This Billionaire's Maid: This Billionaire, #16

By Rachel Foster

Scott is a successful billionaire well-known to many entrepreneurs for his boldness and arrogance. He's smart when it comes to his career, but can't seem to grow up when it comes to his personal life. He's working hard on trying to grow up when he hires Emmy to clean his place for him. She's quiet, sweet and mature beyond her years. There's something about her that has Scott drawn to her and he can't let his feelings go. There's one problem, he's afraid to fall in love. After both of his parents passed away, it's revealed that he struggles settling down because he's afraid of love and loss. His best friend gives him an ultimatum that if he doesn't open up to Emmy, he will lose her. Scott has to decide if he will choose his player ways or if he's ready to live a life he never knew he was deserving of.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3rd Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201906009

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This Billionaire's Maid

Rachel Foster

Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Foster

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

1. Scott

2. Emmy

3. Scott

4. Emmy

5. Scott

6. Emmy

7. Scott

8. Emmy

9. Scott

10. Emmy

11. Scott

12. Emmy

13. Scott

14. Emmy

15. Scott

16. Emmy

17. Scott

18. Emmy

19. Scott

20. Emmy

21. Scott

22. Emmy

23. Scott

24. Emmy

25. Scott

26. Emmy

27. Scott

28. Emmy

29. Scott

30. Emmy

31. Scott

32. Emmy

33. Scott

34. Emmy

35. Scott

36. Emmy

37. Scott

38. Emmy

39. Scott

Epilogue – Emmy

1

Scott

I

couldn’t take it anymore. I had been watching the hands on the office clock crawl in a circle for long enough.

I shoved out of my chair and leaped over my desk, swinging my legs over easily. I bounded the rest of the way to the office door and threw it open hard enough for it to slam against the wall. Conversation faltered. Everyone turned in my direction. Some of them at least had the dignity not to stare so openly, not that I cared what they did.

I marched over to my secretary’s desk and planted my hands on top to catch her attention. She peeked up at me from underneath straight-cut blonde bangs. Yes, Mr. Rowe? she squeaked.

I’m heading out, I said. Redirect all my calls. I don’t care who takes care of what. Just get it done so I don’t have to deal with it.

She nodded meekly and buried her nose in her papers. I shrugged and stepped away. I didn’t care how she acted as long as she did her job. If she did her job well only because she was intimidated by me, even better. I wasn’t there to make friends with my underlings.

I left her and headed down the hallway to the elevator. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I walked. I picked it up and put it to my ear. What?

Hey, Scotty. You going to join us or what? My friend, Mike. His voice was already slurred.

I gritted my teeth. The guys had started without me. Not fair. I should have left the office earlier. Hell, I shouldn’t even have gone in. Everyone knew what to do without me there.

If only I could be one of those CEOs who just sat back and watched the proceedings from a distance.

Yeah, I’m coming, I told Mike, stepping onto the elevator as the doors opened. The people who had been waiting to leave parted around me like the Red Sea. I jabbed the button for the ground floor. Been boring as shit here. I should’ve jumped ship sooner.

I dunno why you don’t just sell it. Free ride for the rest of your life.

Someone was coming down the hall towards the elevator. I slapped the button to close the doors. The person yelled out for me to hold the door. They slid shut in her face and the lift began to descend with a soft hum.

I think about it sometimes, I admitted. But I’m only going up from here. Like always. It’s too soon to slaughter the cash cow.

Yeah, whatever you say. The elevator slowed to a halt. I straightened up from the wall and prepared to get out. Listen, I called to tell you we’re already hitting our second bar of the night. The Harvest Moon. You got some catching up to do.

I shoved out of the elevator, barreling right through the crowd of people outside it. You think you lightweights can show me up? Yeah, as if.

Then get your ass here and prove it!

I grunted and hung up on him. Freedom was but a few short paces away. As soon as I could get through one of those rotating doors, no, as soon as I set foot in one, I was golden.

Mr. Rowe!

