Page 17 of Maid in America

Pinching her eyes closed, trying to block out the mental picture her daughter had just gifted her, Maggie sneered, “Whydo you say things like that? To upset me? Look around you, Chastity.”

Chastity scanned her messy room. Across from her bed were several shelves crowded with cluttered piles of books. All around them were medals, trophies, and framed awards, some for sports, others for clubs, Dean’s Lists, Honor Roll...

An animal encyclopedia sat on her nightstand, an award ribbon tucked inside to hold her place.

“Well, what do you see?” Maggie asked sharply.

With brutal honesty and a hint of sarcasm, Chastity shrugged. “An overachiever with a low self-esteem? A try-hard? A perfectionist burnout? Or were you looking for just one word? If so, the word issad.”

Maggie probed her tongue against her cheek. “Sad? What do you have to be sad about?”

Chastity rolled her eyes and snatched up her laptop, returning her focus to the screen. “You’re right, Mother. You’realwaysright. Consider me one of God’s greatest tribulations for you. You know how He just loves to give people challenges. Poor you. Go commiserate with your buddy, Job.”

“When you’re done with your little pity party, and you’re ready to join the rest of civilized society, feel free to join us for our prayer meeting in the study.”

“Hard pass,” Chastity grumbled, scrolling through a search of available apartments.

Clenching her jaw, Maggie gripped the handle on the door. “I love you, Sweetheart, even if you are hellbent on making that as difficult as possible.”

She dragged the door closed. Chastity fumed in silence. She wanted to be in a differentworld. One less complicated and demanding.

She was ready to minimize the search, ready to escape into some trash reality TV show where the biggest problems peoplehad werewhich SPF to wear sunbathing, but her fingers paused, and her eyes scanned the listing for a luxury apartment -- one she couldn’t afford -- on the opposite side of town. She wasn’t sure how she would make rent in such an expensive town, but staying in her childhood bedroom was not a viable option. Even if it seemed unattainable, she had to find a way to escape.

6

The morning’s chill nippedat Barrett’s bare biceps as he marched up the icy walkway of Mrs. Thompson’s sprawling ranch-style mansion, one located on twenty-four acres of land on the outskirts of the mountainous town. His hands batted against the camouflage design on his Army combat pants. His heartbeat thundered beneath his matching shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a sliver of tanned muscles. He swallowed hard and stared at the doorbell camera.

He was being recorded. Somewhere in the cloud was now an image of his oiled abs peeking out from a tactical work shirt, feet nervously tensed in slightly undersized surplus store combat boots. He had been asked to come as a horny soldier on leave, ready for a different kind of action.

It’ll get easier, he chanted, echoing Will Jessup’s words during his first morning briefing. Soon, this would all be secondnature, but today, his nerves felt like a teen stripped to his underwear in the middle of a pep rally.

Could be worse,he remembered Will saying.You could be in a soul-sucking cubicle listening to coworkers repeat the same dull stories.

Before he could knock, a woman in her late fifties threw open the door. Her forehead warred with a month-old dose of Botox in its attempt to crease with surprise. Collagen-plumped lips slathered in berry-colored lipstick gaped in shock.

“Hello, ma’am. First Lieutenant Bulge, reporting for duty.” He clicked his heels together and saluted aggressively, trying his best to remember how they did it in movies likePlatoonandApocalypse Now.

“At ease, soldier.” She grinned. “Follow me.”

Bolt-upright, he clasped his arms behind his back and followed her in, whistling as he entered the grand foyer.

So much glass. So much marble. So many shining surfaces.

This was going to be a pain in the ass.

“My, they never seem to disappoint atMan Maid, do they?” Mrs. Thompson’s stiletto Louis Vuitton heels traipsed toward him, arms extended for his jacket. He stripped it off with a smile and handed it to her, pumping his bare pecs as she turned away to hang it on a coat rack.

Her gaze raked down his sculpted body, settling on the lump in the front of his pants. “I see why they call you Lieutenant Bulge.”

She shook her head to regain her composure and returned her eyes to his face. “Alright, let me show you to the laundry room. My normal housemaid just had a baby and is on maternity leave for a few weeks. I’ll have you come in her stead a few times a week while she’s away. The poor thing’s water broke all over my Ernesta Sugar rug. Then, she used my seven-hundred-dollar importedtowelsto clean it up, if you can believe it. I was justsickover it. I’d have tossed them, but Will said you guys are great with laundry. Clean them up so I can gift them to her. I’m sure they’re nicer than anything she’ll ever be able to afford.”

Mrs. Thompson strutted down the corridor. Barrett followed, taking the opportunity to appreciate every bit of the tight figure beneath her clinging silk dress. He half-listened as she droned on, fantasizing about what her bare ass might look like and if she’d be a voracious cougar type in bed. It was women like her, in his experience, who let loose the most between the sheets.

…Except forAphrodite.

The sudden recollection of her pierced nipples in his fingers hardened him. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on whatever Mrs. Thompson was blathering on about.

They turned the corner into a laundry room nearly as spacious as his loft apartment. He stomped in ahead of her, giving her a gorgeous view of his muscular back and marble-hard butt. He looked at a floor-to-ceiling wall of chemical detergents between two massive windows. Bizarre cleaning tools on an eye-level shelf reminded him of the torture instruments he’d once seen in an action movie.

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