Page 7 of The Housemaid
I can’t help but notice when I walk inside that the house looks very different from the first time I was here.Verydifferent. When I came for the interview, the Winchester house was immaculate—I could have eaten off any surface in the room. But now, the place looks like a pigsty. The coffee table in front of the sofa has six cups on it with varying amounts of different sticky liquids in them, about a dozen crumpled newspapers and magazines, and a dented pizza box. There’s clothing and garbage strewn all over the living room and the dining table still has the remains of dinner last night.
“As you can see,” Nina says, “you haven’t arrived a moment too soon!”
So Nina Winchester is a slob—that’shersecret. It’s going to take me hours to get this place in any decent condition. Maybe days. But that’s fine—I’ve been itching to do some good honest hard work. And I like that she needs me. If I can make myself invaluable to her, she’s less likely to fire me if—or when—she finds out the truth.
“Let me just put my bags away,” I tell her. “And then I’ll get the entire place tidied up.”
Nina lets out a happy sigh. “You are a miracle, Millie. Thank yousomuch. Also…” She grabs her purse off the kitchen counter and rifles around inside, finally pulling out the latest iPhone. “I got you this. I couldn’t help but notice you were using a very outdated phone. If I need to reach you, I’d like you to have a reliable means of communication.”
I hesitantly wrap my fingers around the brand-new iPhone. “Wow. This is really generous of you, but I can’t afford a plan—”
She waves a hand. “I added you to our family plan. It cost almost nothing.”
Almost nothing? I have a feeling her definition of those two words is very different from mine.
Before I can protest further, the sound of footsteps echoes on the stairs behind me. I turn around, and a man in a gray business suit is making his way down the stairwell. When he sees me standing in the living room, he stops short at the base of the stairs, as if shocked by my presence. His eyes widen further when he notices my luggage.
“Andy!” Nina calls out. “Come meet Millie!”
This must be Andrew Winchester. When I was googling the Winchester family, my eyes popped out a bit when I saw this man’s net worth. After seeing all those dollar signs, the home theater and the gate surrounding the property made a bit more sense. He’s a businessman, who took over his father’s thriving company, and has doubled the profits since. But it’s obvious from his surprised expression that he allows his wife to handle most of the household matters, and it’s apparently flat out slipped her mind to tell him she’s hired a live-in housekeeper.
“Hello…” Mr. Winchester steps into the living room, his brow furrowed. “Millie, is it? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“Andy, I told you about her!” She tilts her head to the side. “I said we needed to hire somebody to help with cleaning and cooking and Cecelia. I’m sure I told you!”
“Yes, well.” His face finally relaxes. “Welcome, Millie. We could certainly use the help.”
Andrew Winchester holds his hand out for me to shake. It’s hard not to notice he is an incredibly handsome man. Piercing brown eyes, a full head of hair the color of mahogany, and a sexy little cleft in his chin. It’s also hard not to notice that he is several levels more attractive than his wife, even with her impeccable grooming, which strikes me as a bit strange. The man is filthy rich, after all. He could have any woman he wants. I respect him for not choosing a twenty-year-old supermodel to be his life partner.
I thrust my new phone into my jeans pocket and reach out to take his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”
“Please.” He smiles warmly at me. “Call me Andrew.”
As he says the words, something flickers over Nina Winchester’s face. Her lips twitch and her eyes narrow. I’m not exactly sure why though. She herself offered to let me call her by her first name. And it’s not like Andrew Winchester is checking me out. His eyes are staying respectfully on mine and not dropping below the neck. Not that there’s much to see—even though I didn’t bother with the fake tortoiseshell glasses today, I’m wearing a modest blouse and comfortable blue jeans for my first day of work.
“Anyway,” Nina snips, “don’t you have to get to the office, Andy?”
“Oh yes.” He straightens out his gray tie. “I’ve got a meeting at nine-thirty in the city. I better hurry.”
Andrew gives Nina a lingering kiss on the lips and squeezes her shoulder. As far as I can see, they are quite happily married. And Andrew seems pretty down-to-earth for a man whose net worth has eight figures after the dollar sign. It’s sweet how he blows her a kiss from the front door—this is a man who loves his wife.
“Your husband seems nice,” I say to Nina as the door slams shut.
The dark, suspicious look returns to her eyes. “Do you think so?”
“Well, yes,” I stammer. “I mean, he seems like…how long have you been married?”
Nina looks at me thoughtfully. But instead of answering my question, she says, “What happened to your glasses?”
“What?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “You were wearing a pair of glasses at your interview, weren’t you?”
“Oh.” I squirm, reluctant to admit that the eyeglasses were fake—my attempt to look more intelligent and serious, and yes, less attractive and threatening. “I…uh, I’m wearing my contacts.”
“Are you?”
I don’t know why I lied. I should’ve just said that I don’t need the glasses that badly. Instead, I have now doubled down and invented contacts that I’m not actually wearing. I can feel Nina scrutinizing my pupils, searching for the lenses.
