Maid for Martin Page 2

  He shook his head and picked up the list. He needed to get busy. There was paperwork to do, a script he needed to finish reading, and as he glanced at the clock, trying to remember the last time he ate . . . it hit him . . . the help. He had to make sure someone went to pick up the maids.

  Where in the world had the time gone? He should have called the limo service an hour ago and arranged for the maids to be picked up. He'd promised Celia he'd do that before she went to get her hair done.

  He picked up his phone but shook his head, pushing it into his pocket. There was no time. He buttoned up the white shirt he was wearing, slipped into a pair of socks and tennis shoes, and took the steps two at a time.

  He went to the kitchen, grabbed the keys to the old Ford, and went out through the garage door. He pulled out the address from his pocket, read it, memorized it, and was on his way.

  Chapter 3

  Limo Driver

  Randi stood looking down the lane. Good thing she was wearing her working shoes. The limo driver was late and she was getting hungry. Instead of taking time to eat, she'd gone home and, as Nancy had suggested, uglied down.

  She was wearing her Maids 101 uniform. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun. She had on only a little makeup, and had found an ugly pair of glasses she'd used at Halloween. The pants were not tight and the smock did nothing to flatter her close-to-perfect figure.

  She had everything she would need in the two bags that sat at her feet. This was the perfect job. She loved overnight stays in a fancy home. The work would be hard, but the pay would be the best.

  There was supposed to be at least one more maid, but Nancy hadn't found anyone she thought suitable. She never sent a maid that she couldn’t trust to a job. Three of her other regular, most dependable maids were off for vacation. One of them, Sandy, was having a baby. Not much of a vacation, Randi mused.

  This job wouldn’t have worked for Sandy anyway, because the maids had to be away from home Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. Randi didn’t have kids so this wasn’t a problem. The money would be good, and she could find plenty of things to spend it on. Her mother wouldn’t like it, but her dad would understand.

  She tapped her foot, hoping the limo would come soon. She was starving. Most of the time these fancy mansions had plenty of food, but she didn’t want to show up and hit the refrigerator first thing. She was going to ask the driver if they could stop by a fast food joint and pick something up.

  If he didn’t want her eating in the limo she would understand. Unless he was on a time limit there would be no rush in getting to the estate. She wasn’t due in until the next morning. She was even willing to buy his supper.

  She kicked at a rock and glanced at her watch. Why wasn’t anyone on time? She took out her iPhone and was about to play a game of Crazy Birds when she heard something coming.

  She furrowed her brow and looked over the top of the old glasses at the approaching vehicle. It was definitely not a limo. It wasn’t even a current model. She tilted her head, trying to guess what year the old truck was, and pushed her glasses back into place, ready to dismiss the truck, when much to her surprise, it came to a stop.

  “Great, so they’re not as well off as Nancy said,” Randi sighed, resigning herself to the idea that she would not be riding in a limo today, and picked up her bags.

  She paid little mind to the man in the truck as she walked by the open passenger’s window. “Taylor’s limo driver, right?” She made this comment in mock humor. She placed her bags into the back of the truck and heard the door slam.

  “Sorry about the limo. I was running late so I brought this beauty.”

  “No biggie.” Randi adjusted her bags in the corner of the bed of the pickup and turned to face the driver. “It is a beauty . . . ” she began, but stopped as she turned. She had not been expecting to be facing one of the best-looking men she'd seen in her life. Her mouth dropped open. She was sure it had, though she closed it as fast as she could. “It is a beauty,” she finished.” Is it a 1960?”

  “Sixty-five. How did you know that?” he asked.

  “My dad had one. How many miles you got on it?”

  “Over a million.”

  “Oh, it's new, huh?” This won her a laugh and a beautiful smile. Pearly white teeth framed by a nice mustache and beard, she could think all day long about how that would tickle in a good kiss. She moved her eyes and forced a quick smile. “So, limo guy, you're late. I was here thirty minutes early, so the way I see it you owe me lunch.”

  “What? How do you get that?” The man crossed his arms and smiled.

  “I was early. I missed lunch to be on time so I didn't hold you up. You were late, keeping me from lunch, so you owe me. I like burgers and fries. I'll even pay. Just take me to some food. Most of these rich people never have anything worth eating, so let's hit a burger joint before we head back.”

  He seemed hesitant. “I’m not sure we have time.”

  “Is old man Taylor that bad? Oh, come on, you can tell him we got stuck in traffic.” Randi turned to pull on the door handle but nothing happened. “Don't tell me I have to ride in the back?”

  “No. Go around to the other side and slide in.” Randi nodded, took a slight glance at the man's nicely-tanned skin sneaking through a missing button on his shirt and did as he said. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She wasn't supposed to look, or touch, or flirt with Mr. Taylor, but no one said a thing about the gorgeous, scruffy-looking limo driver.

  *****

  Once they were in the truck and moving, Martin turned to his companion. He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at the girl. “Tell me, what’s with the glasses?”

  “I forgot I had these on. Do you think they’re too much?” He nodded as she took them off. “I was told to ugly down, that Taylor had a live-in-love that was jealous.”

