Page 39 of His

So Mr. Stone and the housekeeper are having an affair. I’m positive. I mean I’m pretty sure. One, they both appear to sleep in the guest bedroom together, so uh, yeah. Two, they’ve been holed up in Mr. Stone’s “office” all day.

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Sabine has never appeared to be nervous in her role as a billionaire’s housekeeper. In fact, it’s the opposite. She seems cavalier about the whole thing. Like when I broke the glass, she didn’t appear the least bit nervous about it, and when I first arrived, she told me “don’t worry, Mr. Stone doesn’t bite.” It’s obvious she knows Mr. Stone on a much deeper level than I would suspect a housekeeper to.

I’m not going to lie. For a split second—a split second—I considered calling a gossip column to see how much they would offer for some juicy gossip about the notoriously reclusive and oh-so-sexy billionaire. But I’m not a horrible person, so I quashed the idea.

Still, it’s intriguing, and it makes me want to know more about Sabine. How did she land him? What did she do? Who made the first move?

I wonder how common it is for rich people and their staff to have inappropriate relationships. Probably more common than you’d think, especially considering they have to sign a nondisclosure agreement in the first place, which basically removes the first barrier for the relationship right there.

As I stand in the corner of the bedroom, hands clasped at my waist, like a sentinel awaiting instructions from Jackie, who is taking Mrs. Stone’s vitals, I wonder if Valerie knows. It’s widely rumored within our circle that Mr. Stone and his wife are estranged, and have been for a long time. Regardless, it’s an interesting dynamic in this teeny-tiny beach home.

Speaking of interesting dynamics. Jackie doesn’t like me and that’s being generous. But I’ve decided that I’m not going to let it bother me. I can’t. I have to keep my focus.

Which right now, is really, really hard.

My gaze shifts to the windows. I scan the tree line in the distance, then the gardens. As soon as Jackie leaves, I’ll go into the living room, which has a much better view of the property.

Nerves tickle my stomach.

Leave, Jackie, I think. It’s time to leave.

Jackie looks over her shoulder, shaking me from my thoughts. “Brittney, please go make a cup of chamomile tea for Mrs. Stone.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m out the door before she can even finish the sentence.

After closing the door behind me, I turn, and freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

Mr. Stone’s office door is open.

And he is gorgeous. Even more than the rumors. He’s so engrossed in whatever he’s doing on his computer that he doesn’t even notice me.

Snapping out of my trance, I shuffle out of his line of sight and hurry into the living room. My eyes lock on the windows.

Sabine is outside in the garden.

I don’t want her to see me staring at her like an idiot so I hurry to the kitchen.

What was I supposed to be doing?

Oh yeah. Tea. Mrs. Stone. On it.

After putting water on to boil, I lean against the counter and watch the housekeeper as she settles in front of a rose bush with gloves and a pruning tool.

I watch the way she moves, efficiently and elegantly. With purpose. She oozes confidence, and I find myself deep in envy. What a life to be innately confident. I can’t imagine. Confidence to me is akin to assertiveness. They both come to me as naturally as flirting. (They don’t).

I study her body, the generous and feminine curves. My hand drifts to my boxy waist, my square hips, and I make a mental note to eat more carbs.

While I’m wearing a pair of ill-fitting scrubs and worn sneakers, Sabine looks effortlessly sexy in another fitted t-shirt and cut-offs. It’s such a basic outfit, but at the same time, seductive. In fact, it’s even more sexy because it’s so casual.

How do I learn to do that?

I bet her mother taught her how to do her makeup, her hair, how to dress and act like a lady. Mine taught me how to drive at age twelve so I could take her to the liquor store when she was too drunk to drive.

I don’t notice as the water begins to boil over because I am so engrossed in watching this mesmerizing housekeeper who landed a billionaire.

I decide then that I’m going to study Sabine, I’m going to take notes, and I’m going to become the woman I’ve always wanted to be.

Twenty-Seven

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