The Escapade

"All around the mulberry bush,

The monkey chased the weasel,

The monkey thought 'twas fun,

Pop! Goes the weasel"

I whistle the song along the corridor as I mop the ground floor of the hotel hard. I hate this job but I have to do it if I want to avoid mother's constant bickering. Heaven knows I love that woman anyway but her constant nagging is just not for me.

There is a particular reason I love singing this song. My grandma ma, who is my maternal grandma, alway sings it to me each time I go to Spain. She was the real reason I learned how to speak Spanish. How I miss her so much.

"Sam? Room service is needed in room 511", my only best friend Jack, whose last name keeps escaping my mind, calls out to me. I pretend not to hear him as I pause what I am doing and face him.

I smile at him. Of course he's Jack Fernando, my childhood friend, my best friend. We've been friends right from the womb. How can I ever forget his Last name?

He gives me a toothy grin and I playfully tackle him to the ground, ruffling his adorable, wavy brown hair.

"Samantha? It took me forever to comb these babies", he says pouting and straightening his hair with his hands. I roll my eyes.

"Oh quit whining", I say giggling.

"Oh you did not just roll your eyes at me!", Jack says lunging for me but with my masculine height and frame, I easily dodge.

"And what if I did?", I say in a pretend masculine voice

"You know what comes next... Hold up! Is that my Jacket you're wearing?", Jack asks, feigning anger as he helps me up from the floor.

"Hehe! Long story... Actually long, funny story. You are so going to laugh. I ran out of the house in a hurry, thanks to mum, then I realized that I had forgotten my Jacket. I saw yours on the hanger outside and do you want to know what my subconsciousness said...?"

"Now I regret asking you. You talk a lot", Jack groans out, face palming.

I pretend not to hear him and continue;

"She said 'you know this would be a perfect time to take his jacket. Look at it, all so leathery and I bet it will keep you warm' and believe me I tried to resist her but she's so stubborn and would not stop nagging. So I closed my eyes and wore it. It's your fault you know..."

"My fault? My fault! How is it my fault?", he exasperatedly groans thereby cutting me short.

"Well for starters, if you had given me the jacket when I so politely asked, it would have been mine. Secondly, you left to work without me, making it easier for my subconsciousness to manipulate me", I say giving him a cheeky grin.

"Why are you not laughing?", I ask.

"Samantha your subconsciousness is you. You are your subconsciousness. Don't blame this on her. Gahhh forget it!"

"Are you mad at me? Why will you be mad at me? I am not apologizing and do not make me go down the guilt trip or I'll apologize. It's not my fault", I say trying to convince myself I am not at fault. He should have given me the damn jacket. It's just a jacket.

You already took three of his jackets and six of his sweater.

Curse you subconsciousness!

He gives me that innocent look. Damn it! He's taking me down the guilt trip.

"No please not the look. It's my weakness", I mutter.

"But Samantha, half of the jackets you own are mine..."

"I only have four! One is dad's, three are yours! Please do not take me down the guilt trip", I whisper.

"I just loved this jacket so much and now you..."

"But it's just a jacket!"

"I am going to miss you Jacket", he says, sniffing and pretending like I haven't been speaking. He brushes his hand against the Jacket and gives me a solemn... Very solemn look.

"Oh I'm sorry Jack. Here have this. Please stop making me feel guilty now", I say biting my lips and making a move to remove it.

"Gotcha", he says laughing

"You rotten cookie", I snap, trying to push him on the ground.

"Ahem! You are not paid to be fooling around", the shrill voice of Asher's personal assistant calls. Man, I've been here for only four months and yet I've not been able to get used to her British accent that is so thick. I mean, I'm only half british and my accent is thick but not as thick as hers.

"Sorry", we both say and feign a sorry face.

"You there, room services are needed in room 511 and you there follow me", she says pointing at me and Jack respectively.

"Yes ma'am, I was just telling her that",Jack says. I scoff. Indeed he was. I don't know why he's so scared of the British tight-assed lady. You gotta live life a little you know. Your world does not revolve around Asher Hudson.

"Excuse me but isn't that boss's room. I mean no one goes there except you", I say shrugging.

"He has called for room service and you're the only one toiling about so do as you're told unless you want to lose your job", she says sternly.

As if I love this job, I think to myself but nod at her. Jack gives me an apologetic look and I smile at him. Once our shift is over we'll be going over to the field for soccer practice. With that thought, I enter the elevator and go up to room 511.

Asher Hudson is one of the richest business tycoon in the world. He happens to have millions, if not billions of hotels scattered massively across the globe. The headquarters, apparently where he frequents, happens to be where I work.

"Being the daughter of a Mafia leader sure has its perks. I mean, it took just my Father's name to get Jack and I this Job", I say aloud to myself.

"Dang I have got to stop talking to myself... Aloud! I mean, I might accidentally blurt out a secret or..."

Ding!

The sound from the elevator signifying I have reached my destination, brings me out of my self battle.

I gingerly walk across the hallway and take a deep breath before proceeding to knock.

I rap my hand rapidly against the huge mahogany door and enter immediately without waiting for a response. I look around and the quiet eeriness of the room makes me shiver. I hear the shower running and guess that my boss is taking a shower.

"Surely he's expecting room service".

I stand in front of the window and look across the vast land. I use the opportunity to think back to the last eight hours;

"Mrs Montero, I am not having this conversation with you. We've been over this a bazillion times and you don't seem to get that this is the 21st century and when I say I want to go to a football academy, I want to go. It's my dream mum. I don't want to go to college and read psychology", I say to my mother.

"Oh Nadine! What do you want to do with all your good grades? Sell them? You were a valedictorian! The best graduating student! You even got a scholarship to study psychology in New York University. This is an opportunity of a lifetime", my mum lectures.

