Chapter Ten

Kyle’s Demands

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B RUNCH PASSED IN MUCH the same way. Amy grappled with her perplexing blend of nerves and excitement as she pushed the eggs around her plate while trying to concentrate on the things Kyle was saying.

Those conversation points became the basis for her day.

Meeting with the cook, a large and overbearing man named Leonard, who provided her with a neverending list of ingredients he required for the upcoming week, which she seemed expected to order, contacting Kyle’s dry cleaner to chase a number of suits that had yet to be delivered, and tackling the itinerary of changes he wanted for the upcoming garden landscape redevelopment.

She even met Rufus, a friendly hound who came bounding over to see Kyle in the afternoon. Amy hadn’t known there was a dog in residence until then, but she tickled behind his ears as Kyle rattled off more orders. By the time she’d checked the grandfather clock, the hours after brunch had flown past, and wearily, she climbed the stairs to her room.

She was sitting there an hour later, still staring at her phone, when a knock at the door disturbed her trance. The light around her had bled into twilight, yet somehow, she hadn’t noticed. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was already after six o’clock.

“Yes?” Her heart skipped a beat as she rushed to the door.

It had to be Kyle, didn’t it? She’d only noticed Stevens and Leonard on the grounds, so who else could it be? Opening the door slowly, excited unease twisted inside her as her deduction was proved to be accurate. It was her employer at the door.

“Mr. Kyle?” She clung to the frame as though it was keeping her upright, still unsure why he had such a persuasive effect on her.

She’d met good-looking guys, hadn’t she? There hadn’t been many, and most had been before Graham, but it wasn’t as if Kyle was the first. She was supposed to be too old for this hormone-provoked display of giddiness, yet it seemed, despite her resolve to the contrary, she had little authority over her reactions.

“Dinner will be at half past seven.” He thrust a large, sealed bag in her direction. A hanger stuck out from the top, indicating the contents might be clothing. “You’ll be expected to attend wearing this.”

“Okay.” She took the plastic cover from him, her mind reeling at the news. He expected her to attend—that was a strange way of inviting her to dinner—but then brunch had been a business meal. Maybe dinner would be the same?

“In the dining room, sir?”

He nodded. “Cook will bring each course to the small vestibule between the dining room and the kitchen. You will be expected to serve them from there.”

“Serve?” Was that what he’d just said? “Isn’t that a maid’s job?”

Not that she’d seen any such staff member since she’d been there, but there was a good reason for that. Maids were from the last century. They had no place in a modern household, even one as idiosyncratic as Kyle’s.

“I don’t have a maid.” His tone was condescending, as though she should have known better. “But I do have a rather capable housekeeper on trial, and I’d like for her to serve me dinner tonight.”

“Right.” She gripped the bag, contemplating how to respond.

She should have told him to bugger off, should have reminded him that was not what she’d been employed to do, but she didn’t. Instead, she recollected why she was there—she was desperate for the money, and Kyle was an easy opportunity to gain more of it than she’d ever imagined. She knew that she was willing to play maid for a few days, even if that wasn’t how he’d described the role to her, if that was what it would take to get the cash.

“And will I be joining you for dinner, sir?” A part of her was afraid to ask, but she probed, regardless, knowing she’d rather understand his expectations and not risk letting him down and losing the fifty thousand.

“You will join me,” he confirmed. “Once you’ve served me.”

Service .

He made it sound like it was the nineteenth century, but begrudgingly, she accepted his terms.

“Fine.” She hooked the outfit on the back of her door. “Anything else, sir?”

“Only these.” He lowered to the floor and presented her with a medium-sized box. “Shoes to compliment your outfit. I hope I guessed your size correctly.”

“Right.” She clutched the box he thrust her way. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at dinner.” He gestured behind her to her room. “Apologies for the intrusion.”

***

P LACING THE BOX ON the floor, she unsealed the bag as soon as she’d closed the door, her heart beating excitedly as she tugged the contents from the plastic covering. Amy had no idea what Kyle had chosen for her to wear, but for some ridiculous reason, the mere idea that he’d chosen something enthralled her.

He’d taken the time and the money to not only think about her but how he wanted her to look. The idea didn’t spurn her the way his criticism of her outfit had that morning. This action was based in thought rather than only judgment, and rather than rebuking her, he’d actually ordered her something new.

He bought me gifts!

Her brow rose at the intriguing notion. He’d taken it upon himself to choose something for her, which meant he was organized and capable. Apparently, he wasn’t as reliant on a housekeeper’s administrative skills as he’d allowed her to think when she took the position.

Lifting the outfit from the plastic, she held it aloft in front of the dim light spilling through the window, her gaze falling over the enclosed material.

“What the hell?”

For one protracted second, she swore she stopped breathing altogether. The outfit he’d brought her appeared to be an old-fashioned French maid’s ensemble, its black corset top and short skirt interspersed only by the white lace that ran around the plunging neckline and the miniature apron at the front.

“I’m not wearing this!” Anger pulsed within her as she stalked to the door with the attire still in her grasp.

Who did he think he was?

Yes, he’d helped her out at the store, taken her for a glorious meal, listened to her problems, and offered her a role with a preposterously high salary, but that didn’t mean she’d signed up to this—whatever this was.

