The tour of the house takes a while. The place is like a cavern.
I’m actually worried that I, alone, won’t be able to keep this place clean.
There are a lot of rooms.
Downstairs, there’s a library—yes, a library. A gym. An indoor swimming pool, which Mr. Matis told me he has a guy who comes in to clean it. His office. The biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life with a separate utility room, which is where all the cleaning products are kept. A huge dining room, complete with a sixteen-seater dining table. I guess the Matises entertain often. A living room, which looks like it’s barely used. And a sitting room, which hosts a huge TV and looks like it gets used more often.
Upstairs are six bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. Kas’s bedroom is at the side of the house, overlooking the paddocks. He has a private balcony, and the view from it is gorgeous. There’s also a separate bathroom that hosts the biggest bathtub I’ve ever seen in my life.
I need to work out which rooms get used the most and clean them regularly.
He also gives me a uniform to wear while I work, which means I won’t ruin my own clothes. It’s just a short-sleeved, knee-length plain black housekeeping dress with a white collar and cuffs, and he’s given me two, which is good, as I’ll have one to wash against.
I’ll change into it once we’re done here.
We’re back downstairs and in his office now.
He had a few employee forms for me to fill in with my address and that kind of thing.
Shit, it’s asking for my bank details to pay my wages into.
I press the pen to my lip. “Um, Mr. Matis…I don’t have a bank account.”
He looks from his phone, which he was just staring at, to me, his eyes sharp.
I shift with discomfort under his laser stare. “I, um, don’t remember the details of my old bank account, as I haven’t used it in eighteen months. I’m not even sure the account is still open or if the bank closed it down.”
“Find out.”
“Okay. I’ll call the bank—”
“Make the call on your own time, not mine.”
Yes, sir.
I nod my head and finish filling the forms out.
I hand them and the pen back to him. He doesn’t even bother to look at them. Just opens a drawer on his desk and shoves them inside.
“So, I guess I should get to work.” I start to rise from my chair.
“One more thing.”
His voice halts me, and I put my butt back in the seat.
He sits forward, putting his elbows on the desk, and stares at me with those unyielding black eyes of his. “There are things of value in this house, but I’m guessing you already know that.”
I do?
“And I know the temptation might be great, but I have to ask you to try not to steal anything. I’d hate to have to send you back to prison.”
What. The. Hell?
I feel like he just slapped me. My cheeks sting with humiliation.
God, I hate that this stuck-up bastard can affect me in this way. I’ve known him for, what? An hour, and I despise the fucker already.
If I didn’t need this job as badly as I do and if assault wouldn’t land me straight back in prison, then I’d kick him right where it hurt—which would probably be his wallet because I’m pretty sure nothing else would penetrate his rhino skin.
My fingers curl into my palms, and I let the sting of pain ground me.
Come on, Daisy. You’ve heard…had worse than this. He’s just a stuck-up arsehole who clearly needs to get laid.
Says she who hasn’t had sex in…well, forever.
“Yes, Mr. Matis,” I grit out the words.
Really, what else could I have said?
Try to defend my honor? I almost laugh out loud at that absurd thought.
I tried doing that in a court of law, and it didn’t work out so well for me.
And this jumped-up prick believes I’m a thief because that’s what the law told him.
It doesn’t matter to him if I’m innocent or not.
I’m poor and a criminal; therefore, I’m beneath him.
I’m beneath everyone.
I’m branded for life.
I was always poor. Now, I have the criminal tag to go with it.
Well, aren’t I a perfect catch?
God, I hate Jason fucking Doyle. He ruined my life.
But I know I’m not a thief, and that’s all that matters.
Or that’s what I tell myself.
But I figure, if I say it enough, then I’ll start to believe it one day.
Kas’s head is tilted, his jaw tight but his eyes appraising, like he was expecting more.
Almost like he was expecting…retaliation.
Why would he think I’d retaliate?
Because I’ve been in prison; therefore, I’m a thug.
God, I’m so fucking done here.
This guy is the biggest of all arses. I just want to get my job done.
The thing that’s bothering me most is that he hired me, knowing I have a criminal record. Why do that if he wants to be a complete tool to me?
Maybe he gets off on it—belittling people.
Well, he can do what he wants, say what he wants.
Because I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just care that he pays my wages at the end of every week.
“We’re done here,” he says blandly, like he’s suddenly bored.
And I take leave before he can say anything else shitty to me.
