He whistled, his expression remaining blank. "Have you really thought that offer through?"
Shit! It was too much. Damn, damn, damn. Maybe this wasn't meant to be. She groaned inwardly at herself, as a worried expression crossed her face.
As if sensing her distress, he touched her arm. "I mean, have you really thought through what the job entails. You're on call 24/7. If I want you to get up at 3am to make me a pop tart, then I expect it to be done. If I have a hankering for something that you have to drive across town for at the most inconvenient time, I expect it to be done."
Her frown deepened. She hadn't thought about it in that sense. "In that case, double my last offer."
Turning to face her, he nodded. "Done. How early can you start?"
Holy fuck! Beth's jaw dropped as she turned so she was facing him straight on. Is he serious? Four times what she made at the coffee shop, including tips, plus free room and board! Looking up into his eyes there was no doubt he was indeed serious with his offer. "Oh-my-God. I was joking."
"I'm not. Money isn't an issue for me. I think this can be a good arrangement, and I'm willing to do what it takes to make this happen."
Her mind was whirling. There was so much to consider. She'd need to give notice to her landlord. To the coffee shop. What if it didn't work? What if Gabriel was actually some sort of eccentric nutcase? Surely offering someone the kind of money he was her to cook for him, especially when she admitted the best she could manage was mac and cheese was a little off-balanced.
But the money would be so good right now. She could work for him for the year and then study full-time for the next two years without having to worry about debt and juggling work and school. Whatever his reasoning for offering her what he was, she knew it was in her best interests to chalk it up to him being generous. There were times when you don't turn generosity away; this was one of those times.
With her mind made up she couldn't help but tease. She glanced up at him, an eyebrow arched, pretending to contemplate the offer. "Do I have to wear one of those little French maid uniforms?"
A heated, hungry look crossed his features as his eyes slowly made their way down the length of her body then back up to meet her eyes once more. "Now that is a very interesting idea. It's not mandatory, but I wouldn't be opposed to it." He shrugged. "I welcome the idea in fact."
Her face immediately flushed. Damn. But a part of her loved the way he was looking at her. The hungry part longed for him to pull her tight against him, and have his way with her on the cool deck.
"But..." He reached out and caught a lock of her hair between his fingers and then watched it fall, strand-by-strand from his fingertips. A shiver rocked her body and she had to fight to suppress a soft moan. "If you're not willing to wear the uniform I suppose you can wear whatever you like."
"Okay."
"Okay," he confirmed, smiling widely.
"You have yourself a cook slash maid slash, whatever else you need in the middle of the night girl, Mr Reynolds."
His grin widened as he extended his hand to her. "You have no idea how much I was hoping you'd say that Miss Wilmington."
Chapter 3
Beth flopped herself backwards onto the large king sized bed with a satisfied sigh. The soft mattress cushioned her, enticing her to close her eyes and drift off to sleep. It was a far cry from the hard futon she had been calling a bed for the past year. She was tired, but a wide smile appeared as she surveyed the massive bedroom that was now hers. She felt like a princess, though come tomorrow Cinderella may be more accurate a term.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity for Beth. Gabriel had insisted she start immediately, but she managed to negotiate two days with him. Reluctantly, he'd agreed. He was - without a doubt - the type of man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it without any hesitation.
The day after their meeting and her agreeing to work for him, he'd hired a moving company and they began to clean out her apartment for her - not that there was much to move and he paid off her landlord. All that came with her to his mansion was her clothing and her personal belongings.
Her appliances, housewares and items of that nature were donated and he gave her check for an amount that was well over the retail value of her well used items. When she protested he informed her it was a salary bonus and a write-off for him financially so not to worry. While her pride told her to fight it, it almost felt like they were getting married rather than her going to work for him, the sensible part of her told her that it was for the best. If worse came to worst, the "bonus" he'd given her more than covered her expenses for close to six months if she were to move out. She had to think of this practically, and practicality speaking she needed to take the "bonus," in the off chance things didn't work out with Gabriel and she needed a safety net.
"Well, aren't you the sweet one Mr Reynolds," Beth muttered as she propped herself up on her elbows and glanced over at the cookbooks sitting on the large mahogany dresser that Gabriel must have had brought up to her. She "officially" started work in the morning; breakfast was to be on the table at 7am sharp. With a groan she reluctantly sat up and made her way over to the books.
Atop the stack of books was a note from Gabriel.
Beth,
I took the liberty of marking some of my favourite dishes. You might want to come accustomed to those first. I apologize for not being around these past couple of days to help you settle in, but I have been tied up. I do have a surprise for you. Be ready at 8pm. I look forward to tasting what you have to offer me.
Gabriel
P.S. I highly suggest you wear what is in the closet tonight.
"Look forward to tasting what you have to offer me?" Beth muttered, biting back a grin and halfway hoping there was a double meaning to that comment. A surprise for me? Excitement welled up within her as she made her way over to the large walk-in closet. Pulling open the double doors she gasped, her eyes immediately focusing on the black, strapless floor length gown, hooked on a steel rack in the center of the closet, along with a matching satin wrap. "You have got to be shitting me," she muttered as she walked into closet and tentatively touched the soft fabric. The tag inside was marked Versace.
She unhooked the dress and draped it over her arms as if it were made of tissue paper and strode over to the bed, laying it out on top of the taupe coloured comforter. The dress would have easily have cost her a months salary at the coffee shop, most likely much more. She had no idea when it came to prices of high-end clothing. As high-end as she ever got was "The Gap."