a tune, she carried that bag and those from the cans in the kitchen to the interior entrance and through the marbled vestibule to the outer door.
She paused halfway down the stairs and looked up the street at the rows of ornate townhomes. Next week, everything would change and she had some decisions to make. Home or condo. New York or New Jersey. Travel or...or...
Or what?
The sudden flash of cameras and raised voices caused her to turn her head. She froze and leaned back from the crowd advancing to surround the porch.
“There she is!”
“That’s her!”
Monica’s eyes widened in shock at the people pointing cameras up at her from the street. “What?” she asked, feeling her heart pound.
“Are you Monica Darby?” one of them yelled to her.
She climbed back up a step.
“How do you feel about the death of your father that you never knew?”
“Do you hate Brock Maynard?”
The bags dropped from her trembling hands.
“Why weren’t you invited to the funeral?”
Their barrage of questions was rapid and overlapping. The flash of cameras and the steady beam of lights from the video cameras were shocking intrusions into her life.
“Were you mentioned in the will?”
“If you’re not in the will, do you have plans to sue?”
“Move! Excuse me. Out of the way!” a male voice roared. Gabe pushed through the throng of paparazzi on the street with ease, holding his suitcase with one hand. She then noticed the family’s SUV pulling off down the street.
He opened the wrought-iron gate to race up the stairs to her. She felt sweet relief when he slid his arm around her waist and turned her to guide her back up the stairs.
“How does it feel to go from being a maid to the daughter of an A-lister?”
Gabe ushered her into the vestibule, closed the door and set down his luggage.
“What is all that about?” Gabe asked as they entered the house. “What are they saying about your father? What’s going on?”
Remembering her NDA, Monica pressed her lips closed and shrugged as she shook her head. Lines of annoyance filled his handsome face as he moved back to the door to look out the tinted glass panes at the photographers still there. She allowed herself a moment to take him in. To enjoy being near him for what was the last time. He looked so handsome in his denims and a crisp blue shirt that made his eyes all the more brilliant in his tanned shortbread complexion.
“I resigned from my position here last week and gave two weeks’ notice,” she began.
He turned his head to eye her. Confusion filled his face even as she gave him a brisk nod.
“But I think I should leave today,” she said, enjoying the subtle hint of his warm and spicy cologne. Fireworks seemed to shoot off in her belly.
“Today?” he said, his voice deep.
She nodded. Her nondisclosure agreement kept her from explaining even more. It was the price of her inheritance.
“Is it because of what happened between us?”
“No.”
“Do you have a better position?”
“No.”
They shared a long look before he extended his hand. “I guess this is goodbye,” he said.
Monica slipped her hand into his. “I guess so,” she agreed, silently taking note how his large hand easily engulfed her own.
And felt so warm. Especially his thumb resting against her sensitive inner wrist.
She broke the hold, choosing to focus on calling the police to get rid of the crowd outside. The Upper East Side address would speed up their arrival.
“Monica. Wait.”
“Yes, Mr. Cress?” she asked, turning to face him.
He bent down in front of his monogrammed Vuitton case to remove an envelope from the side pocket. “The Cress Family Foundation’s charity ball is next week. I’d like for you and a guest to attend. Please,” he stressed.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate—” she began but then remembered that in less than twenty-four hours she would be worth just as much as he was and she would no longer be his maid.
He eyed her.
“I’ll consider it,” she conceded, taking the thick and creamy envelope from him. “Thank you.”
With one last smile Monica turned from him to finish out her last day and make plans for her tomorrow.
Five
One week later
The Cress family is as surprised as the world at the news that our beloved Monica is the daughter of Brock Maynard. Although we were saddened to lose her as an invaluable and dedicated employee no longer living in our home, we do ask that the privacy of the entire Cress family be respected at