Maid for the Millionaire

Assuming he’d already gone to work, Liz simply pulled the Happy Maids car into his driveway, bounced out and let herself into his kitchen.

But when she turned from pulling her key from the door, she saw Cain standing over a tall stack of waffles.

“Good morning.”

She froze.

They weren’t supposed to run into each other. That was why she thought she could keep this job. But three of her four cleaning trips to his house, he’d been home. Without even knowing it, he’d dredged up memories that she’d had to deal with. Emotions she’d thought long dead. Now here he was again.

Still, she wouldn’t make an argument of it. She could say a few words of casual conversation, as she walked to the door on the other side of the kitchen and slipped out of the room to clean another section of the house.

“You must be really hungry.”

He laughed. “I am. But these are for you.” He shrugged. “A thank-you for helping me last weekend.”

She froze. She should have expected this. She had expected this. She knew he hated owing anyone.

She sucked in a quiet breath. Not only did she not want to spend time with him, but she hadn’t eaten waffles since their fateful trip to Vegas. Mostly because she didn’t want to remember that wonderful time. That Cain wasn’t the real Cain. Neither was this guy who’d made her waffles. He didn’t want to thank her as much as he felt guilty that she’d helped him the week before and wouldn’t let that “debt” go unpaid.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I know it’s not necessary, but I want to thank you.”

“You did thank me. The words are enough.”

He sighed. “Just sit down and have a waffle.”

“No!” Because the single word came out so angrily, she smiled to soften it. “Thanks, but no.”

Their gazes held for a few seconds. She read the confusion in his dark eyes. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t eat breakfast with him. They’d been so happy the one and only time they’d had waffles together. And maybe that’s why he’d chosen them?

Regret rose up in her, but regret was a foolish emotion. She couldn’t change who he was. She couldn’t change the fact that she’d lost their child. And she refused to be pulled into believing the nice side of him was in control. That would only lead to more heartache. Neither one of them wanted that.

She turned and walked away. “I’ll get started upstairs while you eat.”

Cain pretended her refusal to eat his thank-you waffles hadn’t bothered him. Being incredibly busy at work, it was easy to block out the memory. But Saturday morning he took his boat out, and alone on the water with nothing to keep him company but his thoughts, he was miserable.

Liz was without a doubt the kindest woman in the world and he had hurt her. He’d hurt her enough that she couldn’t even force herself to be polite and eat breakfast with him.

When she’d left him three years before, he’d experienced a bit of remorse, but mostly he was relieved. He’d quickly buried both emotions under work—as he always did. But sitting on the ocean, with the sun on his face and the truth stirring his soul, he knew he had to make it up to her. All of it. The quick marriage, the horrible three years together, the bitter divorce and probably the pain she’d suffered afterward.

He owed her. And he hated owing anyone. But her refusal had shown him that she didn’t want a grand gesture. Hell, she didn’t want any gesture at all. Still, he needed to ease his own conscience by doing something for her. And he would. He simply wouldn’t let her know he was doing it.

On Sunday morning, he got her phone number from Ava and tried calling her. He needed no more than a ten-minute conversation with her. He was very, very good at figuring out what people wanted or needed. That was part of what had made him so successful at negotiating. In ten minutes, he could figure out what anyone wanted or needed and then he could use that knowledge to negotiate for what he wanted. The situation with Liz was no different. He wanted to ease his conscience and could do that by simply finding a need and filling it for her. Anonymously, of course. Then his conscience would be clear. He could fall out of her life again, and they both could go back to the new lives they’d created without each other.

His call went directly to voice mail, so he tried calling her on Monday morning. That call also went to voice mail. Not wanting to make a fool of himself by leaving a hundred unanswered messages, he waited for Friday to roll around. She might not take his calls, she might not have eaten the breakfast he’d prepared the week before, but she couldn’t avoid him in his own house if he really wanted to talk to her.

And he did. In only a few minutes, he could ascertain what was important to her, get it and ease his conscience. If he had to follow her around while she dusted, he would.

