Page 70 of Mayhem and Minnie

Slowly, she moves away from me, settling back into her seat and staring into open space. There’s a slow tremor that goes down her spine, and she places her hands in her lap, fidgeting with them.

“Satisfied now?” I attempt to lighten the mood.

She doesn’t even look at me. She continues to stare in the distance as she gives me a tight nod—one that’s seemingly filled with pain.

I frown.

Her reaction is strange and I don’t know what to make of it.

Yet I also can’t tell her the truth. My body count is one hundred and fifty-seven. As in one hundred and fifty-seven people that I’ve killed.

But she doesn’t need to know that.

10

She doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the day.

Even when I hand her the list of cleaning tasks, she just nods, glances at it, and then puts on her maid costume and proceeds to clean.

I can’t even find fault with her cleaning. She follows my instructions to a T, scrubbing the floors until they shine and dusting the furniture until there’s not one speck of dirt left.

Throughout the day, I try to ask her how she’s doing, but she just glares at me before resuming her cleaning duties.

I decide to get some work done while she’s busy, but I can’t seem to focus on anything. Staring blankly at my computer, I find my thoughts straying to her as I wonder what she’s up to. It takes me a few consecutive tries to get into a work mindset before I give up.

To make matters worse, I cannot even focus on a Supernatural episode—my usual pastime when I don’t work.

Instead, all I can think about is her.

I scowl at myself.

I bought her shoes and clothes and now she’s not speaking to me.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Don’t girls like those things?

She should be thanking me profusely, perhaps on her knees. Now, that wouldn’t be such a bad sight. Especially in that maid outfit of hers.

Before I can contemplate how my obsession with her is ruining my things, I click on the camera feed to see what she’s up to.

Maybe it was a premonition, but she is on her knees in the bathroom on the first floor, scrubbing the floor. She’s just started by the looks of it. There’s only one small shining patch of tile among other dirty ones. Alas, she has her work cut out for her.

Although the dress covers most of her, from the angle of the camera, I can see her slender ankles. And as I rake my gaze over her body, my eyes land on her ass.

She thrusts it backward as she swipes the cleaning rag back and forth.

A groan slips past my lips.

This is madness.

Pure and simple.

She takes a deep breath as she leans back, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Usually, that would disturb me since her hands are undoubtedly drenched in a mix of filth and detergent. Yet for some reason, there’s no revulsion.

My pulse quickens as I watch every small move she makes.

She gets to her feet and dumps the cleaning rag to the ground. Placing her hands on her hips, she looks around as she shakes her head.

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