  “Is that so?” Martin pulled up to a red light, waiting his turn. Was she kidding? Could she really not know who he was? It was strange. The last series he’d been on had been cancelled, but it was a hit with the fans. “So you’ve never watched any of Mr. Taylor’s shows or movies?”

  The girl looked at her glasses, shrugged and pushed them into a large purse she was carrying. “I don’t watch TV or movies. I wouldn’t know the man if I met him on the street. What’s he like? Is he as crabby as most rich men are?”

  Martin didn’t know what to say. He looked at the light. He was still thinking when she spoke. “I’m not going to rat on you. I just want to know what to expect. They gave me strict instructions. Stay away from Taylor. I don’t mess with spoken-for men anyway, but I need this job. I don’t want to make waves.”

  “He’s not that bad,” Martin found himself saying. What am I doing? He should just tell her that he was Martin Taylor. She would find out soon enough, and then he’d feel like a heel.

  “That’s good to know. But he’s to be avoided at all costs. You now, on the other hand . . . ” She gave him a smile and turned to face him. “Are you married?” The light turned green and Martin felt like he was in one of his own movies. He looked forward and spoke. “I’m not married.”

  “Good, then you won’t mind stopping over there. I was serious. I’m starved. You have no idea how much stress it brings on working for these uppity-ups. Mind you, I love the money, and the homes are something else, but it’s a lot of stress.”

  Again he started to speak, but she went on. “I’m sure you know what I mean. You drive for him, right? Is he really picky? A bear if you’re late five minutes? I bet he drives you crazy at times. And what about the lady of the house? I bet she gives you the eye.”

  “She does,” Martin smiled. He was beginning to enjoy this game. “All the time.”

  “Women like that are never satisfied. They’re dating some rich man, and sleeping with the . . .” She stopped talking, and as he pulled into the drive-thru, he turned and looked at her. There was a slight smile playing on her lips.

  “What?” He asked.

  “I’ve b
een going on and on, and it just hit me. You might be having a thing with her. Here I am talking about her like she’s a dog. I don’t normally do this. I think I’m food-deprived.” She moved to her purse, started digging around, and pulled out a twenty. “I’m buying. What do you want?”

  “That’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

  “I’m not eating alone, so what do you want? Tell me or I’ll order you something and force you to eat it.”

  “Okay, order me a milkshake and a burger.” Martin laughed, but as they pulled into the drive thru and the beauty by his side leaned over, talking to the machine, things started to be . . . not so funny.

  He could smell her perfume, and if he wasn’t careful he might look down and see more than she intended. He felt uncomfortable and moved his right arm from the steering wheel, hoping to make things better, but it didn’t.

  Now she was leaning over more. Her left hand rested on the doorframe of the truck. Her arm pressed lightly against his chest. She was busy reading the menu and talking to the lady in the window. He wondered if she had any idea she was making him very uncomfortable.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe she did know who he was, and was trying to get him into a compromising position. The tabloids would love that. He looked around for someone with a camera but didn’t see anyone.

  She straightened, seemed to notice for the first time how close they were, but only smiled and held out the twenty. “Are you?” She said, still staying close.

  “Am I what?” He asked.

  “Are you sleeping with her? You know, the lady of the house.” Her voice was barely a whisper and a cute smile played at the corner of her lips.

  “Do you really want to know?” She was flirting and he was flirting right back. While they waited for the food neither of them spoke. Electricity crackled between them.

  “I don’t guess it matters,” she said.

  Why didn’t he just tell her? Yes, I’m sleeping with Celia. Forget the fact he was Martin Taylor. He had every right to be sleeping with Celia. Well, not according to his mother. She would say it was sinful to be living with Celia when the two of them were not married.

  Was it the cross at her neckline, or his conversation with his mother, that was reminding him he was a sinner? Maybe he was just feeling guilty that he’d been flirting with this young woman. Either way it would all end as soon as they got to the house and someone called out . . . "Mr. Taylor".

  Chapter 4

  Randi Sanders

  After eating her lunch Randi couldn’t help but wonder if she’d said too much. She did tend to talk on and on when she was hungry or nervous. Now that she was topping off the meal with a sundae her mind wandered over their conversation.

  As she sat, eating and bumping elbows with the man, she knew she’d said too much. It was none of her business if was he sleeping with the "missus" of the house. Should she go back over that again, try to apologize, or just let it go?

  Now and then they would glance at each other. The man had deep blue eyes, and it was moments like this when she wished she had a steady man in her life.

  Flirting, also, would need to come to an end with this hottie. She wasn’t about to start acting like a schoolgirl even if he was that cute. If he was cheating, which he hadn’t denied, she didn’t want anything to do with him.

  She glanced at the man by her side. He was handsome, well-built, more than likely broke. But still, those blue eyes and that dark hair could make a woman forget her good senses.

  She put her mind on her ice cream and finished eating. Once done, she stuffed the container into the dinner bag and glanced up as they started to make a right. “Are we there?”

  “Just about.”

