Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll let Therese know about your dyslexia and that she needs to be patient with you. Now, is there anything else? Any other reason you might try to get out of a perfectly decent job?”
I stared at him, stunned he was being so understanding, even if there was a hint of sarcasm in that last question.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked. I wasn’t sure why, but I suddenly felt suspicious. Jonathan seemed strangely eager for me to accept the job, and I just didn’t get it. Had he decided to take on a charity case or something? Was there some kind of A Christmas Carol scenario playing out, where the rich finance guy was trying to make up for past misdeeds?
He ran a hand through his stylishly cut, dark blond hair, looking stressed and conflicted. Then his eyes met mine, and he replied, “I’m being nice to you because I’m your half-brother, Maggie.”
17.
Maggie
I stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned silent. “You’re my what?” I asked, finally finding some words.
Jonathan checked his watch. “I really don’t have time for this right now.”
“Then give me the shortened version,” I demanded, staring at him hard. Did he think he could drop a bombshell like that on me and then dash off to work?
My hands were trembling, my pulse jack hammering as I tried to comprehend his revelation. Was it really happening? Jonathan was at least forty. That put almost a decade between us. It was very possible his dad impregnated two different women nine years apart, but …
My eyes raked over him while I continued to recover from the shock of his statement. If he were my brother, then there would be some resemblance between us, but I couldn’t find any, at least not at first. Then I noticed the shape of his nose, which was a slightly larger version of mine. His eyes were blue like mine, too. The very same shade. I always thought my eyes were my mother’s, but perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps …
“You never met your birth father, did you?” he asked, breaking my train of thought.
I shook my head, narrowing my gaze as my initial shock faded slightly. “Are you saying we have the same dad?”
“His name was Gerard Murphy,” Jonathan replied, and something strange burned in my chest just hearing it. “I never took his name because my mother raised me. About a year ago, I was notified he’d died, and I was also informed his name was on the birth certificate of a child born in the early nineties.”
“Me?” I breathed, realising I’d never actually seen my own birth certificate. I just didn’t expect my father’s name to be on it. Mam said she barely knew him, and then he disappeared before she discovered she was pregnant.
“Yes, Maggie, you. I did some research, found out who you were and that you worked as a housekeeper.”
I let out a flabbergasted chuckle, my voice full of disbelief. “So, you decided to hire me? I mean, who does that?”
How was hiring your possible half sibling a rational response to finding out about them?
“I thought it was the best way to get to know what sort of person you were from afar first before I introduced myself. Surely, you must’ve had your suspicions. I paid you to clean two penthouses I keep virtually spotless.”
“But you were never around. You wanted to get to know what sort of person I am, but I never saw you. I’ve worked for you for over a year, Jonathan. That’s just … strange.”
He dragged a hand down his face, glancing at the ceiling a moment before returning his attention to me. “Well, I’m a strange man. I’m also a very wealthy one. When I found out who you were, I still knew next to nothing about you, except you were poor and were once homeless.”
“Hey, now—” I began, but he cut me off.
“My apologies. I don’t mean poor, per se, I just mean, well, working class.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being working class, Jonathan. It doesn’t make a person any less trustworthy. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve cleaned for rich people for over a decade. Their money doesn’t make them better people, believe me.”
“Fucking hell, I’m messing this up,” he swore, looking stressed before he continued, “Look, I completely agree with you money doesn’t make people better. I might be a prime example of that, but the fact of the matter remained I didn’t know you or your character. So, I hired you, and I observed you. I saw how reliable and trustworthy you were. It was admirable, truly. Have you any idea how many cleaners I’ve had who’ve stolen things from my apartment over the years? I even had one who began living there while I was away for several weeks on business. Your work ethic and the way you conducted yourself was commendable, so I concluded you were the sort of sister I’d be honoured to have in my life.”