had always been the plan.
“Babe—” Mrs. Kensington’s voice called. For once, the sound of her voice wasn’t so bitchy.
Sammie looked down, pretending to be fixated on the imaginary grease she was meant to be wiping away.
“There you are,” Mrs. Kensington said, stepping closer to him. “Everyone’s asking for you.”
He didn’t turn right away. Instead, he grabbed a bottle from the fridge.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said flatly.
“Well, please hurry,” she purred. Sammie heard the sound of her pecking the side of his cheek.
Then…
“What are you still doing in here?” Mrs. Kensington called from over by the fridge.
“Cleaning up,” Sammie replied, turning to smile at her.
“I thought I told you to finish this already,” Mrs. Kensington spat, her tone sharper now.
“I’m almost done,” Sammie replied. “Sorry about the delay.”
Mrs. Kensington stepped over to the counter.
“This is still dirty,” she said. “Did you even use the right product?”
Sammie swallowed and clutched the cloth tighter.
“Yes.”
“Well, clearly not,” Mrs. Kensington sighed.
Behind her, the fridge door shut.
“Maybe,” Mr. Kensington said, voice calm, “you’ve had enough wine.”
Sammie could feel the immediate tension in the room.
Mrs. Kensington turned slowly, eyes wide. “What did you say?”
He leaned back against the counter like nothing had happened.
“Just saying,” he added, raising a brow as he took another sip. “You might be overreacting.”
Mrs. Kensington blinked and then… smiled, as if gathering her composure.
“Enjoy your drink,” she said lightly. Then she turned and left.
Sammie was done. That had been the last straw. She didn’t need this job—she’d figure it out. They always did. Fuck Mrs. Kensington.
Tonight would be her last night at the Kensington mansion.
She turned to look at Mr. Kensington. He was leaning against the fridge, staring at her.
She set the cloth down and smiled at Mr. Kensington from across the room. Then she pulled out the glass from behind the toaster and gulped it down in a few big sips before placing it back on the counter top.
Sammie began to make her way towards him, stopping just inches from him. She leaned forward, pulling the bottle of whiskey off the countertop behind him. She made sure that her arm rubbed against his.
She took the top off the bottle and brought it to her lips before taking a big gulp. She set it back down on the counter behind him and then looked up at him.
“Meet me upstairs?” she said, her voice raspy from the whiskey.
Mr. Kensington smiled down at her, his eyes dark. “What for?”
She tilted her head. “To break the rules.”
He raised a brow at her. “Since when do you break the rules?”
“Tonight’s my last night,” Sammie said softly.
“Is it?” he replied, his voice low.
Sammie nodded. “Yes. And I want you to say goodbye to me, Mr. Kensington.”
She turned and walked from the kitchen, making her way up the stairs and straight to Mr. Kensington’s bedroom.
The door creaked slightly as Sammie pushed it open. She peered inside at the large king-sized bed that sat in the middle.
She slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. Then she walked to the balcony doors at the far end of the room. She pushed the curtains back, and the lights from the garden shone back at her. The Kensingtons’ bedroom had its own private balcony that overlooked the backyard.
She could hear everything below—the music, the laughter. Her eyes scanned the scene in front of her and then stopped—right on Mrs. Kensington. She was talking and laughing with her friends, a wine glass in one hand.
Then she heard the faint creak of the stairs behind her.
She smiled.
He was here.
The doorknob turned slowly, and then...
He stepped from the dark corridor and made his way towards her, the lights that peeked through the balcony doors illuminating his face. Then he stopped just in front of her.
“You work for me,” he murmured through the darkness. "This is wrong." She caught his scent-wood and soap. God, he even smelled incredible.
“Not for much longer,” Sammie whispered in the darkness.
