visitor since she’d begun working there. Her mind was firing off questions.
Who was he? What was in the stable? Why didn’t J.B. want her to see the visitor?
She ran to find Mariela, the only person who was still in the house.
The cook was preparing lunch, her hands dancing between a skillet with butter melting and some mushrooms she was chopping. On a board next to the skillet were hefty steaks. Their marbling was exquisite, but by this time Maple had grown immune to the beef. In fact, she often joked that she’d never be able to quit because J.B.’s Wagyu had ruined all other steak for her.
It was true, though.
“Mariela, who’s here?”
The hispanic woman smiled. Her face was lovely because it was always filled with joy. “Señor Reece. He’s a friend of Señor Deyton’s.” Mariela was the only person who never called J.B. by his first name.
“How do they know each other?”
“They went to school together, I think.” The knife moved like lightning through a mushroom, leaving tiny, expert slivers. “And Señor Deyton buys many art pieces from Senor Reece. He comes, he paints, he sells them to Señor Deyton.”
J.B. painted the large, obscure paintings. That meant Mr. Reece painted the other ones. The sinister ones that made Maple’s skin crawl and her pussy throb.
“Do you know anything else? Are they good friends? What’s in the stable that they’re in?”
It might have been a trick of the light, but Maple could have sworn Mariela’s smile dropped for a second. “You ask too many questions. I’m just the cook. That’s Señor Deyton’s business, not mine.” The knife hit the cutting board harder. Chop. Chop. Chop. “Not yours, either.”
There was no doubt now; Maple was being warned again. Another person saying ‘no.’
She left the kitchen not knowing what to do, but knowing that if no one would tell her, she’d be unable to resist finding answers on her own.
It was no accident that she walked by the formal dining room. She was growing bolder. Sometimes she wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore.
Maple knew she shouldn’t be trying this, but if J.B. hadn’t kicked her out after the snake bite incident, he wasn’t going to do it now. Or so she told herself, over and over, to still her worried thoughts.
She’d showered and done her hair. Maple didn’t own much makeup, but she’d rubbed a tiny bit of olive oil on her skin, making it appear dewy. Mascara on her lashes. Most of her shirts were button downs, but she had one v-neck tshirt. It was black, the v cut deep in the front, showing a hint of cleavage. She’d squeezed into her tightest jeans, knowing that the shirt would ride up a little in the back, throwing flashes of her pale hips.
Maple had looked for her grandmother’s necklace to put on, but couldn’t find it. She realized she hadn’t seen it since she’d been bitten.
As she walked past the dining room, she ‘dropped’ the book she was carrying. It hit the marble with a loud slap ! The low conversation between the two men ceased. Maple hated herself as she bent at the waist to pick up the book, angling her ass to the men.
You’re a whore , Tony laughed. Not so meek when you need dick, huh? No, then you’re a slobbering dog.
As she stood, she heard a devious chuckle. “J.B., you’ve been keeping secrets.” Mr. Reece’s voice was confident and husky. She looked over her shoulder.
J.B. was furious, his jaw clenched so hard the tendons bulged out. He knew exactly what she was doing. “There’s no secret. She works in my stables with the horses. She got bitten by a snake and should be resting .” The last bit was supposed to be her cue to leave, Maple guessed.
Mr. Reece’s eyebrow raised. “Does she? How interesting. Come in and have dinner with us.”
“Maple, you don’t need to--”
“Please, J.B. I like your company fine, but I can’t
Who was he? What was in the stable? Why didn’t J.B. want her to see the visitor?
She ran to find Mariela, the only person who was still in the house.
The cook was preparing lunch, her hands dancing between a skillet with butter melting and some mushrooms she was chopping. On a board next to the skillet were hefty steaks. Their marbling was exquisite, but by this time Maple had grown immune to the beef. In fact, she often joked that she’d never be able to quit because J.B.’s Wagyu had ruined all other steak for her.
It was true, though.
“Mariela, who’s here?”
The hispanic woman smiled. Her face was lovely because it was always filled with joy. “Señor Reece. He’s a friend of Señor Deyton’s.” Mariela was the only person who never called J.B. by his first name.
“How do they know each other?”
“They went to school together, I think.” The knife moved like lightning through a mushroom, leaving tiny, expert slivers. “And Señor Deyton buys many art pieces from Senor Reece. He comes, he paints, he sells them to Señor Deyton.”
J.B. painted the large, obscure paintings. That meant Mr. Reece painted the other ones. The sinister ones that made Maple’s skin crawl and her pussy throb.
“Do you know anything else? Are they good friends? What’s in the stable that they’re in?”
It might have been a trick of the light, but Maple could have sworn Mariela’s smile dropped for a second. “You ask too many questions. I’m just the cook. That’s Señor Deyton’s business, not mine.” The knife hit the cutting board harder. Chop. Chop. Chop. “Not yours, either.”
There was no doubt now; Maple was being warned again. Another person saying ‘no.’
She left the kitchen not knowing what to do, but knowing that if no one would tell her, she’d be unable to resist finding answers on her own.
It was no accident that she walked by the formal dining room. She was growing bolder. Sometimes she wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore.
Maple knew she shouldn’t be trying this, but if J.B. hadn’t kicked her out after the snake bite incident, he wasn’t going to do it now. Or so she told herself, over and over, to still her worried thoughts.
She’d showered and done her hair. Maple didn’t own much makeup, but she’d rubbed a tiny bit of olive oil on her skin, making it appear dewy. Mascara on her lashes. Most of her shirts were button downs, but she had one v-neck tshirt. It was black, the v cut deep in the front, showing a hint of cleavage. She’d squeezed into her tightest jeans, knowing that the shirt would ride up a little in the back, throwing flashes of her pale hips.
Maple had looked for her grandmother’s necklace to put on, but couldn’t find it. She realized she hadn’t seen it since she’d been bitten.
As she walked past the dining room, she ‘dropped’ the book she was carrying. It hit the marble with a loud slap ! The low conversation between the two men ceased. Maple hated herself as she bent at the waist to pick up the book, angling her ass to the men.
You’re a whore , Tony laughed. Not so meek when you need dick, huh? No, then you’re a slobbering dog.
As she stood, she heard a devious chuckle. “J.B., you’ve been keeping secrets.” Mr. Reece’s voice was confident and husky. She looked over her shoulder.
J.B. was furious, his jaw clenched so hard the tendons bulged out. He knew exactly what she was doing. “There’s no secret. She works in my stables with the horses. She got bitten by a snake and should be resting .” The last bit was supposed to be her cue to leave, Maple guessed.
Mr. Reece’s eyebrow raised. “Does she? How interesting. Come in and have dinner with us.”
“Maple, you don’t need to--”
“Please, J.B. I like your company fine, but I can’t
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