Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Not wanting to burst Ark’s privacy bubble for the third time in under a week, I continue to announce my presence while heading toward the primary suite. “Arkadiy?”
We usually address tenants by their surnames, but the disdain on Arkadiy’s face when he gave me his preferences ensures Arkadiy will be as formal as my greetings will go.
“Are you h-home?”
I startle when a voice from the side breaks through the thudding of my pulse in my ears. “He isn’t here.” Rafael smiles to assure me he is remorseful for my jump before he says, “He had a handful of errands to run before... he… ah…”
I nod, saving us both from the embarrassment of him admitting I’m the cause of Ark’s absence.
Gratitude flares through Rafael’s kind eyes before he asks, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No. Thank you.” I hook my thumb to the primary suite, my hand’s shake noticeable. “I sh-should get a start. My s-schedule is full today.”
Rafael smiles like he isn’t disgusted that I clean strangers’ messes for a living or that I speak with a stutter. “All right. Let me know if you need anything.”
I mimic his gesture before making a beeline for Ark’s room, my pace fast. The quicker I get this apartment sparklingly clean, the faster I can move on to wallowing in another million-dollar abode I could have lived in for free if I had accepted Maksim Ivanov’s generosity six months ago.
I declined his offer of a rent-free apartment because I firmly believe in karma. If someone helps you, it is your moral obligation to help someone else. If you do something bad, expect something bad in return.
That’s how life should work. Does it always transpire as intended? Not always, but for the most part, the odds have swayed in my favor, so I will continue with my beliefs until they are proven inadequate.
The scent of someone recently showering fills the air when I enter Ark’s room. The towels dumped at the foot of the bed announce that the bathroom is void of a soul, but I still check, just in case.
It’s empty—of people.
The bottle of shampoo I’ve been seeking for the past three days is present, though, and it makes me confused about Ark’s game plan.
It isn’t like he can’t afford his own shampoo. The produce he purchased from a local market wasn’t from the bagged seconds stock I usually veer for every payday. It is top-shelf produce that comes with a surcharge. Even the sparkling water I stacked in the bar’s mini refrigerator last week cost more per gallon than my favorite haircare brand.
My nails nick the label of the shampoo bottle when a voice sounds from behind me. “Before I forget, I was meant to ask you…” Rafael stops talking when my jump can’t be missed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yo-you didn’t.”
He did. He snuck up on me so agilely that I didn’t hear his steps, and it has made me mindful that Ark had every right to be furious last week. I’m not naked, and I still feel somewhat violated since I am in a bathroom. It is usually a place of sanctum.
When Rafael’s sigh announces he heard my lie from a mile out, I twist to face him. I both loath and admire the way he leans against the doorjamb like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
If only his worldly eyes announced the same.
They’re broken, though not as guarded as Ark’s.
“What did you want to a-ask?” I hate myself for stuttering, but it can’t be helped. He is in the doorway, blocking the only available exit. That’s as triggering as it comes for me.
The tightness spreading across my chest slackens when he steps deeper into the bathroom. “I wanted to ask you about that.” At the end of his sentence, he lowers his eyes to the shampoo bottle I’ve almost crushed. “I was hoping you could tell me where I can buy it.” Again, I don’t recognize his expression. “Ark is almost out, so I thought I should grab him another bottle before he returns for his fifth shower of the day.”
When I roll the bottle in my hand, my heart rate quickens. Its lack of weight exposes it is almost empty.
Ark would have had to use it at least three times a day to deplete the almost full bottle he took from my bathroom. His hair is thick, but washing it even once a day is excessive.
“He knows this is sh-shampoo, right? It isn’t body wash.” When images a chambermaid shouldn’t have of one of her clients inflame my cheeks with need, I return my focus to the core of Rafael’s question. “I purchase this brand from a local sa-salon. I can jot down the address for you if you’d like?”
Rafael gleams like a hunter who has locked in on their prey. “You use this same brand?” He sounds shocked. He needs to take acting classes. His stirring expression doesn’t mimic the bewilderment in his tone.