4. Wrong

Ripley’s pov

“Heather will be training you this morning because Mr. Hemming has requested your services today.” Allison told me, first thing when I arrived.

She looked so proud, while I felt mortified. It was my second day, and I knew that there was no way in hell that Mr. Hemming had good intentions in asking me to work in his room.

That man had only shown arrogance and irritation around me. Besides, I was nobody to him. So what was his deal?

Heather rolled her eyes at me and put an obvious fake smile on her face. “I’ll show you how everything is done.”

Okay. Does that mean she’s going to purposefully tell me the wrong way to do things? Because it sure feels like it.

Maybe I’m just not as trustworthy as I used to be, but it was clear that Heather wasn’t happy I was taking her job over. Which she proved in the elevator going up to the penthouse.

Heather came into my personal space, standing way too close for my comfort, and scoffed at me.

“I don’t know what you did, but this won’t last. You’re not Mr. Hemming’s type. I don’t think you’re anyone’s type. I mean, look at you. Scraggy hair, weird teeth, flat chest. It’s pathetic, to be honest.”

I took a step forward, now almost touching her. I hated people in my personal space, but she didn’t need to know that. I could be intimidating, too.

Could I?

“I am not interested in hooking up with guests, unlike some people in this elevator. I didn’t ask to be assigned there, and I would much rather stay on the second floor.”

Heather’s eyes went wide. “That’s where you belong, with the rest of the rats.”

"Okay," I said, moving back. “This is getting a bit sad, don’t you think? Let’s just not talk to each other for the rest of the day."

Heather rolled her eyes, and her nose crinkled as if she smelled something bad. “Let’s.”

God! Second day on the job. I grunted internally; it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet. Why does there need to be so much drama this early in the day?

The girls, thankfully, had a good morning. River woke up with a smile, and Rose didn’t fight me when I did her hair. It’s usually a whole thing—screaming and kicking—for me to get their curly hair under control.

They’re the ones screaming and kicking. I am the one trying to be patient and tell them I am not hurting them. Sometimes I think it’s just the idea of me doing their hair, because once I didn’t even touch their hair. I just pretended to comb it, and they were still crying.

But the start of the day went great. Both my girls looked awesome in their little outfits. I actually had time to put on some mascara and concealer. Which I needed because the bags under my eyes are turning so dark that it looks like I’ve got two black eyes.

And now. I am forced to stand in this stupid elevator.

Heather was still looking at me with disgust when we reached the top floor and walked out without saying a word, leaving me with the cart in the elevator.

She knocked on the door. Very big door, I must say. I guess the fancy penthouse looks start at the front door.

“Housekeeping.” She said in a sweet, gross voice. Like Paris Hilton before she started using her real voice.

Mr. Hemming opened the door, and his eyes skimmed over Heather, going straight to me.

“Good. You’re here. Let’s get started.”

I nodded my head and waited for Heather to move, but she had her eyes fully on Mr. Hemming, waiting for him to address her.

“Leave, Heather. I’m sure she is capable of cleaning one room by herself. Right?” He said, taunting me.

Once again, I nodded, putting a fake smile on my face, which I quickly stopped when I saw the expression on Heather’s face. She was furious.

If Mr. Hemming wouldn’t make my life hell, Heather would.

Great. Just great.

Heather stomped towards the elevator, huffing and puffing and muttering words to herself. She was probably cursing me. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had some witch DNA in her.

Mr. Hemming had already gone inside, leaving the door open for me to follow. Once I got inside, it was impossible not to be amazed.

There were windows everywhere, and it was huge. The living area was larger than my whole apartment. And it looked so luxurious. Everything was white, which meant that it would stain very easily.

“Start cleaning.” Mr. Hemming said, without any instructions.

I began tidying the place up. Except, I had no clue where everything belonged.

The penthouse wasn’t messy, but still. I didn’t even know in which cupboard the glasses belonged. Or which door led to the bedroom?

So instead of cleaning the living room first, I decided to go to the one place I knew I wouldn’t mess up. The bathroom. It took me two tries before I found the bathroom.

One door was the bedroom, which was huge with a king-size bed. The bed had a very large headboard, and I was sure it would be a lot of work to replace those sheets later.