Dammit, I swore. I turned around to see who it was. Too many workers. I couldn’t be bothered to remember all their names.

Someone on the management team. Jeff. James? The older brother of my secretary and the one who recommended her to me in the first place. His face was red from exertion, his suit lapels sticking out at odd angles from his chest. I’ve been looking everywhere for you! he gasped. Sir, you can’t leave now.

And why not? I asked, lifting an eyebrow. I pointed to my phone, which I still held in my hand. I brought it back to my ear and said, Hold on a minute, Mike, as if he was still there.

Jeff-James looked at my phone, then at me. He deflated a little, seemingly defeated. That client we’ve been trying to see for months is finally here. And you just left the office without saying a word. Where are you going? Will you be back in time to greet them and give the final sign-off?

I’m afraid that I won’t be coming back today. Or tomorrow, perhaps. Best to lay that seed now. I planned to get well and truly drunk tonight, and I’d be too hungover tomorrow to even leave the house.

Sir, this is...

I have to go now, Jeff, I said, picking the blander of the two names.

Jeff blinked. Who is Jeff? My name is Everett.

I shrugged and turned away. I ducked through the rotating doors and stepped outside, into the humidity. Rain was gathering, clouds threading across the sky to weave together into thicker gray masses. Though the air was thick, the breeze was fresh, and tasted so much better than that canned stuff pumped through the office vents.

It occurred to me that towards the end there, I had forgotten to pretend I was in the middle of a call. Oh, well. Who was going to care? Not Everett. There was simply too much else for him to focus on. He probably hadn’t even noticed. I grabbed my car and pulled onto the streets of Indianapolis. They were a nightmare, though the traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as in New York City, and the drivers lacked that metropolis-induced road rage. I made some risky lane changes and blasted through some yellow lights and arrived at the Harvest Moon Saloon just in time to see Mike’s bright pink Lamborghini pulling up to the parking lot. I saw him driving, Davis in the passenger seat, and Olezka basically hanging onto the roof. I grinned and pulled into the spot next to the Lambo and leaped out.

Olezka threw himself from the back of the Lambo and landed on his stomach. He grunted and rolled over, one hand on his crotch. My pierogis, he groaned.

Don’t you mean your pelmeni? Mike joked, approaching Olezka and giving him a nudge in the ribs. Davis shrugged at both of them and headed off into the bar, staggering.

I joined Mike and gave Olezka a nudge of my own. Serves you right for not having a car of your own.

The young Russia pushed my foot away and hauled himself to his feet. Think I mighta passed out. Which one of you said I had little balls?

I flipped my hand in the air casually. You must have hallucinated it. Hit your head on the way down.

Damn if I didn’t, Olezka said, giving himself a woeful rub. I need some vodka.

Vodka is what got you into this mess, Mike said.

And vodka is what will get me out. Olezka pointed at the bar door. Onward.

I fell in with the two of them. We pushed our way past the bouncer and into the bar. His gaze lingered mistrustfully on our group. Without looking back, I lifted my middle finger over my shoulder.

The inside of the bar had that Old West vibe, the romanticized version everyone just ate up. Round tables, tall stools, all made of faux-aged wood. The walls were shabby chic, decorated with wanted posters displaying the names of the night’s specials, and animal heads and models of mid-50s rifles.

All the places we went to when we were barhopping tended to blend together. We picked out locations with these strong themes. They might attract a lot of dipshits who went there just for the vibe and aesthetic but knowing the walls had cow skulls hanging on them helped a drunken mind orient itself.

Davis was already at the bar, drinking from a tankard riddled with dents so artistically placed they had to have been made on purpose. Olezka dropped his heavy potato-raised body down on a stool next to him and thumped his fist to get attention from the cowboy hat-wearing bartender. Vodka. The gnarliest stuff you’ve got.

She turned away and busied herself with something on the shelf behind her.

