One Night with Cinderella - Niobia Bryant Page 0,43

Jillian had just admitted to her own delicious dalliances with one of the Cress men.

“Who?” Monica asked, ready for her curiosity about the note to end.

“Not Gabe,” Jillian assured.

“Fair enough,” Monica said.

Jillian laughed a bit and turned to pull trays from both double ovens.

“Why does it have to end after you stop working here?” Monica asked.

“Different reasons,” Jillian said, using silicone tongs to plate the trays of stuffed puff pastry. “Mostly because I don’t think he will ever see me as anything but the cook.”

Monica leaned against the edge of the island and turned her head to look down the length of the kitchen and dining room to the backyard. The sight of the illuminated water feature was soothing in that moment as her own fears surfaced. “So, can Gabe see me as more than a maid?” she asked softly, wishing she was outdoors and could hear the sound of the running water.

“It’s different,” Jillian said. “Money changes everything.”

Monica looked down at the pastries. They looked delicious. “May I? I’m hungry,” she said.

At that moment, Felice entered the kitchen and set her empty serving tray on the island. “Mrs. Cress would like more of the roast beef sliders,” she said, her voice stiff. “Perhaps you should offer the lady one before you place them on my tray.”

Monica could see the woman was offended. “Felice, I was the Cress maid before you—”

“I know. You’re the talk of the party,” the woman said.

“I’m sure I am,” Monica said dryly.

“I know you are,” Felice countered. “It’s hard to miss when you’re moving from crowd to crowd overhearing them.”

“What are they saying?” Monica asked, hating that she even cared.

Jillian and Felice shared a brief look that gave the housekeeper the okay to repeat the things she couldn’t help but overhear.

“They ridiculed Mr. Cress for openly dating the help,” she said with reluctance.

“I’d bet good money they were the socialites scowling at me,” Monica said, feeling annoyance.

Felice remained silent. Her reticence with Monica was clear.

“Listen, the part of the job I hated the most was serving food at parties,” Monica continued, needing to explain herself to the woman. “I didn’t take the food because I remember being in your position and hating it so much. I’m not comfortable being served. That’s all.”

Felice’s face softened. “In that moment it felt like you thought my touch was dirty,” she said.

“Never,” Monica stressed, reaching to touch the woman’s hand.

“If you are gonna move in the company of the haves then it’s gonna be hard to keep the mindset of the have-nots,” Felice said.

Translation: Do I belong out there with the guests or in the kitchen with the staff?

She knew where she felt most comfortable.

Felice used tongs to set an array of hors d’oeuvres on a saucer and handed it to Monica. “And you didn’t hear it from me, and I will deny if asked, but that little gathering upstairs is all about you,” she said before taking the tray of treats out to the guests.

As Jillian went back to cooking, Monica enjoyed a slider and eyed the elevator. She wiped her fingertips with a napkin and checked to make sure no one in the living room noticed when she made her way toward it. As she took it one flight up to the second floor, she almost convinced herself she had every right to hear what was being said about her. Knowing the elevator opened up directly into the master bedroom of Nicolette and Phillip Sr., she continued up to the third floor via the stairs, careful to make sure the double doors leading into the suite of rooms was closed.

“Is she the reason for your insanity lately?”

Monica winced as Phillip Sr.’s deep and gravelly voice echoed through the wood. She moved closer to the door and prayed no one stormed out and caught her.

“She’s the reason I’m happy,” Gabe returned.

Aw. Same.

“Happy or horny?”

“Both.”

Someone laughed and Monica just knew it was Cole.

Silence reigned and Monica wondered what was going on that she could not see.

“There are women you wed and those you bed. Know the difference. And that goes for all of you,” Phillip Sr. said.

“Don’t disrespect her in that way,” Gabe said, his voice hard and his anger clear. “I tolerate a lot from you, but I will not put up with that—”

“Tolerate!”

Monica jumped, feeling as if Phillip Sr.’s voice booming against the walls was enough to rattle the entire house. She moved from the door and hurried down the stairs, not wanting to hear any more.