Grabbing the spray I used yesterday, I began to spray every glass surface.

“Wrong.” Mr. Hemming said, without an explanation.

I didn’t even realize he was standing there. Didn’t he need to work? Or eat breakfast?

While he might say I was doing things wrong, this is the way Allison had taught me to do it. So what other way is there to clean? I continued the way I was going until the bathroom looked spotless and went to the living room, where Mr. Hemming was eating breakfast.

He was eating a croissant, and instead of using a plate, he was eating it above the floor, purposefully dropping crumbs everywhere.

Okay, I told myself. I can do this. I’m used to two three-year-olds. I can handle one adult male.

I faked a smile and headed to the bedroom, taking off the sheets that felt softer than anything I had ever felt before. These weren’t the regular hotel sheets, and I had no clue where any spare sheets were.

Shit.

I looked around the room, wondering if I was allowed to open up drawers. Probably not.

“Mr. Hemming, would you happen to know where I can find some spare sheets?” I called out to the living room.

“Yes.”

And then it was silent.

“Could you tell me where?”

"No," he said. I couldn't see the man, but I knew he was smirking while he said it. 

Think, think, think. Most logical space for sheets.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down, while looking around the giant bedroom. Perhaps I could tidy this room up and look around at the same time. Mr. Hemming seemed like the type of person who had everything in order. Someone who didn’t have a junk drawer like me or a chair where he would dump his clothes at the end of the day.

A chair that was becoming a mountain of clothes that weren’t dirty but not clean enough to put back in the closet.

“Is this truly the best you can do?” Mr. Hemming said, once again surprising me by coming into the room unnoticed.

He walked towards me, taking the item I was holding out of my hand. His fingers touched mine and lingered for a moment. “Wrong again.” He scolded me in his stern and cold voice.

Doing my best not to get angry or cry, I looked up at him. “Could you tell me the right way to clean your room, please?”

“I could. But I won’t. It’s fun watching you fumble and fall.” Mr. Hemming said with a smirk.

“Don’t you have work to do?” I turned around, not wanting to give this man the satisfaction of seeing me fail.

“I took the morning off.” Mr. Hemming stated this before moving towards me again. He grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. “Didn’t your parents teach you it’s impolite to turn your back while speaking to someone of importance?"

I bowed my head, “I apologize, Mr. Hemming.”

His hand went below my chin, and he tilted my head up, “eye contact is important as well. Were you raised in a barn?”

Shaking my head no and hoping it would shake his hand away from my face, I spoke in my cheeriest voice. “No, a small town a little over a few hours away from here.”

“Small town. Right. I should have guessed.” Mr. Hemming said, his hand lingering on my chin. He wasn’t applying pressure, and it was making me very uncomfortable how soft his touch was. I almost thought he might caress my cheek next.

“Can I go back to work?” I asked, looking up into his dark eyes that bore into mine. I couldn’t determine what his eyes were saying. 

His face moved towards mine, inches away. I could smell his breath. It smelled like croissants and something sweet, like strawberry jelly.

Was he going to kiss me? And why wasn’t I moving away?

I should move away or at least turn my head, but he was still holding onto my chin.

“Yes. You can go back to doing inadequate work.” Mr. Hemming said, before removing his hand from my chin and walking out of the room.

Screw this. I am going to open some cabinets and look for sheets. As carefully and quietly as possible, I opened several closet doors to see what was inside, until I found the sheets.

Placing them over the bed, trying to make the bed as tight as possible and to make nice corners, was really annoying.

I bent over the bend, doing my best to get everything in the right place, and when I turned around, I saw Mr. Hemming in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost.

When I first saw these social media posts about men in doorways, I thought they were silly, but seeing him standing there, I could understand why people thought it was sexy.

Too bad his good looks didn’t come with a nice personality. To prove my point, he uttered the next mean word of the day.

“Inadequate.”

“This is how I was taught. Perhaps you could tell me the correctt way." I tried again.

“You should ask Heather.” Mr. Hemming said with a smirk.

Damn it! He was so annoying. “You sent her away; remember Mr. Hemming?”

“Cas.” He suddenly said.

