I grimaced and opened my eyes. Maybe that was a bit overdramatic. My mom might still be the Bennets’ housekeeper—or, as the asshole head of the Bennet family liked to refer to her, their house manager—but she hadn’t had to scrub a toilet in over a decade. She had an entire staff that she oversaw who did all the less-pleasant chores of maintaining such a gigantic home.
But she never should have been in such a position to begin with. My mother, Mabel, had had aspirations once upon a time, and they had never included cleaning another person’s house. But my father had been a military man, and she’d been too young to understand what that meant when she’d gotten pregnant. Her religious family had forced her to marry him at the ripe old age of sixteen and then cut her off completely.
She’d had no other choice but to quit school and start working the first job she could land. While my dad was on deployment, she had a miscarriage, but for whatever reason, she didn’t return to school. At a guess, I figured she’d enjoyed making her own money too much to worry about continuing her education. At the Bennets’, she had a room of her own, so she had no reason to worry about rent or making do with a house on base.
It wasn’t like my dad was ever home long enough for them to have a real relationship. From what little I knew about their marriage, he was only stateside long enough to sign up for his next tour of duty. How they’d eventually gotten pregnant with me, I didn’t even want to think about. But by that time, Mom had worked her way up in the ranks and had become the Bennets’ head housekeeper, as well as their full-time nanny.
My entire life, I’d lived in the mansion with her, growing up right alongside the youngest Bennet. Lyla was like a sister to me. I loved and missed her nearly as much as my mom. Unfortunately, she was off working with her cousins for the summer, so I wasn’t likely to see her during this visit.
Kicking the covers off me, I forced myself to get up, remembering that I wasn’t just home to laze around the mansion. Mom had free rein to hire short-term staff, and I was going to be helping out while one of the full-time maids took her vacation. With the price of living only going up every week, I couldn’t exactly turn down the offer of extra cash, especially when I was going to be there for several weeks.
The thought of having to clean Zachary Bennet’s bathroom wasn’t appealing, but it paid more than I would have earned waiting tables at the diner near my apartment back in California or shelving books at the library on campus. I’d just have to get over my aversion to scrubbing toilets.
Groaning, I climbed out of bed and got ready for the day.
When I walked into the kitchen, Mom was already standing at the island with a list on the counter in front of her, while two other women in black dress pants and white button-downs stood on the other side. Their hair was pulled back into severe buns, and they had their hands crossed in front of them, listening intently.
Mom’s eyes narrowed on me, and I cringed. “I’m sorry I overslept. It won’t happen again.”
Pressing her lips together, she gave a firm nod before continuing with her list. The other two rushed off the moment she dismissed them. As soon as the door shut behind them, Mom turned a beaming smile on me. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“It’s scary how fast you can go from demanding overlord to sweet, angelic mother,” I complained as I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl.
Laughing, she crossed to the fridge and extracted eggs and a carafe of fresh orange juice. “How about something more filling than just an apple?”
“This is fine,” I protested, but she turned and gave me another glower. I fought a sigh. “Sure. Thanks, Mom.”
“That tells me you don’t take care of yourself, Ellianna,” she scolded as she began to whisk the eggs while the pan heated. “What do you normally eat for breakfast?”
I took a big bite of the apple, trying to avoid answering, but that damn glower was too much to ignore. “Don’t worry about me, Mom,” I insisted. “I eat plenty, okay?”
Her eyes flickered over me from head to toe before she shook her graying blond head. “I’m going to pretend like I believe you.”
“I’ll make toast,” I offered, grabbing the freshly baked bread she always kept and cutting off two slices.
“Make some for Judge as well,” she instructed, adding mushrooms and peppers to the eggs. “He should be down soon.”
Swallowing a groan, I did as I was told and stuck all four slices into the large toaster. After setting the timer to the darkest option—which I didn’t necessarily love, but I also knew how much Judge hated it when his toast was even close to burned, and I was a teeny-tiny bit petty—I poured myself a mug of coffee.
The first sip touched my soul. There was no coffee better than my mom’s. She grated in a little cinnamon and nutmeg before brewing it. I’d always watched her do it, and I made my own the exact same way, but for some reason, it never tasted the same. Sometimes she sent me care packages with her special blend, and I savored every pot. My roommate was always stealing it, so it never lasted as long as it should.
Every time my roommate made some without asking, I tossed one of her socks. Half the time, she had to wear mismatched ones, and they weren’t even the fun kind with cute characters. It was usually a navy-blue one with a black or brown or tan sock. She’d been my roommate for two years now, but she still hadn’t figured out that I was the one responsible for her missing socks and not the dryer.
Being petty was a small but fulfilling joy.
Oddly enough, she’d accused me of stealing her underwear a few times, but that was beyond ick. No way in hell would I willingly touch her panties. I didn’t want to come into contact with anything that touched that slut’s kitty. I wouldn’t even let her use my bathroom when she had guys sleep over and she didn’t want them to know she actually had bodily functions.
I was still enjoying the first sip of coffee when the equivalent of a wet dream for every woman in the county with a working vagina walked into the kitchen. My fingers tightened around the mug, but I controlled my breathing when I saw him out of the corner of my eye. Dressed in an expensive suit, with his dark hair neatly styled back from his face, he was ready for a day on the bench.
Zachary “My Fucking Name is Judge” Bennet was the youngest judge in the state, both when he first was elected to the position as well as now, even though he was only in his thirties. The rumor was that he was considering running for mayor, but when Mom told me that little piece of gossip, she’d been convinced it was just the locals spreading stories. If Zachary really was going to run, my mom would be one of the first people he informed.
He filled out that suit too well, and I hated that I noticed. I hated that my heart gave a little double thump-thump when I caught a hint of his expensive cologne. It was a subtle scent, a little woodsy, a little spicy, a hell of a lot sexy.
My presence must have surprised him because he stopped for all of three full seconds, his entire body tensing. I kept sipping my coffee, pretending to continue to enjoy it. But suddenly, the strong brew was sitting unhappily in my stomach, and my breathing turned shallow.
Instinct told me to run, but this was my home—and I didn’t run from Zachary “That’s Your Fucking Name Damn It!” Bennet.