Page 6 of Good Girls Like it Dirty
“I’m sorry,” she rushed to say, and kneeled down to pick up the pieces on the floor. She heard Glen whistling behind her, but he didn’t do anything to help. Bastard.
Paula snorted, visibly impatient. “Is there something going on? You disappeared when we were the busiest. Someone told me you’re flirting with my guests and now you’re breaking my family china.”
A warm wave spread across her cheeks and neck. How could she deny flirting? Doug probably told Paula about her exchange with Zaine. “I went upstairs to clean up after a guest said someone broke a vase in the bathroom,” she said in an even tone.
Paula folded her arms, tilted her head to the side. “Really?”
Putain. I’m bad at this.“I’m so sorry about your china. I can pay you back,” Monique said, swallowing her pride. Maybe she sucked at lying, but at least she was trying to make amends. “I was distracted,” she said, choosing not to throw Zaine under the bus. He wouldn’t get in trouble for making out at their house, but Monique knew Paula was friends with Ashley, and she’d hate to involve more people than necessary.
“Pay me back?” Paula laughed with sarcasm.
Monique’s stomach churned. She’d been regarded in such a belittling way before, and swore she’d never again allow herself to be the girl people pitied.
“You’d have to work your butt off to afford it. Listen, having you help me clearly was a disastrous idea. You’re good enough to dust off the shelves and scrub the toilets, but you lack the polish to serve at a sophisticated dinner party.”
Monique’s shoulders involuntarily sagged. She’d come from a large family, and her mother had to endure a lot of hardship after her father left them. Yet she’d never felt as dirt poor as now, with that stupid rich woman sizing her up. Was she going to let her, though?
Pull yourself together. Monique locked her spine in place, though her fingers trembled as she removed the apron and tossed it on the kitchen counter. Didn’t matter how she felt…all she needed was to show Paula that money didn’t give a person carte blanche to bitch at the help. Or anyone.
“What are you doing?” Paula furrowed her brows.
“I’m leaving. You’re right. This wasn’t a good idea,” she said, pleased at how collected she sounded.
Paula grabbed her elbow like she was an eight-year-old girl who’d left the dinner table without asking for permission. “Are you insane? You can’t go anywhere, dinner hasn’t been served yet,” Paula said, digging her fingers into Monique’s skin.
Monique glanced down at her reddening flesh. Her heart thumped at the base of her throat. Anger surpassed frustration, and she jerked free from the woman’s hold. What the hell was she thinking? “You have hands and legs. Work it out,” she said, walking to the food pantry where she’d left her purse and stuffed her clothes.
“This is stupid,” Paula said, following her footsteps. “You can’t leave. The dress you’re wearing’s mine. Or were you going to steal it like the little crook you are?”
Was she really worked up because of this tacky dress? She’d worked for Paula’s family for months and never imagined one day she’d be treated with so much disrespect. “No problem.” Swiftly, she slipped off the dress, and it pooled at her heels. She quickly retrieved the clothes she’d worn that day, then pulled on her jeans and shirt while Glen watched her, his jaw dropping.
Monique didn’t care. Growing up, she’d hated feeling like she wasn’t good enough around her father’s second family. He’d moved on and married some lady with money and snooty kids from a prior marriage. During the family events she’d attended, Papa’s new family looked down at her and her three siblings. She’d sworn she’d never allow anyone to treat her with contempt because of her lack of social standing and disadvantaged financial status.
Paula stared at her, speechless.
Monique strode out of the place, not even waiting to discuss her payment, no matter how badly she needed every little cent she managed to make. Gut instinct informed her Paula would make a fuss about paying after her poor performance, and she doubted the woman would keep her as her cleaner or ever refer her again.
Tough luck. Monique left the house and walked down the street until she reached her parked car. Before she had lived in the US, she hadn’t even owned a car. In Paris, she’d take the subway, walk, or ride with friends. Keeping a car was far too costly and unnecessary. She hurried into the tiny Kia she’d bought not second, but fourth hand. A smile formed on her lips. She’d worry about paying the bills later. Now, she’d drive out of this fancy gated community with her chin held high—and that was priceless.
…
“Hey, Monique, where’s your share of the rent?” Nicole, one of her roommates, asked the next day. “It’s due tomorrow.”
Monique thinned her lips, desperate for a good excuse. She hated lying, and her entire day had been depressing. Six clients had emailed her to cancel services, and because she didn’t clean any houses, she didn’t have any cash to pay her roommates. “I don’t have it yet. I’m sorry, something happened and—”
Nicole lifted her hand, gesturing for her to stop talking. Nicole had always been nice to her. With curly long hair and mysterious gray eyes, she was going to cosmetology school and sometimes gave Monique free mani-pedis to practice. Unfortunately, one of them was always out working or studying while the other slept, so Monique never had much opportunity to really bond with Nicole. “I get it. But you still have to pull your own weight.”
“I do, and I have,” Monique said, remembering how she’d offered to do Nicole’s laundry when she was on the way to the laundry room, and how she never spent too long in the shower. “Listen, I apologize for being late this once.”
“We need to pay the landlord tomorrow to avoid fees,” Nicole said matter-of-factly. “It’s a fact. If you don’t pay…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged.
“I’ll have the money for you tomorrow morning. Don’t worry,” Monique promised. Nicole left the living area and marched to her room. Tears brimmed against her eyelids, frustration welling up inside. How had it come to this?
She was supposed to be working and earning money today. Yet, her regulars had canceled her maid services—not just for the day, but for good without any plausible explanation.
What the hell? The bad timing brought a sour taste to her mouth. Maybe she didn’t make tons from cleaning, but she counted on that income to cover her bills, gas, and food.
A pang of fear crept under her skin. She wished she was problem-free and could enjoy the nice weather, cool for September, but sadly she barely had enough gas in her car to go to her classes during the week and then to her few remaining clients.