Realizing she might not enter if she saw he was still home, Cain stayed out of sight until he heard the bip, bip, bip of his alarm being disabled. He waited to hear the back door open and close, then he stepped into the kitchen.

“Liz.”

The woman in the yellow maid’s apron turned. “Mr. Nestor?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Well, if that didn’t take the cake! Not only had she refused his thank-you waffles and ignored his calls, but now she’d sent someone else to clean his house?

He sucked in a breath to control his temper so he could apologize again to Liz’s employee, then he drove to his office. He was done with pussyfooting around. Now, she’d deal with him on his terms.

He kept the five o’clock space on his calendar open assuming she and her employees met back at her office for some sort of debriefing at the end of the work week. At the very least, to get their weekly paychecks. Ava gave him the business address she’d gotten for Happy Maids and he jumped into his black Porsche.

With traffic, the drive took forty minutes, not the twenty he’d planned on. By the time he arrived at the office building housing Happy Maids, he saw a line of women in yellow aprons exiting. He quickly found a parking place for his car, but even before he could shut off his engine, Liz whizzed by him in an ugly green car.

Damn it!

Yanking on the Porsche’s gearshift, he roared out of the parking space. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea to follow Liz home. She might take that as an invasion of privacy, but right at this moment, with the memory of her refusal to eat his waffles ringing in his head, and his embarrassment when he realized she’d given the job of cleaning his house to one of her employees adding fuel to the fire, he didn’t give a damn.

He wanted to get this off his conscience and all he needed were ten minutes. But she wouldn’t even give him ten minutes. So he’d have to take them. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain his presence at her door, but he suddenly realized he had the perfect topic of conversation. He could calmly, kindly, ask her why she’d left their marriage without a word. Three years had gone by. The subject wasn’t touchy anymore. At least not for him. He knew why she’d left. He’d been a lousy husband. This should be something she’d want to discuss. To get off her chest.

He wouldn’t be mean. He’d say the words women loved to hear. That he wanted to talk. To clean their slate. For closure. So they could both move on completely. Actually, what he was doing was giving her a chance to vent. She’d probably be thrilled for it.

He grinned. He was a genius. Mostly because Liz was the kind of woman she was. She didn’t rant and rail. Or even get angry. She’d probably quietly tell him that she’d left him because he had been a nightmare to live with, and he would humbly agree, not argue, showing her he really did want closure. All the while he’d be processing her house, looking for clues of what mattered to her, what she needed. So he could get it for her and wipe this off his conscience.

He wove in and out of traffic two car lengths behind her, not surprised when she drove to one of Miami’s lower-middle-class neighborhoods. She identified with blue-collar people. Which was one of the reasons their marriage had been so stressful. She’d been afraid to come out of her shell. Afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing with his wealthy friends. Afraid, even, to plan their own parties.

She pulled her car onto the driveway of a modest home and jumped out. As she ducked into the one-car garage and disappeared, he drove in behind her.

He took a second to catch his breath and organize his thoughts. First he would apologize for being presumptuous when he made the waffles for her. Then he’d give her the spiel about wanting a clean slate—which, now that he thought about it, was true. He was here to help them move on. Then he’d do what he did best. He’d observe her surroundings, really listen to what she said and figure out what he could do for her.

Taking a few measured breaths, he got out of his car and started up the cracked cement sidewalk. He was amazingly calm by the time a little girl of about three answered the door after he rang the bell.

“Mom!” she screamed, turning and running back into the dark foyer. “It’s a stranger!”

Cain blinked. His mouth fell open. Then his entire body froze in fear. Liz had a child? A child old enough to be…well, his?

Oh, dear God. That would explain why she’d left without a word. Why she’d avoided him—

Liz and a red-haired woman Cain didn’t recognize raced into the hall leading to the foyer. The red-haired woman pushed the little girl behind her in a move that very obviously said this was her child, not Liz’s.

Chastising his overactive imagination, Cain forced his breathing back to normal but it wasn’t so easy to get his heart rate off red alert.

