Elegant Sins - Stasia Black Page 0,21
a moment. “I have a life. I might not be rich”—I gestured lamely to the huge mansion in front of us—“but it’s a life and it’s my own.”
“Miss Morgan, the correct procedure is to wait until you are inside, but since you’re already here, I’ll ask you now. What do you want?”
“What do you mean? Look, I’m just asking if you’ll take me home.”
“Is that what you want?” he peered at me curiously. “What do you really want out of life? To go back to your life—a life that is ‘all your own,’ to use your words. No one is forcing you to be here, Miss Morgan. If you stay, you do so of your own free will. But were you truly free?”
He leaned in ever so slightly. He had to be dying of heat in the September sun, dressed to the nines like he was, but he didn’t bat an eye.
“I had a glimpse of your life, Miss, and pardon if it is not my place, but it didn’t exactly look like freedom to me.”
He pulled back. “Inside you will be interviewed. They will ask you again what it is you truly want. You can ask for anything. You are Aladdin and we are your magic lamp.”
“But it comes at a price,” I said emphatically.
Jeeves just looked at me like I was being foolish. “Do you think you deserve to be given something for nothing? That’s the way a child thinks, Miss Morgan.”
I nodded, biting back curse words on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to lash out at the guy, tell them all to go to hell, and run away before I got in too deep.
Maybe it was cowardly. Maybe it was prudent. Maybe it was my gut telling me to get the hell out of here.
But Jeeves was right about one thing—living paycheck to paycheck didn’t feel like freedom. And I couldn’t keep going back and forth like this.
I swallowed hard and looked back up at Jeeves, the afternoon sun so bright, I had to squint. “The men. Are they very horrible?”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought maybe his face tightened just the littlest bit?
“There are rules to protect you. You will have a safe word that you may use at any time.” He stood up straighter. “But know that if you do use a safe word, it’s all finished. You will be immediately removed from the house. You forfeit your prize. You get nothing. There is no partial credit. But the choice is always yours. You may leave at any time.”
I blinked rapidly at that. “Do… do girls leave often?”
“I’ve worked here eleven years, and it’s only happened once.”
“Out of how many girls? How often does this happen? What happened to the girl who went home?”
He smiled and I couldn’t read him. “That’s enough for now. Will you enter?” He held out his arm once again.
I felt like Alice peeking down the rabbit hole.
Half of me wished I’d never seen this man’s face. That he’d never walked into the diner with that damned piece of paper and offered me this weighty choice.
But then I took his arm and he led me up the drive toward the intimidating mansion. A little further. I’d go a little further. I could always say a “safe word” and stop at any time, right? I could go back to my boring little life where nothing exciting ever happened. Where I had few choices and even fewer options of actually getting ahead in this unforgiving world.
“Let me introduce you to Mrs. Hawthorne,” Jeeves said.
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded.
Instead of leading me up the half a dozen stairs to the grand columned porch, however, Jeeves suddenly detoured to the left. I tottered along unevenly after him, unaccustomed to the three-and-a-half inch heels that had also come in the box. Several times, Jeeves had to reach out a hand to steady me. He was gracious enough not to comment about it.
He guided me around a cobblestone pathway that led past the east wing of the house, right up to a small white door that had a little placard over top that read: Servant’s Entrance.
Were you even allowed to still have signs like that up these days? It was so not politically correct to call someone a servant.
But when Jeeves knocked once, the door was immediately opened by a plump white woman in her 50s, her graying red hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was wearing a