She was going to march down the stairs, find Kyle, and tell him in no uncertain terms why she wouldn’t be indulging his sick ‘maid’ fantasy!

Fantasy?

She stilled at the word, pausing before her hand reached for the door handle. Was that what the flimsy clothing represented to him?

Did he see her as his fantasy?

The answer shouldn’t have made any difference. She should have stalked down there and conveyed her outrage, yet she was ashamed to say that as she leaned against the door, his answer mattered to her.

Had she imagined playing naughty maid to Kyle since she’d accepted his job offer? No, she hadn’t, but she’d be lying to herself if she tried to deny the numerous times she had considered being bedded by her masterful new employer. The truth was she liked his suave demeanor and the way he always seemed to have control. Perhaps the sexy maid’s outfit was his fucked-up way of conveying his desire for her? Maybe he was too afraid to tell her how he felt.

“Kyle isn’t usually the fearful type,” she whispered as she flung the outfit onto her bed.

But the indecent suggestion that she serve him his food while dressed as a naughty maid might go some way to explain the way he’d wanted to touch her, the way he’d complimented her numerous times, and why, even when he’d been critical, he always seemed to worm his way back into her affections.

“Oh God.” She settled on the bed beside the plastic-covered black dress and sighed. “What am I going to do?”

A salacious part of her wanted to try the outfit on. Maybe the hem wasn’t as short as it looked, or even if it was, perhaps the naughtiness of it would inspire her to play his twisted little game.

“I can’t.”

What message would that send to her employer? Presumably, that he could make any unreasonable demand of her, and she would cede.

Amy didn’t want that.

But what happened if she didn’t yield to his desire? Suddenly, the clause she’d tripped over in the contract returned to haunt her—clause seven, if she remembered correctly. Was this the kind of instance he had in mind when he’d ‘clarified’ for her? She didn’t recall him mentioning indulging his sexual fantasies.

Would he see her rejection of the outfit as a cause for dismissal, and would that mean she forfeited the fifty grand? Whatever transpired, Amy couldn’t let that happen. Getting the money for her and her sons was her primary motivation.

“What do I do?” Cupping her face in her hands, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Whichever route she chose could, inadvertently, provoke unwanted consequences. In the end, she opted to choose the lesser evil. Losing the money was not an option, so she decided to play his game. Perhaps the outfit would inspire Kyle to reveal romantic intentions toward her. Excited energy simmered in her stomach. If that was the outcome, then she reasoned she could live with that.

There were worse things in life than being courted by a man like Kyle. She still didn’t know what he’d done to accumulate his wealth, but she liked the idea of sharing both his body and his money.

For a while, she sat there, paralyzed by the pleasant musings of what the evening would bring. Her head was full of swooning daydreams, images where Kyle wooed her attention, wining and dining her by night while she fulfilled her housekeeping duties by day. The reveries were too good to be true. She knew that. But it was satisfying to think about them and imagine a life better than the one she’d left behind. Amy deserved that. She warranted a world of love, respect, and indulgence, especially after years of hardship.

“Silly.” She laughed at herself, the snigger breaking the spell that seemed to have been cast over her.

Whatever was, or wasn’t, going to happen that night, the domineering owner of the house wasn’t about to become her alpha hero. Life had taught her one important lesson—if she wanted the money, she’d have to earn it.

One look at her watch persuaded her that work started now. It was almost seven o’clock, and she hadn’t even started to get ready. Steeling herself, Amy rose and spent the next twenty minutes preparing for the meal. She fixed her hair and pulled the black ‘maid’s’ outfit carefully over her head, yanking at the limited fabric before staring at herself in the mirror. The hem of the skirt barely covered her backside, but much to her relief, she realized it did at least cover it. She’d always been rather proud of her legs and was happy to show them off to her new boss.

As for the front of the dress, the neckline did indeed plunge between her cleavage as she’d suspected, but once she’d arranged the short sleeves and adjusted her breasts, she was oddly proud of her reflection. Yes, her boobs looked like they might tumble from the confines of the black silk at any moment, and yes, she’d never have chosen the attire for herself, but she looked better than she’d anticipated—a middle-aged woman, but one with a decent body and surprising new levels of confidence.

Kyle had given her that. Just being around him had persuaded her that things were possible. She might not always be in debt and live in crappy housing. She didn’t have to give up on herself.

Maybe she could pull the outfit off after all.

She’d play the docile, pretty maid and serve Kyle, knowing she’d be fifty thousand richer soon, and perhaps, she’d even enjoy his attention in the interim. Turning her attention to the box, she lifted the lid to reveal a pair of sleek, black heels. Staring at the insoles, she was relieved yet perturbed to see they were her exact size.

“He guessed correctly,” she murmured as she slipped her feet into the shoes. Raising her more than three inches from the carpet, her legs looked slimmer than ever.

“Not bad, Amy.” Turning left and right to stare at her reflection, she smiled. “I think I’m going to enjoy myself.”

The thought pinballed in her head as she left the room and tottered down the hallway. Whatever Kyle had in mind, she was ready to give him a run for his money.