And Liz still barreled up the hall, looking ready for a fight. She was only a few feet in front of him before she recognized him.

“Oh. It’s you.” Sighing heavily, she turned to the redhead. “This is my ex-husband, Cain.”

Still coming down from the shock of thinking he was a dad, he quickly said, “I’m here to apologize about the waffles last week.”

“Apology accepted. Now leave.”

Wow. She was a lot quicker on her feet than he’d remembered. “No. I can’t. I mean, you didn’t have to send another employee to clean my house today.” Embarrassment twisted his tongue. He wasn’t saying any of this well. Where was the control that helped him schmooze bankers, sweet-talk union reps and haggle with suppliers?

Gone. That’s where. Because Liz wasn’t a banker, union rep or supplier. She was a normal person. His ex-wife. Now he understood Ava’s comments the day he’d discovered Liz was his temporary maid. He wasn’t good at ordinary conversation with ordinary people. Business was his element. That was why he didn’t have a personal life.

Still, he needed to talk to her.

He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Could you give me ten minutes?”

“For what?”

He smiled as charmingly as he could, deciding to pretend this was a business conversation so he’d get some of his control back. “Ten minutes, Liz. That’s all I want.”

Liz sighed and glanced at the woman beside her.

She shrugged. “You could go outside to the patio.”

Cain blanched. “This isn’t your house?”

“No.”

He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, then addressed the redhead. “I’m sorry. Ms.—”

“It’s Amanda.” She shrugged. “And don’t worry about it. It’s not really my house, either.”

“Then whose house is it?”

Liz motioned for him to follow her down the hall and into the kitchen. “I’ll explain on the patio.”

The little girl with the big blue eyes also followed them to the sliding glass door. Liz stopped short of exiting, stooping to the toddler’s level. “Joy, you stay with your mom, okay?”

Grinning shyly, Joy nodded.

Liz smiled and hugged her fiercely, before she rose. Something odd bubbled up inside Cain, something he’d never once considered while they were married. Liz would make a wonderful mom. He’d known she’d wanted children, but after his brother’s death, they’d never again discussed it. Was that why she’d left him without a word? And if it was—if what meant the most to her was having a child—how could he possibly make that up to her?

Without looking at him she said, “This way.”

She led him to a small stone patio with an inexpensive umbrella-covered table. There was no pool, no outdoor kitchen. Just a tiny gas grill.

She sat at the table and he did the same. “Whose house is this?”

“It’s owned by a charity.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in closer so he could hear her. “Look, Cain, I really can’t tell you much, except this house belongs to a charity for women who need a second chance. They stay at houses like this until they can get on their feet.”

Cain didn’t have to work hard to read between the lines of what she’d said. He frowned. “She’s been abused?”

Liz shushed him with a wave of her hand and whispered, “Yes.” Lowering her voice even more she added, “Look, we don’t like talking about this when we’re with the clients. We’re trying to establish them as any other member of their community. Not someone being supported by a charity. We want them to think of us as friends, not benefactors.”

Following her direction to keep the conversation more private, Cain leaned closer to Liz. The light scent of her shampoo drifted over to him. The smoothness of her skin called him to touch. Memories tripped over themselves in his brain until he remembered this was how she’d been the day he’d met her on the plane. Sweet. Kind. Shy. Reluctant to talk. He’d had to draw her out even to get her to tell him the simplest things about herself.

That day he hadn’t been bad at normal conversation. He’d wanted to sleep with her enough that he’d pushed beyond his inability to chitchat.

He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. That was a bad connection to make with her sitting so close, smelling like heaven, while his own blood vibrated through his veins with recognition that this woman had once been his.

He cleared his throat. “So, this is a charity?”

“Yes.” She winced.

He glanced around, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Happy Maids donates housecleaning services when one of the Friend Indeed houses becomes vacant. I also stock the cupboards with groceries and cleaning supplies. I’m part of the committee that welcomes a woman to her new house and stays in her life to help her acclimate.”

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