Mike and I sat on either side of Davis and Olezka. A male bartender took my drink order. I tried not to be disgruntled about that because the cocktail he mixed was exactly what I’d asked for. Mike, on the other hand, had already sent his back twice.

Look at the tits on her, though, Olezka said, nodding his head towards the bartender with the cowboy hat. Think she could make me a White Plush?

I almost choked on my drink, laughing. A White Plush was bourbon... and milk.

The female bartender ignored him. The man who had served me my drink crossed his arms and glared at all four of us. I stared back, unfazed. That plastic sheriff badge pinned to his vest didn’t mean a damn thing to me.

Don’t you know that cowboys are the knights of the Old West? he said.

Is he really trying to scold us like we’re kids?

Cowboys were opportunists who took what they could get, Mike said. He lifted his glass, his drink evidently finally to his liking. There was no code of honor. And I’m just here to drink and shoot some shit with my friends. You can take your history lesson somewhere else.

The man’s expression hardened. I had to give it to him, he wasn’t spineless. I’ll cut to the chase. You need to cut the crap and behave or you’re out of here.

Don’t worry about us, Davis said. We’ve got other places to hit. We won’t be here long.

Good, the female bartender said over her shoulder. Take your sexist asses somewhere else.

Is it sexist to think a woman looks like she’d be a good producer? Olezka remarked and laughed into his vodka.

I laughed and shook my head. This was a bar. People went to bars to get drunk and stir up shit. If people didn’t drink and blow off some steam, there’d be a whole lot more violence in the world. There was no reason to take what happened in a bar seriously.

Despite what Mike said, there wasn’t much in the way of talk. We weren’t really the kinds of guys who bonded over the stresses of life. We just gave a quick summary of what was going on and then went back to living in the moment. Olezka’s situation hadn’t changed since the last time we hung out. He was perpetually between apartments and obtained most of his calories from copious quantities of vodka. Davis was an accountant with an ex-wife and three kids, and most of his talk had to do with the cost of child support. Mike owned a gun shop and was a perpetual bachelor.

As for myself, I normally talked about my latest conquests. Work didn’t matter at a time like this. It didn’t matter much in other situations, either.

We lost track of time in the bar, sticking around for longer than we intended. Eventually it got late enough that most of the tables were filled with patrons. Loud laughter and talk filled the space. It almost did sound like a saloon in the Wild West might have, with a clink of glasses and clatter of silverware. We were all but forgotten by the bartenders, just a group out of many groups.

I swiveled around on my stool. I want to go to a new spot. Olezka, you can ride with me in my car, so you don’t whack your head on some low-hanging pole.

Olezka gulped down the rest of his drink and sighed. His breath was awful, absolutely foul. We can’t leave yet, you pansy.

Why? I challenged. I’m ready to go.

Davis lifted his head and grinned. You didn’t forget, did you?

Oh shit, I realized. There was an old tradition I followed for every time I went to a bar. I glanced around, searching.

How about her? Mike pointed at a pretty girl sitting by herself at a table, sipping at some sort of pink drink.

Yeah, she’ll do, I decided. I got up. The room spun a little. I blinked in surprise and rubbed my face, trying to center myself. I had already drunk a lot more than I normally did at this point in the night. Well, whatever.

I made my way over to that girl and slid into the seat across from her. Hey, I said. You look lonely. I can help with that.

She lifted her head. I noticed she had some sort of book pinned beneath one arm. Yeah, no thanks.

The rejection startled me. I frowned. What’s your name?

She sighed and folded down the corner of one of the book’s pages and shut it. She looked at me and I didn’t like that expression. It seemed like pity. Morgan.

Why not, Morgan?

Morgan glanced all around, as if someone might come to rescue her. As if she thought she needed rescuing when I was already there for that. She sighed again and turned back to me. Because I’m waiting for my friend to get here. Because I’ve seen you with those guys up at the bar, blasted even though it’s barely dark outside. Listen, even if I were interested in picking up someone at a bar, it wouldn’t be someone like you.

Someone who knows how to have fun.