“What?” I think he surprised himself, because for the first time today he looked kind of awkward.

“It’s my name. You can call me Cas.” Cas said, before walking out.

What the hell was wrong with him? Was this a trick? Another game he was playing?

And why the hell was he playing games with me anyway?

I looked around the room, checking if everything looked okay, and I walked into the living room. The first thing I needed to do was tidy up the mess he made. Grabbing the vacuum from the cart, I headed towards the area before Cas put his hands up.

“It’s too noisy.”

“So, how do you expect me to clean here? There is croissant everywhere, Mr. Hemming.”

He raised his eyebrow, looking at me expectantly.

“Fine. There is croissant everywhere, Cas.”

He licked his lip slowly and nodded his head in approval. “Better.” Then he looked at the floor and shrugged. “You’ll figure it out, Ripley.”

Why did my name sound sexy coming from his lips? I shook my head, trying to snap me out of these thoughts.

This was another weird-ass game. The man probably had too much money to know what to do with it and thought I’d make a great victim for whatever this was. I wasn’t going to let him get under my skin.

Cas. Mr. Hemming. Whatever he wanted me to call him could try all he wanted, but I was not losing this job in my first week here. It paid enough; the girls had daycare here, and despite what Cas was saying, I wasn’t horrible at it.

I went on all fours with a dustbin in hand and started cleaning the white carpet of the small crumbs piece by piece. Cas stayed seated in a chair near me, watching me work.

“You look good on all fours, Ripley.” Cas said huskily.

“I’m married.” I said, ignoring his stare.

“I don’t care. I’m not looking for more than one night anyway.”

“More like three minutes,” I said without thinking. Shit. Why did my stupid mouth get the best of me?

I bit my lip, trying to keep myself from saying more.

“Ripley.” Cas said, making me look up at him.

“Yes, Cas?” I said, hoping he hadn’t heard me.

“While your husband might think a couple of minutes is sufficient, I like to make my women scream with pleasure all night long until they can barely walk.”

“Good for them.” I replied, making eye contact and trying to keep a straight face. My friend Suzie had always told me that the more handsome the guy was, the lazier he was in the bedroom. And it made sense to me. Men like Cas didn’t have to work to get women to come home with them. They probably only cared about their own orgasms. Foreplay would be something they’d skip, or if they did do it, they wouldn’t know where to find the g-spot or clitoris even with a map.

Which they would never ask for, because guys like Cas didn’t care if a woman was satisfied when things were over.

“You don’t believe me. Do you, Ripley?” Cas said, staring at me in a way that made me very nervous.

“I’m almost finished, Cas. Just a few more things, and I’m out of your way for today.” I replied, going back to picking up the last few crumbs.

The moment I got up from the floor, so did Cas from his chair. He was towering above me, standing closer to me than I expected him to be. “He doesn’t need to know.”

“There are plenty of girls out there who would be dying to sleep with you. Unfortunately, I am not one of them." I replied, taking a step back.

He scoffed, “I was doing you a favor.” He grunted, looking pissed.

“I’m sorry?” I said, unsure of what to say.

“You’re nothing. A nobody. An average-looking girl with a horrible haircut.”

I touched my hair without thinking. I liked the way it looked, even when it was all over the place. Plus, it was easy to maintain.

Cas continued as he stalked toward me. With each large step he took towards me, I took a step back until my back hit the wall. “You can’t even clean. You’re pathetic.”

I felt my throat close and tears spring from my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to give him satisfaction.

“Yet you chose to stay here with me all morning. Why?” I asked.

“Because it was a nice distraction.” He glared at me from above. Stupid tall man.

“So why are you so upset?” I asked. “If I’m a nobody, then why do you care?”

"I don't." His face inched closer to mine, looking like he was going to hurt me. It was clear he was trying to intimidate me. But I couldn’t show him that he bothered me. So I stared right back.

“You’re done for today.” Cas said, before his face went to my neck and he breathed in. I wasn’t sure if I should move, but there was nowhere for me to move to.

Cas took a step back, looking away from me. “Leave.”

So I did. I gathered my things as quickly as I could and practically ran out of the penthouse.

What the hell just happened?