Page 18 of Promise of Punishment

I can’t lose this job. I have no other options. Amara has exhausted her resources helping me, and I like it here. I like working under Haven, and I like how Margo gives the staff different tasks each week so we don’t get bored.

I like the owners too. Mrs. Ashford seems nice. She’s beautiful, and her husband is equally attractive and has an English accent that reminds me of someone else I once knew, long ago. I don’t like to think about that time or about Wesley—the traitor who I saved just so he could stab me in the back.

I tamper a groan and race to my locker, applying concealer to the horrible shadows under my eyes. With that fixed, I shove my long braid behind my back and hurry to join Haven in the office. We make a good team, even though we haven’t worked together for long.

Most of the rooms in the 15,000 sq ft home aren’t used, so we do a version of cleaning we refer to as freshening up and a lot of dusting. This is the first estate I’ve worked at that has its own island and a private causeway lined with trees, the summer leaves lush and vibrant.

Margo comes in and says something to Haven on the other side of the office. She nods and turns to me as Margo leaves.

“They’re running late, no need to rush. Shelly is sick and had to go home. I’m going to help prep the brunch. Finish in here and then come join me.” She smiles.

I nod and continue dusting the row of bookcases.

A moment later, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I dig it out and read the message. Either it’s the vet letting me know my cat’s prescription is ready for pickup after work, or it’s Noah, Amara’s daughter. No one other than those two women and Haven has this number.

Noah: We need another housekeeper/server for the weekend. Please say yes. I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t stuck. You can’t offer a job like this to just anyone. Only people you trust.

I sigh, and before I can reply, she texts again.

Noah: It’ll be good for you. Put you around people in their twenties instead of the geriatric crowd.

I work with people from ages thirty to fifty-five, not nursing home residents. She knows this, but I’m an exception. Households like this prefer a more seasoned employee, but Amara’s connections always get me in. That makes me want to help Noah. Her family has done so much for me.

Noah: You could explore the mansion and get some good pics and videos for your Insta.

The girl knows how to tempt me. Greenwich doesn’t have anything overgrown or in ruins from what I can tell. My social media page is lacking new content.

The thought of exploring a Gilded Age mansion that sat abandoned for decades is a huge turn-on. It’s so big, only part of it is renovated. An entire section is still in ruins. I could drool.

It could have a neglected garden. My favorite kind. But the owners seem shady—five men, or ‘Lords,’ as they call themselves, who own a mansion named Hellfire. Three are from the UK, and two are American.

The staff live there alone during the week, and the men come out to party on the weekends. Not every weekend and not every Lord. The parties are exclusive and for elites who like to hook up anonymously and in private. Phones are confiscated. Masks are mandatory. Apparently, it’s similar to a club in Boston called Masquerade. One of the Lords owns it.

Noah says the masks are to hide the identities of the guests, who could be famous actors, athletes, or politicians. I think it’s because rich people are freaks. If you can have anything, life gets boring. They can’t catch a natural high off the simple things the way I do every time I enter an abandoned garden or place. They need drugs and orgies to appease them.

Me: Thanks, but no.

It’s the same reply I always give her.

Noah: You’re only saying that because you think people have sex on tables.

Me: Don’t they?

Noah: It isn’t a P-Diddy party. I’d never work in a place like that. There are strict rules. Participation is optional. Everything is done in private rooms—PER THE RULES. If you come, you can see for yourself. Then you’ll never go back to cleaning for families again.

The fact that the staff has a mansion to themselves most of the time is a nice perk. She says they don’t expect or pressure employees to participate in the parties if a guest shows interest. No means no. No one pushes because there are plenty of people willing to indulge. I don’t know how you can be attracted to someone in disguise and want to hook up with them if you don’t know what they look like.

Noah has been propositioned, but she always turns the guest down—until two weeks ago, when one of the Lord’s took interest in her. She only knew it was a Lord because they wear red velvet jackets to set them apart. Everyone else has to wear black or white. She ended up sleeping with him and said it was the kinkiest, best sex of her life. She also isn’t sure which Lord she hooked up with since he didn’t remove his mask, and three of them look the same.

“Does he know who you are?” I asked her on the phone when she told me this.

“He didn’t see my face. But I’m the only half-black/half-Hispanic, five-nine woman on his staff, so I’m sure he can guess.”

“How did he not see your face? I mean, how did you kiss with a mask on?” She wore a peacock jeweled mask, and his was a lion. “Wouldn’t you bump noses? Your beak to his snout?”

She laughed. “You switch to flat masks in the room or opt to wear blindfolds.”

“You can’t both be blindfolded. How would that work?”