The Housemaid(37)

An usher comes to hand us playbills and lead us to our seats. And then comes the really amazing part—he keeps leading us closer and closer and closer. And when we finally get to our seats, I can’t believe how close we are to the stage. If I wanted, I could grab the actors by their ankles. Not that I would because that would definitely violate my parole, but it might be possible.

As I sit next to Andrew in one of the best seats of the hottest show in town in this amazing theater, I don’t feel like a girl who just got out of prison, who doesn’t have a penny to her name, who is working a job she hates. I feel special. Like maybe I deserve to be here.

I gaze at Andrew’s profile. This is all because of him. He could have been a jerk about the whole thing and charged me for the tickets, or gone with a friend of his. He would have had every right to do so. But he didn’t. He took me here tonight. And I’ll never forget it.

“Thank you,” I blurt out.

He rotates his head to look at me. His lips curl. He’s so handsome when he smiles. “My pleasure.”

Over the music playing and the commotion of people finding their seats, I just barely hear a buzzing sound coming from my purse. It’s my phone. I take it out and discover a message from Nina on the screen:

Don’t forget to put out the trash.





I grit my teeth. If anything can bring your fantasies of being more than a maid to a screeching halt, it’s a message from your employer telling you to lug the garbage to the curb. Nina always reminds me about trash day, every single week, even though I’ve never once forgotten. But the absolute worst part is that when I see her text, I realize that I have forgotten to take the garbage to the curb. I usually do it after dinner, and the change in the schedule threw me off.

It’s fine though. I just have to remember to do it tonight when we get back. After Andrew’s BMW turns back into a pumpkin.

“You okay?”

Andrew’s eyebrows are knitted together as he watches me read the text. My warm feelings for him evaporate slightly. Andrew isn’t a guy I’m dating who is spoiling me with a Broadway show. He’s my employer. He’s married. He only brought me here because he feels sorry for me for being so uncultured.

And I can’t let myself forget it.



The show is absolutely amazing.

I am literally at the edge of my seat in the sixth row, my mouth hanging open. I can tell why this show is one of the most popular on Broadway. The musical numbers are so catchy, the dance numbers are so elaborate, and the actor playing the lead is dreamy.

Although I can’t help but think he’s not quite as handsome as Andrew.

After three standing ovations, the show is finally over and the audience starts to filter toward the exits. Andrew leisurely rises from his seat and stretches out a kink in his back. “So how about some dinner?”

I slide the playbill into my purse. It’s risky to save it, but I’m desperate to hold onto the memory of this magical experience. “Sounds good. Do you have a place in mind?”

“There’s an amazing French restaurant a couple of blocks away. Do you like French food?”

“I’ve never had French food before,” I admit. “Although I like the fries.”

He laughs. “I think you’ll enjoy it. My treat, of course. What do you say?”

I say that Nina wouldn’t enjoy finding out that her husband took me to a Broadway show and then treated me to an expensive French dinner. But what the hell. We’re already here, and it’s not like the meal would make her more mad than the show alone. May as well go for broke. “Sounds good.”

In my old life, before I worked for the Winchesters, I never could have gone into a French restaurant like the one where Andrew takes me. There’s a menu posted on the door, and I only glance at a few of the prices, but any appetizer would wipe me out for several weeks. But standing next to Andrew, wearing Nina’s white dress, I fit in here. Nobody is going to ask me to leave, anyway.

I’m sure as we walk into the restaurant, everybody thinks we’re a couple. I saw our reflection in the glass outside the restaurant, and we look good together. If I’m honest, we look better as a couple than he and Nina do. Nobody notices that he has a wedding band and I don’t. What they might notice is the way he gently places a hand on the small of my back to lead me to our table, then pulls out a chair for me.

“You’re such a gentleman,” I remark.

He chuckles. “Thank my mother. That’s the way I was raised.”

“Well, she raised you right.”

He beams at me. “She’d be very glad to hear that.”

Of course, it makes me think about Cecelia. That spoiled little brat who seemed to get off on ordering me around. Then again, Cecelia has been through a lot. Her mother tried to murder her, after all.

When the waiter comes to take our drink orders, Andrew orders a glass of red wine, so I do the same. I don’t even look at the prices. It’s just going to make me sick, and he already said he’s paying.

“I have no idea what to order.” None of the names of dishes sound familiar; the whole menu is in French. “Do you understand this menu?”

“Oui,” Andrew says.

I raise my eyebrows. “Do you speak French?”

“Oui, mademoiselle.” He winks at me. “I’m fluent, actually. I spent my junior year of college studying in Paris.”