Chapter 2 - Forty-Seven Thousand Dollars
Chloe expected humiliation when she returned to work two days later.
She expected whispers.
She expected Mrs. Gable to call her into the service office and explain that sleeping in Victor Russo’s bed violated approximately nine hundred household rules.
Instead, Mrs. Gable handed her a clipboard.
“Third floor.”
Chloe blinked.
“That’s it?”
Mrs. Gable looked over her glasses.
“Would you prefer a parade?”
“No.”
“Excellent. The silver in the west dining room also needs polishing.”
Chloe walked away suspiciously.
By lunch, she understood why nobody was gossiping.
Victor had apparently informed senior staff that Chloe had collapsed while working and had been placed in the nearest available room until a doctor arrived.
Technically, almost every word was true.
Almost.
At one that afternoon, Chloe found herself changing sheets in a guest suite when another maid named Marissa leaned through the doorway.
“You survived.”
Chloe froze.
“Excuse me?”
“Your fever.”
“Oh.”
Marissa smiled.
“What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing.”
“You look guilty.”
“I always look guilty.”
“Catholic?”
“Poor.”
Marissa laughed and disappeared.
Chloe released the breath she had been holding.
Life returned to normal.
Almost.
Victor started appearing.
Before the incident, Chloe could go days without seeing him.
Now he somehow needed coffee precisely when she was in the kitchen.
He happened to cross corridors while she was polishing furniture.
He entered rooms seconds after she began working in them.
By Friday, Chloe caught him doing it.
She was arranging books in his library when he walked in.
She turned.
Victor stopped.
Chloe folded her arms.
“You don’t read at three in the afternoon.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How would you know?”
“Your library dust pattern.”
Victor stared at her.
“My what?”
“The lower shelves gather dust. The chair faces the fireplace in the evening. Your coffee cup is usually on the right table after nine. You read at night.”
“You’ve been studying me.”
“I clean your house.”
Victor glanced around.
“I needed a book.”
“Which one?”
His eyes moved toward the shelves.
Chloe waited.
Victor pointed to the nearest title.
“That.”
She picked it up.
“A Complete History of Midwestern Agricultural Tax Law?”
He looked at the cover.
“Yes.”
“You have a disturbing private life, Mr. Russo.”
For the second time in less than a week, Victor nearly laughed.
He took the book.
“Back to work, Bennett.”
“Yes, sir.”
But when she passed him, Chloe noticed something she had never expected.
Victor Russo looked embarrassed.
That evening, she received a call from Tommy’s clinic.
She slipped into the service stairwell.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Bennett, we still haven’t received payment for the outstanding medication account.”
“I get paid today.”
“We need at least eight hundred and sixty dollars.”
Chloe closed her eyes.
Her paycheck was larger than at her previous jobs.
It was still not enough.
“I can pay five hundred.”
“The balance has already been extended twice.”
“I understand.”
“We can process the prescription when—”
“He needs it tonight.”
Silence.
The woman’s voice softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Chloe looked through the narrow stairwell window.
Snow had begun falling.
“I’ll figure it out.”
She ended the call.
“What do you need tonight?”
Chloe spun.
Victor stood on the landing above her.
Her stomach dropped.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
“That was private.”
“I know.”
“Then pretend you didn’t hear it.”
Victor descended one step.
“How much?”
“No.”
“Chloe.”
It was the first time he had used her first name.
That somehow made everything worse.
“No.”
“He needs medicine.”
“And I will buy it.”
“With what?”
“My money.”
“Which you earned working for me.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll have more next week.”
“Then I’ll buy it next week.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“What happens tonight?”
Chloe hated the tears threatening her eyes.
She refused to let them fall.
“I sell something.”
“What?”
“My mother’s necklace.”
Victor went very still.
“It’s worth maybe nine hundred.”
“And that is your solution?”
“It’s a necklace.”
“From your dead mother.”
Chloe’s face changed.
Victor regretted the words immediately.
