His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance by Daisy Jane (best novels to read in english .txt) 📗

“I thought we could change the rules now, if you’re ready.”

Have seconds always felt so long?

I love her. I know that I do. But I don’t say it yet. I won’t say it over the phone, like it’s not special.

“Okay.” It’s the second time that word floors me, pedal to ground, a rush of blood to my brain sending excitement through my core.

“Maybe you could come get me at my place? I’m saying bye to Mel and Donny here. They’ll be on the road by three,” she adds.

“I’ll be there by three,” I glance at my watch and see I’ve got around six hours to finish putting the plans for the day into motion. “I’ve got some work to do but I will see you Britta. Not soon enough, but I’ll see you.”

“Okay,” she smiles into the phone, “I’ll see you later.”

Scrolling through my phone, I find the number I’m looking for, and hit the green call button. It rings a few times and I feel the frustration build, thinking he won’t pick up but fortunately, just in time, he answers.

“Mr. Bennett, how are you this morning?” his voice is saccharine but in the money business, you get used to people pouring syrup on their words before serving them to you.

“Fine,” I say, sitting up in bed. Everything had become to strikingly obvious lately—I was in love with Britta, and I needed her in my life.

“The documents you’ve requested are ready and I have a messenger going out with them now,” he promises, and I can hear him snapping to someone in the distance.

“When will they be here?”

I’m impatient. For what I pay this douchebag, there should be very little waiting. But despite his annoying persona, he gets me what I need with little notice. Though this time, I’d given him notice.

“No later than noon,” he promises.

“Will it be everything I need, or just the paperwork?” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, silently planning the rest of the day.

“Yes, sir, everything!” he says, satisfied.

I simply hang up. I have a one-track mind right now and without my coffee or even another hint of Britta’s voice, the niceties just aren’t going to happen.

Today is a big day and I only hope Britta is ready for it.

Also, Melody is moving.

20

Britta

“He wants to see me today, after you guys leave,” I’m pulling a comb through my wet hair as Melody sits on my couch, listening, watching. We’re soaking up the last hours of one another and though I’ve kept my happy face on for her future, I’m thoroughly sad she’s leaving.

“Yeah?” she asks, her dark hair down, those same hoop earrings wiggling between strands of wild hair. Her usual black cat-eye liner is missing and her face droops with exhaustion. She yawns and leans back, eyes fluttering shut as I continue to detangle. I’d kept Melody in on things since I’d come clean with her—she knew I’d been seeing Brooks. And though I never spoke the words, she also could see how I felt about him.

“Now that it’s been a few weeks, how do you feel about the Darcy stuff?” she asked and it hit me that this would be our last in-person girl talk for a while.

“Six weeks,” I correct her, knowing exactly the number of days it has been since I’ve been seeing Brooks and not having sex with him. Once you had sex with a man like Brooks, you didn’t forget. And I hadn’t. Every night when I laid down on the old leather, I remembered his mouth against me, traces of me on his chin and lips. I remembered how he drove into me so deep that I nearly gasped for air. I remembered the way my body needed to adjust to his size. I remembered everything. And my body remembered. Too many nights after dinner with Brooks, I came home and let my fingers wander, playing at my lips pretending it was him. I’d pull up the limited photos I had on my phone that he sent me and stare into his dark eyes, remember the way his scruff felt between my thighs as I made myself come, his name on my lips.

“I think he was embarrassed that he used the service,” I tell her, remembering the conversation with Brooks on the phone weeks and weeks ago. “And more than that, I think he was embarrassed that he couldn’t meet someone.” I still won’t ever understand it, but I do believe Brooks was starting to wonder what exactly was wrong with him.

Melody nods, but I can see she’s still deciding if she accepts this as an answer but her response surprises me. “Men like Brooks, I kind of get them,” she pushes herself up on the couch and rests her chin on her knuckles, body swaying gently. “You never know if someone wants you for you, or for your money.” She tilts her head, a curtain of dark hair falling in front of her face before she tucks it back. “For us, we never know if someone’s interested and legit or just trying to fuck us.”

I’d never thought about that parallel but she’s right. The way that Brooks had been skeptical of women when he dated was the same way I’d been skeptical of him.

“Yeah, huh, you’re right,” I said, going to the kitchen where I’d stashed a fresh batch of cookies for her, for the road. I toss her the bag and she grins before tearing it open. “They’re for the drive but girl talk seems just as good of a time as the drive.”

“So,” she says, eyes rolling closed as the center of the pistachio flavored macaron made it to her tongue. “Oh, this is just like the first we ever made together,” she flicked the remainder of the cookie into her mouth and brought her hands to her chest, thoughtfully.

“That’s why I made them. They make me think of you. Well, us,” I will