No, Morgan said flatly. Someone desperate.

Hey! Anger ignited in my chest, the alcohol in my blood like a burning fuse. The hell?

Something wrong? a voice asked.

I looked up to see another woman around Morgan’s age.

Nothing’s wrong, Morgan said smoothly. Sit, Vicky. I ordered your favorite. It should be coming soon.

Both Vicky and Morgan stared at me. I got the hint. I vacated the seat and headed back to my friends.

Whoa, Mike said, motioning to me. No luck? Weird.

I shrugged. She was waiting for someone. Waiting for her with a book. Not my type.

Ugh, those bookish types. Davis slipped off his stool. Like life isn’t boring enough already. Maybe we’ll have more luck somewhere else.

Yeah. I motioned for them to follow me out. I took a deep breath of the night air, wondering why I was so unsettled. Like I hadn’t been rejected before? Whatever.

On to the next.

2

Emmy

"D

ear, would you like a cup of tea?"

I looked up from my dusting and smiled. That would be very nice, Cynthia, thank you.

Oh, it’s no trouble. I was making a pot and you know tea tastes better when it’s sipped in good company.

I smiled more. You don’t have to stop whatever you’re doing just to entertain me. I’m pretty close to finishing this up so I’ll just bring it in here with me.

Nonsense! Cynthia scolded, clutching her wrinkled hands together. "All this dust and vapor in the air? You’ll never be able to enjoy your tea that way, and I won’t enjoy mine knowing that you aren’t enjoying yours. And then, you’ll feel bad that I am not enjoying my tea."

I set down my duster, laughing. Okay, okay! You’ve convinced me! I’ll take a break and have some tea, but then it’s right back to work. I don’t like to leave a job undone.

Cynthia nodded and motioned for me to follow her out of lounge I was dusting. I looked at my cleaning supplies, shook my head, and tagged along behind her. We had to go down a long hallway and then a set of spiraling stairs to get to the kitchen. The house was an old one, at least a century old and perhaps more. The stairs would have been used by the servants so they could get to work in the morning without disturbing the masters of the house. Now they just provided convenient access to the kitchen for midnight snacking.

Or supply-toting, in my case.

Cynthia waddled into the kitchen and fiddled around with the kettle. Seeming to find the water heated to her liking, she poured it into a prepared pot and covered the opening with a lid to keep the steam in. There we go, she said. That will be only a few minutes. Would you like some cookies to go with them? Baked yesterday.

Cynthia! I’m your maid, not your granddaughter, I teased. I leaned on the counter; the surface extra smooth from regular polishing.

But you’re so sweet, Cynthia said. Though I hadn’t answered affirmatively, or negatively for that matter, she reached into her cupboard and pulled out a covered tray of cookies. She began to arrange them on a plate. I can’t help but want to spoil such a sweet young woman. And you deserve it! You always do an amazing job for us.

The cookies were thick and soft and chocolatey looking. My mouth watered. Lunch suddenly seemed like years ago. Cynthia chuckled and held the plate out to me. Help yourself.

I took one of the cookies and bit into it. It was like a dream, the sweetness and bitter dark chocolate and vanilla. I tried not to melt or shove the rest of the cookie in my mouth at once. I probably shouldn’t be admitting this. I always work hard, but I work extra hard at your house. It’s just such a nice place I can’t help getting really invested. I want everything to be as clean, as polished, as perfect as can be.

Cynthia checked on the tea and poured the sweet-scented liquid into two cups. I know what you mean. This house has been through so much, seen so much, it deserves to have the best care. That’s exactly the reason I hired you.

I blushed, pleased at the compliment. I busied myself with the rest of my cookie in the hopes my cheeks wouldn’t flush bright red like they did when I got really embarrassed. Cynthia smiled at me and took the liberty of adding cream and sugar to my cup for me. We had gone through this whole charade before. Me, not wanting to bother her, but wanting to spend time with her. Her, making excuses to get me to take longer breaks. She knew my tea preferences, and how I liked my cookies, and even what size shirt I wore. That last one hadn’t manifested yet, but I suspected she had gotten me a shirt for my birthday in a few months, or else wanted the information in the back of her mind if she ever saw anything she thought I might like.

