Page 17 of Love Marks
You can discuss any specific preferences directly with him.
I have to talk to Mister Moneybags himself? I bet he wants me to order specialty water from some colonized river and pick up his dry cleaning every day.
I start on the sweeping even though the place is basically spotless. The whole room probably has as much dust as a single corner in my apartment. Once I finish sweeping, I fill up my bucket with soap and water and start mopping. It takes me a long time to get every room.
Just as I’m bringing the bucket back towards the sink, my foot catches on one of the stools and I go tumbling forward. Water spills from the bucket and coats the entire floor, making its way slowly towards what I can only assume is a rug that costs more than my life itself.
“Shit, shit!”
I go to stand, but slip on the pool of water, my chest landing straight into the puddle. I’m now covered in soapy water. Helplessly, I grab one of the small kitchen towels and try to mat the mess. The corner of the rug is soaked. I pull the paper towel roll out completely and shove a giant handful onto the ground. It’s pathetic. Just as I think I’ve finally got a grip on it, I slip one more time, landing firmly on my ass.
The door opens.
A man in a sleek black suit steps inside, holding a briefcase in his hand. His hard eyes meet mine and my jaw drops. There’s no way. It can’t be.
Wesley Marks.
Holy shit. What is he doing here? I scramble to stand up and grip onto the kitchen island like it’s the last life raft on the Titanic. His eyes scan the scene in front of him with disdain. Water all over the floor, clumped up paper towel in a small pile, and me, sloppy and wet, clinging onto the counter for dear life.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
Wesley Marks!!!
He steps into the apartment and sets his briefcase on the other counter, making no move to greet me or help with the mess. He doesn’t speak.
Right.
His back is to me as he gets a bottle of water from the fridge and brings it up to his lips. He hasn’t said anything, and I don’t know if I should introduce myself.
Does he really not recognize me?
Of course he doesn’t recognize you, idiot. It was one night weeks ago.
I step forward.
“Um. Hi. I’m Quinn. Your new…maid?”
He turns at my voice and stares straight into my eyes. His face is a wall of stone, and he says nothing. He just gives a little hum at my words, somewhere in between a murmur of approval and a judgmental smirk.
“You must be…?” I trail off, waiting for him to finish for me, but he still just stares at me. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he steps forward and puts his hand out.
“Wesley Marks.”
I put my hands into his and his eyes narrow at me as he tightens his grip on mine. My stomach drops and I feel hot. He just stares at me with that studying gaze.
How can he not recognize me?
I step back, overwhelmed, and force my eyes away from his. The corner of his mouth ticks up like he’s trying to hide a smile, but he covers it quickly. He turns away from me again.
“Nice to meet you,” I mutter.
He still doesn’t turn back. I think of the note that Sharon left and clear my throat a little.
“If there’s anything I should be aware of or anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
“The water off the floor will suffice for now.” His voice is sharp and I’m slightly taken-aback. If he doesn’t recognize me, then why does it seem like he hates me so much? I can’t be imagining the bite in his words.
I feel slightly woozy. How the hell did I get here? I feel like at any point someone will pop out and yell that I’m on candid camera.