  Randi toyed with the strap on her purse and after a second or two made up her mind and spoke. “I apologize. It’s none of my business what you do. Those of us in the working class have to stick together, so forget I said anything, and we’ll start over.”

  As they pulled into the driveway, Randi knew her mind should be on the job, the pool in the backyard, or at the least on the nice-looking Harley sitting inside the garage. But at the moment none of this seemed as appealing as the man by her side.

  Randi watched as the limo driver pulled in front of the two-car garage. He parked the truck, took the keys out of the ignition, and climbed out. She took him in from head to toe, then slid out behind him and held out her hand.

  “Can we start over? Randi Sanders at your service.” She waited as he looked at her. He nodded, took her hand, and spoke.

  “Nice to meet you, Randi. I’d like to start over too. I’m sorry I was late, sorry I didn’t have the limo so you could ride in style, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question . . . It’s just that—”

  “I know. It’s none of my business. We’re starting over, remember?” Randi interrupted before he could answer. A part of her didn’t want to know that he was off limits. She smiled and reluctantly let go of his hand.

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re both working for the Taylor’s and it was nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride.” She said, dismissing the handsome driver, doubting she’d see him again. She walked to the other side of the truck, took out her bags, and turned for what she guessed would be the last look at the limo driver.

  It was best this way. She didn’t even know his name. He would forever be that hot guy that picked her up in the beat-up Ford. She smiled as he walked around to the truck. His hair was rustling in the wind, his shirt front still was missing that one button, and the man should never wear anything but white.

  Thinking that she was staring, she gave him a fresh smile and turned, going toward the back entrance. The help never walked through the front door of a place like this.

  Her mind pushed on, trying to remember why she was here. She was the help, she was the maid, and she wasn’t here to have fun or fall in love. Randi Sanders was here to do what she did best: cook, clean, and organize. The Taylor’s were paying her well, and she would be sure that they got their money’s worth.

  *****

  Martin didn’t know what to think. He’d wanted to tell Randi Sanders, his new live-in-maid, his real identity. But she wouldn’t let him. “I think she had too much caffeine today.” He shook his head and went inside.

  He tried to work out in his mind what he would say to Randi the first time she saw him with Celia. But nothing came. She’d more than likely think he was playing with her, even though he’d never meant to mislead her.

  Two hours later as he stepped out of the shower and started drying off, Randi was still on his mind. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in front of the full-length mirror. How long had it been since a woman looked at me like that?

  It wasn’t the fact that she thought he was hot, but that she had no idea who he was. She wasn’t trying to impress him, or see what she could get. It was just a boy-meets-girl, two people attracted to each other, both are nervous kind of thing. Still, it was great.

  Martin dried off, slipped into his pants and walked into the bedroom to find a shirt. Celia stood on the balcony, on the phone again. She turned as he came out but paid him no mind. He glanced down. He was wearing no shirt, no shoes, and his pants weren’t buttoned. He shook his head and his mind went back to the look Randi had given him.

  At least some women still found him attractive. He tried to think of the last time Celia looked at him as if she wanted to rip his shirt off. Here he was standing right under her nose and she’d barely looked his way. He guessed he’d done the same thing to her at some point.

  He slipped into his shirt, pushed the idea of allowing Randi to do anything to him out of his mind, and sat down, reaching for his shoes. He had his socks on and one shoe by the time Celia walked over and sat down. She turned to look at him, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “I talked to Emma as I came into the kitchen. She said they only sent one maid over.”

  “Isn’t that enough for now? The party isn’t for several days and we have Emma working on getti
ng more help.” Martin slipped on his other shoe.

  “I don’t know. We have about six rooms that need decorating, we need at least three trees—”

  “Three trees? Why so many?” Martin rose, stuffing his dark blue shirt into his pants. He zipped up and then he slipped on his belt. “You’re turning this party into a nightmare. Christmas is supposed to be fun, not so much work. And, are you coming with me? You’re not getting dressed.”

  “No. I have cards to send out and packages I want to get ready. I need to make about five phone calls, starting with the new caterer. Besides, I don’t like your agent, Bill. That’s who you’re meeting, right?”

  “Yes. We’re going to talk about that new film. I thought you were coming.”

  “I never said that. You know I don’t like him.”

  “You know that he can make or break this. I think it would look good if you went. I hate these meetings. I just want to act.”

  “And get paid.” Celia said quickly. “And I’m not going. Bill gives me the creeps. You’ll be fine. If you like to act so much, act like this is a role. You’re the one that likes to role-play to keep your skills honed.”

  Martin grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door. “You know, I’m getting tired of your attitude. My acting's what pays for all of this. It’s what’s going to pay for those three trees you want, and for this ridiculous nonsense of a party that you’re throwing. Oh, and by the way, I’m inviting Bill.”

  Celia crossed her arms and her dark blue eyes gave him a dirty look. “Why? You don’t like him either. You’re just doing this for spite.”

  Martin picked up his jacket, house keys, phone and sunglasses. He started to go but then turned back, looking at her. “I’m doing it because I need this part. If you want to keep spending money like we’re made out of gold then you better put on a smile and act as if you’re happy to see him. Like him or not, he’s coming to the party.”