Double Dare(237)

But that was when I saw the ring on her hand. A shiny gold band adorned her ring finger, with a big diamond poking off of it.

“Mom,” I gasped, my voice trailing off. “What is that?”

“What is what?” she asked sweetly, pretending that she didn’t know, looking at me quizzically. But I wasn’t playing games.

“You know!” I said, staring at her hand. “Where is that from? Who gave it to you?”

“Oh honey,” my mom giggled. “It’s from Mr. Markham, who else? The man that I work for at Markham Estates, you know, the one I’ve been seeing.”

I was taken aback. I wasn’t aware that my mom was “seeing” someone, I’d thought it was fly-by-night sex at best, billionaire magnates don’t date their cleaning ladies. So I shook my head slowly at the Cinderella fantasy.

“No seriously Mom, where did you get that?” I asked, my brows lowered. Stealing from clients is a crime. Not many cleaning ladies do it because the risk is too high, losing a steady job isn’t something most of us can afford. So I was worried, really worried, that my mom was off her rocker and had put our livelihood in jeopardy by swiping the client’s stuff.

But my mom was in a good mood and wasn’t going to entertain my grilling.

“Honey, Drake Markham asked me to marry him last night and I said yes!” she trilled. “Aren’t you excited for me?”

I shook my head resignedly.

“Mom, this isn’t a joke,” I reprimanded. “Where … did … you … get that ring?” I finished in a huff.

But my mom just pooh-poohed at me.

“Cleo, you’re always stuck in the mud,” she said. “Drake Markham gave it to me, didn’t I tell you already? We’re getting married,” she repeated, and with that, laughed and started dancing around the kitchen, the trailer bouncing on its wheels from her excitement.

“No more scrubbing dishes … no more dirty laundry … no more bowing down … because I’m the boss now!” she squealed.

And I had to laugh too because my mom has had it hard as a maid, most people don’t realize the abuse she puts up with from employers. It goes beyond the pale, I’ve got so many stories of the horrible things that have happened, the insults, the mental abuse, the fact that she was dirt to them. So if it was true that Mr. Markham had asked her to marry him, then I was happy for her.

“Okay, when will the wedding take place then?” I asked, still a little wary. Good news didn’t come our way very often and it wouldn’t be surprising if the engagement dragged on forever, just to be broken off in the end. Clearly, we hadn’t had a lot of luck in our lives so far.

But Lorena surprised me again.

“This weekend,” she trilled happily. “We’re just going to have a civil ceremony because you know, this isn’t the most traditional of relationships. So get ready baby, because we’re moving across the railroad tracks to the good side of town!”

And I laughed suddenly, breathless. Lorena’s happy mood was contagious and I felt elated, dizzy almost with the possibilities. After all, her new hubby had unlimited resources, we wouldn’t have to scrimp, save, and work our fingers to the bone in the hopes of a square meal. I hoped against hope that it wasn’t just a dream and that this new guy, Drake Markham, was going to be our savior.





CHAPTER TWO


Drake




Damn, the little girl was getting to be like her mother. Not in looks, but in attitude and behavior. Lorena and Cleo are about as different in looks as you can get. Lorena is all sultry dark hair, curves busting everywhere, sly, smoldering looks at the most inappropriate of times. Of course I’d noticed her in that housecleaning outfit. She’d hemmed the skirt until it was just inches below her puss and bent over all the time, flashing her ass, making sure that I saw her wet cunny because she purposefully didn’t wear underwear. Vacuuming was never so provocative.

And if you’re wondering why I didn’t report her to her agency for her “unprofessional behavior,” it’s because I was a horny bachelor, a forty-five year old guy who worked all the time. My real “wife,” as you’d call it, is my company, News Enterprises, and there’s no woman who can come between us.

So Lorena was a nice distraction, someone that I didn’t have to wine and dine, pay attention to, or even properly date. I just took what I wanted, when I wanted, at my convenience.

And it’d worked out well … too well. Lorena understood exactly what I needed and never whined about the situation, instead accepting her place, accepting the fact that there was no wine, no flowers, no nothing. There was no pillow talk or typical dating stuff – she was a means for physical release only and she knew it.