Mr. Clean by Penelope Rivers Page A

company sent me. They said that you needed a maid.”
                 
    The man was instantly sharp and said, “A guy? And not just any guy, but a kid too? I thought that they were sending me a woman.”
                 
    What had this man expected? Immediately, he felt affronted, and who wouldn’t, woman or man alike? Just because the word maid was used didn’t mean that he didn’t fit in the career field. He was so mad that he wanted to spit, or at least scrub down a sink. Calm down, thought Mike desperately. If you come home on the first day, then you’ll never live it down.
                 
    “I’m sorry, sir,” said Mike quickly. “I promise to do my best, though, regardless of my lack of femininity.”
    “That’s not the problem,” hissed his employer. “You’re a guy — I’m attracted to guys. The last thing that I want right now is to be distracted by some man wandering around my house in tight black pants.”
             
    Mike was stunned. In high school, he had been very reclusive. As far as things went, he spent the majority of his time working as a custodian after school. He had never really thought much about dating or anything else, so having someone — especially an older, prince-like man — imply that he would be distracting because of his body was not what he expected. Deep down, he felt flattered instead of repulsed. He wondered what that said about him.
                 
    “I’ll do my best to stay out of the way,” he said after a moment, carefully trying to avoid the main subject.
                 
    “Fine,” said his employer, looking entirely too hassled. If he cared about whether or not he had spooked Mike, then it did not show upon his face. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, so let’s make this quick. My name’s Stanley Burgess, and I’m the CEO of a translations company down on south side.  Your room will be the third one down on the fourth floor, alright? I expect you to start first thing tomorrow. The house already needs a good scrub down. I haven’t had time to hire somebody.”
             
    Stanley pushed a button on his key chain that was in his hand, causing one of three garage doors to open. After that, Stanley rushed off towards his black BMW that was glistening before Mike, which instantly made his mouth drop open. Enough gawking, he thought darkly, eyes wide. Let’s just get inside before this scary guy kills me.
                 
    He headed towards the house, intrigued. In his whole life, he had never been inside of a mansion before. As he hustled forward, expecting to see paradise and fine furnishing, he instead gasped as an awful stench hit him the moment that he stepped inside of the already opened door. “The house already needs a good scrub down” was the understatement of the year.
                 
    First off, there was garbage and leftover food everywhere. What had been a gorgeous, red, Oriental front room carpet was now smeared with muddy tracks. There was a kitchen as large as three regular-sized rooms in the back that was filled with used dishes and trash bags. Evidently because Stanley was so rich, he had thought that buying dishes continuously was far easier than actually doing the ones that he had. Mike gasped, feeling sick and sensing his incredible need to clean resurface. I can’t believe this, he thought darkly. Oh my God.
                 
    After that, he rolled up his sleeves and began to clean.
     
    ***
                 
    He cleaned the entire night through and well into the next morning, and he was overwhelmed with what his parents had liked to call, “Squeaky Clean Syndrome.” If he had gone to bed — had he even been able to find it underneath all that dust — he would have had nightmares about the state of the house. Now, as he lay face down on the floor on the freshly soaped rug, he exhaled sharply and wondered