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14
Cece
I can’t keep the smile from my lips while I drive home. It shouldn’t be there. I should be on guard or trying to figure out what Maddox is playing at, but I’m not. I’m grinning because that was an actual date I just had with Maddox Barkley, and he was unlike everything I’ve ever known about him since meeting him.
I was expecting him to strut into the restaurant, his hat probably on backward, in the same torn jeans and sleeveless shirt I’ve grown accustomed to him being in. Then I assumed he’d try to lay line after line on me, hoping one of them finally got me to act all gaga over him like he’s probably used to. Sure, he seemed sincere asking me out, but growing up around people with money, I’ve seen that before. They act nice one day, only to hopefully get what they want the next.
So, imagine my surprise when he showed up dressed in regular clothes instead of a rock star outfit. Not only that, but holding a genuine conversation with me. All while paying attention to everything I said. And he never even tried to hit on me. No prodding to leave early and head back to his place or telling me I should be thankful that he made time for me. Oh yeah, I’ve seen people act like that after getting so high on their own power and fame they think that anyone spending even a minute around them should be grateful.
But Maddox was, for lack of a better term, a complete gentleman. Not a glimpse of the King of Bad anywhere to be seen.
“Hello, Miss Mavin,” Esme calls out to me.
I put my clutch down on the counter, entering the ample sitting area that sits opposite of our kitchen in our large, top-story home above one of my father’s hotels. “Hi, Mama Esme.”
Esme has been our live-in housekeeper for as long as I can remember. She’s so much more than a typical maid or caretaker around our home, though. I think I started calling her Mama Esme when I was five because she’s been there for me as much, if not more, than my actual parents. A slender French lady in her fifties, there are some slight crow’s feet around her eyes. She’s always dressed in her neatly pressed dark gray or black pants—dark gray today—along with her matching top. They almost resemble nursing scrubs but are a little more fashionable.
I’ve only seen her with her black hair down a few times that I can recall. The rest of the time, she keeps it tightly braided and hanging down her back.
“Your papa called to say he’ll be coming in this weekend,” she tells me in her accent. You can still hear that she’s French, but it’s subdued over the years. “Your mama will be back next week. How are you tonight? Is everything good?”
“Yes, it’s …” I scroll to Stephanie’s number, about to text her about my night, when the smile returns. “Everything’s fine.”
“What is that look?” she asks. “Oh, did you and your papa’s chosen go out? He seems nice.”
I let out an unbelieving chuckle, shaking my head. She knows about the whole setup my father’s trying to instill between my family and the Thornhursts, but I find it humors she calls him my father’s chosen. I guess he is. “No, I did not go out with Winston. I actually went out with this boy who plays at Luxe. It was … good.”
“Why do you hesitate?”
Laughing, I lift my shoulders. “I guess because I was expecting a catastrophe. I thought he’d be an arrogant jerk, but he wasn’t.”
“Tsk, tsk.” She smacks her lips at me, shaking a finger. “Ma minette, no more trouble. Do you hear me? You’ve been good for a long time now. Your club is doing well, yes?”
I nod, giggling at the French nickname she calls me still: little kitty. When I asked her once what she was calling me, she told me I was her little kitten. She said it was because I was too curious and always getting in trouble. She wasn’t far off back then.
“Yeah, Luxe has been great this month. And no, no more trouble. I promise, Mama Esme.”
Reaching over, she gives my hand a warm squeeze, then turns around. “I’m going to sleep. Mr. Sebastian is still awake, but he acts like he’s asleep. I hear him, though. He’s playing video games. Maybe you can get him to go to sleep. He has class tomorrow.”
“Okay, I will. Good night.”
“Bonne suit, Miss Mavin.”
Heading up to the second floor, I pass my door and quietly turn the handle to Sebastian’s. It’s dark except for a soft glow coming from under his sheets, which are teepeed up because he’s sitting under them.
Tiptoeing into his room, I approach the bed and grab one end of the sheet.
“Boo!” I call out, yanking the sheet off of him.
“Ah!” he screams, his eyes wide. He instantly morphs from fear to anger. “Don’t do that!”
“Then you should go to sleep when Mama Esme tells you to.” Taking a seat next to him, I reach for his Nintendo Switch and flip it over. “What are you playing?”
“Fortnite. I’m doing amazing right now.”
“You have school tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine,” he argues, reaching back for his game. Looking at the screen, it shows that his character has died. “You killed me.”