She looked toward the wall.
“I can remember her without jewelry.”
He had no response.
Because Victor understood exactly what it meant to own almost nothing of the dead.
He still possessed his father’s watch.
His brother’s pocketknife.
Objects worth little money and too much memory.
Victor reached into his jacket.
Chloe stepped backward.
“Don’t.”
He ignored her and withdrew his phone.
“What pharmacy?”
“I said no.”
“I heard you.”
“You can’t buy my cooperation.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then why?”
The question stopped him.
Victor could have given ten answers.
Because your brother is fifteen.
Because you looked scared.
Because I have spent more than eight hundred dollars on a bottle of wine and forgotten to drink it.
Because money should solve something useful for once.
But the truth was simpler.
“I don’t know.”
Chloe stared at him.
Victor lowered the phone.
That answer affected her more than any polished explanation could have.
Finally she said, “If you pay for it, I repay you.”
“No.”
“Then forget it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“You repay me.”
She hesitated.
“No interest.”
Victor looked offended.
“I’m not a bank.”
Chloe almost smiled.
“That statement feels legally questionable.”
A muscle moved in Victor’s cheek.
“Pharmacy.”
She gave him the name.
Fifteen minutes later, Tommy’s medication was paid.
Victor left before Chloe could thank him.
That should have ended it.
Instead, something stranger happened Monday morning.
Victor summoned his accountant.
“What does a housekeeper earn here?”
Daniel Mercer adjusted his glasses.
“You sign the payroll authorization.”
“I don’t memorize it.”
Daniel told him.
Victor frowned.
“That’s absurd.”
“It’s twenty-eight percent above comparable positions.”
“It’s still absurd.”
“Would you like to increase wages?”
Victor considered.
“For the domestic staff. Eight percent.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Because?”
“Inflation.”
“Inflation is currently—”
Victor stared.
Daniel closed his folder.
“Eight percent.”
By Friday, every housekeeper received a notice explaining a wage adjustment.
Chloe read hers twice.
Then found Victor in his study.
“You raised everyone’s salary.”
Victor continued signing papers.
“Apparently.”
“Because of me?”
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
His pen stopped.
“Careful.”
Chloe stepped closer.
“You didn’t want me to know you were helping me.”
“I helped everyone.”
“So I couldn’t object.”
Victor finally looked up.
“That sounds unnecessarily complicated.”
“It sounds exactly like you.”
Silence settled.
Then Chloe placed an envelope on his desk.
He looked down.
Inside was one hundred dollars.
“What is this?”
“First payment.”
“Chloe.”
“We had a deal.”
He stared at the money.
Nobody repaid Victor Russo.
People owed him.
Feared him.
Avoided him.
But this woman stood in front of his desk insisting that eight hundred and sixty dollars mattered.
“Keep it.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
“Neither is this.”
Victor leaned back.
“You realize people have disappeared for being less irritating.”
Chloe’s eyes widened.
Then she saw the faintest hint of amusement in his face.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m experimenting.”
“With humor?”
“It appears unpleasant.”
Chloe laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Victor felt something in his chest loosen.
Then the study door opened.
A man in a dark suit stepped inside.
“Mr. Russo.”
Victor’s expression changed instantly.
Cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
“What?”
“The DeLuca family confirmed dinner tomorrow.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“They’re bringing Bianca.”
Chloe saw it.
Not fear.
Something closer to exhaustion.
She picked up her cleaning cloth.
“I should go.”
Victor watched her turn.
The man added, “Her father believes the marriage proposal deserves reconsideration.”
Chloe’s hand paused on the doorknob.
Victor saw it.
For one uncomfortable second, neither moved.
Then Chloe left.
Victor looked at the closed door.
He had refused Bianca DeLuca three times.
Until now, that decision had been purely strategic.
May you like
Suddenly, for reasons he did not care to examine, Victor wanted Chloe Bennett to know that.
And that realization was considerably more dangerous than any marriage proposal.