I really don’t deserve a boss like her.

I’ll tell you, Emmy, I didn’t know what to think when you showed up all on your lonesome on our doorstep all that time ago. Cynthia sipped her tea, her eyes half-shutting with pleasure. She took hers black, unsweetened, to really savor the essence of the leaves. Your application had a company’s name on it. I was expecting to meet with a manager who would suggest several workers according to my needs. The usual. Get as much from the customer as possible. Why would I know I didn’t need a boy specifically to clean the windows, and another who specialized in chimneys? But there you were. Emmy Fallon of Sweep You Off Your Feet. Owner, manager, sole employee.

I sometimes regretted not taking more time to come up with a catchier name. People seemed to like the quaintness though. It must have been the same reason Fallout Boy’s song titles caused such a stir; it was unexpected in this day and age to use more words rather than less.

I almost turned you away.

Really? I leaned forward over my tea, curious. Why didn’t you?

Well, that’s difficult to explain. It seemed unfair when I had given all the other applicants the chance to come in for the interview. Cynthia tilted her head, her silver hair slanting against her cheeks. And there was something else. I would initially think one person daring to take on an entire mansion was overly confident. That, or they underestimated the job. You didn’t give off that feeling, however. You seemed to know exactly what you were up against. The interview confirmed that. I knew you were the one.

That’s very flattering. I finished my tea and took the cup over to the sink to wash it out. Why the sudden nostalgia?

Just watching you at work made me think how lucky I am I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Cynthia touched my shoulder. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

My heart warmed. I put my hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. I don’t know what I’d do without you, either. You and Fred are my best clients. My favorite clients. Having steady work for such kind people is a dream come true.

You’re very sweet, Emmy. Cynthia patted my hand. I can sense you want to get back to work. Come to me when you’re done so I can give you what I owe you.

I will, I promised. The tea was excellent, by the way. And the cookies.

She smiled. I know.

I liked her candor.

I headed back up the stairs and to the lounge room I’d been about to finish dusting. I took up my tools again and got back to it, making little humming sounds with my movements. I had always liked Cynthia’s candor. I had dealt with so many clients before who wouldn’t communicate, who hid their thoughts. How was I meant to meet their expectations when they wouldn’t let me know what they were? Cynthia had been different from the very beginning. She asked me all the questions I would expect to be asked and laid out what would be required from me.

Evidently, I had proved myself since I had been working for her ever since then.

I finished dusting and put the duster and polish back in my bag. Always clean from the top on down and finish with a quick vacuuming to suck up any stray crumbs or dust missed earlier. I hooked up the vacuum and turned it on, pushing it in parallel strokes over the soft carpet. There was something to the rhythm of vacuuming that calmed me, like doing stretches after a rough workout to combat soreness. Before I knew it, I was done.

I returned the vacuum to the closet where it belonged and lugged my suitcase back down the stairs in search of Cynthia. She sat on the couch in the main living room, watching the gigantic TV. I love watching TV right after you’ve cleaned, she said to me, not taking her eyes off the unfolding romcom. The picture is so clear, it’s as if I’ve gotten new glasses.

I laughed. Next time, I’ll clean in the shape of glasses lenses, give you the whole experience.

Oh, now wouldn’t that be funny! But you’d have such a hard time not finishing the job. Cynthia grabbed the TV remote and turned it off. She stood. Come on. I’ll see you out.

We headed from the living room to the foyer, really more of an entrance hall with tables and mirrors against the walls. I slid on my shoes. When I straightened from lacing them, a bundle of cash appeared in front of my face. Here you are, Cynthia said.

I took the money and counted it. I reached the amount she owed me and there was still more to be counted.

Your tip, Cynthia said,