You see my mum grew up in England and has been bringing me up as a prim and proper English lady the only thing is I'm what you call a "stereotypical" tomboy. I have hated anything girly for as long as I can remember but I still have my manners. Well it's difficult to be mannerless when your mother is among the top three of strict mums.

If there's a thing like that!

Just then the mail man arrives. I rush out with Marco hot on my tail. I laugh and pick up the golden retriever, ruffling his fur. He barks and wags his tail happily. I collect the mail and greet the mail man like great friends. We actually talk for about fifteen minutes before cycling off to deliver the other mails.

That's me for you. Samantha Nadine Montero, very friendly and easy going. Yes, I do have the physique and build of a boy(thanks to my father) and I do dress like one too. Oh yes, I can be very intimidating but everyone who knows me loves me. I'm very playful and live by the rule... Live life to the fullest.

I am that kind of girl that bakes cakes and share to my neighbors. I am the girl who helps old ladies cross the road, who babysits kids for free during my spare time.

I am the girl who has a brown hair and Grey eyes. I am a 5ft 11. Yes I'm that tall. I am from Germany but I grew up in England. I have slightly pale skin and freckles, apparently the only thing I took from my mother. Even though my parents are very rich, I don't show off. I'm not like the rich, snobby kids.

Okay that's a white lie. I am rich but not snobby. I interact with everyone of different class. I don't discriminate. I hate injustice just as much as I hate onion crackers and I love justice just as much as I love cookies.

I barely know my father because he's always away. I know he's a mafia leader or whatever and I don't approve of it - it's not like I don't entirely approve, I am just scared he might go away and never return- but as long as my mother is happy, I'm happy.

"What does it say?", my mother asks looking at the mail in my hand. I shrug and gingerly put Marco down and open the mail.

"Stop scoffing mommy, it makes you look like me when I'm singing in the shower", I say opening the letter.

"Why do you sing in the shower anyway? It's unhealthy and..."

"Since when did singing in the shower become unhealthy? For your information, singing in the shower hits differently", I say in a high pitched tone, cutting mother short.

"You know when you're trying to make a point, your tone is always high pitched and..."

"Holy mother of cheeseballs", I scream in delight, slightly scaring mother and Marco.

"What's wrong Nadine?", mother asks as worry laces her tone. She and my father are the only ones who calls me Nadine, my German name. I answer her by handing her the letter.

My mother reads the letter multiple times and bursts out in tears. Marco barks in confusion wondering what the fuss is all about. I laugh heartily and hug my mum.

"It's okay mummy"

"My baby is all grown up already, soon you'll be leaving us".

"Mummy! It's just an admission letter into football academy besides I'm an adult. I'm 20 years old for Pete's sake"

"Why won't you go to college?", mother asks sniffing.

"Here we go again! I'm not doing this mom. I'm off to work, I have an eight hour shift today", I say grabbing a Ziploc bag filled with cookies and stuffing some in my mouth. I bend down and pat Marco on his head before heading for the door.

"For the love of nuggets walk like a lady, young woman", mum calls after me.

"I am mother! I am. Keep some pop tarts for me and please make me some more of these cookies. See you soon", I say, hurriedly kissing her cheek and practically running out of the house to avoid anymore complaints.

.... Now back to the present, a very lanky and frail looking man emerges from the shower and looks at me startled.

Why is he startled? Didn't he call room service? Or he wasn't expecting me?

Shouldn't he be at home with his great grandkids or something? Yes! He looks that old.

I wonder why people are so scared of Asher? I'll admit for an old man like him, he is still good looking. Well that's not why I'm here.

"I was..."

"Why are...".

We begin at the same time but stop abruptly.

"I was told you needed room service...sir", I say, adding the sir quite reluctantly as my manners kicks in involuntarily.

"Ah I see they sent you miss..."

"Samantha", I offered

"Yes miss Samantha. How can I forget you. Samantha Montero? Daughter of Finn Montero?"

"Yes sir, what do you want?". I say rather harshly.

Immediately, I mentally slap myself. Mother is going to so grind you like pepper if she ever finds out you're harsh to your boss!

But I didn't mean it, did I?

"Don't you know how to talk to your boss?"

I bite the inside of my cheeks to prevent me from giving a sassy reply.

I might be brought up by one of the strictest mom to ever grace this planet but my sass is a genetic inheritance from my dad and my mannerism and sass always clash.

"You see I wanted a bottle of champagne", Asher says moving towards me in a menancing manner. I stand my ground, unmoving and not wavering for a second. I pity this old man. He totally has no clue I'm a black belt holder in MMA.

"One bottle of champagne coming right up", I say taking a swerve to the door but he blocks the exit and grips my hand firmly. Why are all men perverts? Especially old ones?

Old ones are pedophiles!

I hate men... Well, hate is a strong word. I don't really hate them. I just find them creepy. Except my father and Jack of course. Well Jack is technically still not a man. I mean he's just only 20 or is it 21.

"Mr Asher, whatever you plan to do will be violating the employees and employers code of conduct rules", I say smartly. I didn't read that big book of conducts for nothing.

He ignores my comment and plants a kiss roughly on my lips. I hiss out loudly and push him away. I quickly grab a hold of the butter knife and take a fighting stance.

"Okay, that was gross. You taste of onion cracker and boy do I hate those. Done playing nice Asher, let go of me. You're way too old for this", I say calmly compared to my heart beat racing wildly. I flash the knife in his face and he gives me a cocky grin. Lord help me, besides chopping vegetables and spreading jam on toast, I don't have a clue on how to use a knife.

Isn't someone supposed to come in through the door and stop this? I mean that's how it happens in the movies right?

Just then someone jumps in from the window.

Wow! I didn't think the universe could hear my thoughts. Well, my life is now officially a movie.